Chapter 7: The Handwriting

I read the ledger twice before the radiator clanked on.

Every entry was a withdrawal from the operating account of Bulfinch & Orme.

Eleven point four million dollars, over two years, in sums small enough to hide.

The last page was dated the week my father died.

Each line carried the same blue signature, with the long loop on the A.

"Forged," I said aloud, to the empty room.

I said it again.

It sounded exactly as thin as it was.

Lucian slept on the mattress with one arm flung over his eyes.

I put the ledger in my bag, and a note on the table that said Don't follow me, and I left him sleeping.

It was five in the morning, and the streets were empty and blue.

I took the first train and then a cab, and I let myself in at Chestnut Street with my old key.

Hester was already in the parlor.

She was dressed, in her chair, with a cup of tea going cold on the table beside her.

She looked at my face and then at my bag, and she did not ask what was in it.

I took out the ledger and laid it in her lap.

"Page forty," I said. "Look at the signature."

She did not look down.

"Take that out of my house."

"It's Dad's handwriting."

"It is a Bulfinch forgery, and I won't have it in my parlor."

"You haven't looked."

"I don't need to look at what Leopold wants me to see."

"Then look at what you won't see." My voice shook. "Did you take his money?"

The clock on the mantel ticked for a long moment.

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