I checked twice.
Same routing number.
Same bank.
Same name.
“Of course,” I whispered. “Of course, it was her.”
Then I checked login records.
Every login leaves a footprint.
There were account accesses from my home while I was halfway around the world.
Same device signature.
Same location.
No attempt to hide it.
They had simply assumed I would never check.
Then I found a document uploaded three months earlier.
Power of attorney.
My name at the top.
Evelyn listed as authorized agent.
My signature at the bottom.
Except it wasn’t mine.
It resembled mine enough to fool someone unfamiliar with it, but the pressure and flow were wrong.
Copied.
Not written.
There was a witness signature and notary stamp too.
Official-looking.
Which made it worse.
This wasn’t simply theft.
It had been planned, documented, and filed.
I returned to the transactions and totaled them twice.
$45,000.
The money mattered.
But the access, intent, and forged paperwork mattered more.
I followed the trail beyond Evelyn’s account.
Large credits.
Irregular payments.
Then I saw the name attached to the debts.
Vance.
I stared at the screen and laughed once.
Sharp.
Of course.
Lieutenant Vance.
Perfect uniform.
Perfect posture.
Always talking about integrity and career progression.
Meanwhile, he was buried in gambling debt severe enough to require $45,000 to disappear quietly.
Debt that could destroy his security clearance.
And his career.
