didn’t hang up.
“Mr. Ashford. You said he showed you a picture of the document. On his phone.”
“Yes.”
“What did it look like?”
“A deed. Your names. Cullen’s name. A lawyer’s letterhead at the top. Whitlock, I think it said.”
I felt the floor tilt a little under my chair.
Because there was only one document in the world that matched that description.
And it had been sitting in a sealed envelope on my front hall table since May.
I need to go back to May now.
In April,
