My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
He opened the manila folder. Inside was a single sheet of green paper. It was an internal bank transfer slip, the kind used for large-volume wire movements.
Rachel stood up and leaned over the desk. I stood up with her.
My eyes went straight to the bottom of the green page. There was a signature line marked with a black X.
The name written on the line was Olivia Carter.
The handwriting was neat. The letters were rounded, the O in Olivia perfectly circular.
I felt a cold sensation in the back of my neck. My hand went to my watch strap again, pulling it until the metal pinched my skin.
“I was not in Craig on December twenty-one,” I said. “I was in Kiowa. I was sitting in my truck outside my father’s house.”
“The transfer was processed at our drive-up window in Kiowa,” Vance said. “At three in the afternoon.”
“The day before Christmas Eve,” Rachel said.
“Yes,” Vance said.
