The handwriting analyst's report arrived at seven in the morning.
I read it in the hospital bed while Lucas slept against my side and Eli occupied the bassinet with the focused commitment to sleep that was becoming his defining characteristic and that I was already, twelve hours into knowing him, deeply fond of. Lucian was in the chair, he had not gone home, had not slept in anything that qualified as sleep, had spent the night in the specific vigilant half-rest of a man who had decided that presence was more important than comfort.
The report was fourteen pages. I read all of them.
The analyst — a Dr. Raymond Chu, certified forensic document examiner with thirty years of federal court experience, had examined the founding document of the Prescott Family Foundation and my bar license si
