Walter drove in silence through the empty Dallas streets, the heater roaring against my frozen hands. He passed me a thermos of soup and a folded blanket, and I ate without speaking. “Three weeks after the divorce, someone filed a death certificate in your name,” he said. “A woman matching your description was pulled from the Trinity River, and Brandon identified the body.” My spoon stopped. “He said it was me?” “He signed every form.”

The SUV turned into a gated driveway and stopped before a tall glass building. Walter pulled a thick folder from the seat. “Your name is still on four accounts, Nora,” he said quietly. “Money is moving through them every month.” Then he opened the folder, and the first photograph made my blood run cold.