I turned to page two, and my hands went cold. It was a signed home equity loan for forty thousand dollars against our house, with my forged signature again at the bottom. The lender’s name was printed in bold, and beneath it sat a date from nine months earlier. My mother-in-law leaned over my shoulder, read the amount, and gasped. “Forty thousand?” she whispered. “He told us the cards were a bonus.”

His sister stepped away from him as if he were contagious. My husband finally found his voice. “Megan, I can explain, but not in front of the kids.” Behind me, Dad set down his pitchfork and walked slowly across the yard. “Son,” he said quietly, “I think you should sit down. Because I already know what that loan paid for, and so does the sheriff.”