“You’ll see the signature on the will doesn’t remotely match the signature on the policy,” I said.

Without looking up, she asked, “Did he authorize someone else to sign the policy on his behalf?”

“Brendan Scott specifically told me that Ryan signed the policy in Scott’s office and in his presence.”

She looked at me, troubled. “Have you asked Brendan about this?”

“I wanted to talk to you first. You told me the first time we talked that you bought this policy from Scott. Have you bought others?”

“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word. “We buy a lot of policies from Confederation, not just in San Francisco, but nationally.” She frowned. “Are you implying that Brendan forged Ryan’s signature?”

“Does Western States independently verify that these are legitimate policies?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “Confederation Insurance is an established company that writes thousands of policies a year. We trust them implicitly. Besides, what would be the point of Scott fabricating policies?”

“You told me he sells them at a profit to you. Isn’t that motive enough?”

She thought about it. “That’s true but—it’s like this. He brings us a policy with a thousand dollar premium and we buy it for fifteen hundred, so he makes five hundred the first year. But in the second year, he has to forward the premium to us, minus ten percent for his administrative costs.”

“So, in year two, he has to come up with nine hundred dollars to pay the premium on the policy he sold you the year before for fifteen hundred.”

“Exactly,” she said. “That year and every other year as long as the policy is in force, he owes us nine hundred dollars. If he had to pay it out of his own pocket because a policy’s fake, where’s his profit? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless, of course,” I ventured, “he sold you five other fake policies and made twenty-five hundred on them. He could pay the premium on the first policy with your own money and still make a profit.”

“You’re describing a Ponzi scheme. I’ve known Brendan for years. That’s not something he would do. There has to be a simple explanation for why Ryan didn’t sign the policy. Go talk to Brendan.”

“Before I do that, why don’t you let me see the last twenty or thirty policies you bought from him. If they all check out, then clearly, you’re right and there’s an innocent explanation but if not—”

She picked up her phone and instructed her assistant to pull the last thirty policies from Brendan Scott. “You’re not going to find anything amiss,” she said.

I tapped Ryan’s policy and said, “I already have.”

I sat at the top of Dolores Park, the cityscape unfolding in the clear, bright air. I felt a hand on my shoulder, looked up, and Adam smiled at me.