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“Sir, Please Pretend You’re Sick And Step Off This Plane Right Now,” The Flight Attendant Whispered—And Her Words Made Sense Only Minutes Later When My Son And Daughter-In-Law Looked At Me With An Expression No Parent Should Ever See
The Numbers Tell the Truth
The next morning, I walked into my bank—Desert Valley Bank—and asked to see the manager, Linda James, an old colleague.
“Of course, Leonard. Is everything okay?”
“Not yet,” I said softly. “But it will be.”
The printouts were merciless.
For six months, money had been leaking out in precise amounts—small enough to avoid alerts but large enough to raise suspicion.
Forty-five thousand dollars.
Gone.
But the signatures…
The signatures were what froze me.
They looked similar to mine—but only similar. Anyone else might have believed them. But decades of studying documents had given me an instinct. These were copied, not written.
“These aren’t mine,” I said quietly.
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