by Tia Souders
She wanted to push him aside, move him away from the gate so she wouldn’t have to face him.
She glanced at the ground by his sneakers instead of his face, unable to look him in the eye. Too mixed up inside to think straight, he made her simultaneously want to keep her secret, so he’d never know the ugly truth while wanting to spill everything. She needed a safe place to land, a soft place to fall as her world came tumbling down, and she wanted it so badly to be him that it hurt.
“I never should’ve involved you. Bringing you into all of this was a mistake,” she said, her voice thick, hating the way her eyes filled so easily with tears. It was like the dam on her emotions would never be repaired.
“Abby.” Kaden stepped forward and reached for her arm, but she took a step back, leaving him grasping in the air.
He shoved his hands in his pocket, and she tried to ignore the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with emotion, the way his voice sounded strained on his lips. “So that’s it? Did you and I...was this nothing? Are you going to say now this was only about me helping you?”
Abby brought her hands up to her face, kneading her temples in an effort to ease the drumbeat drilling holes in her brain. She could barely think, let alone make decisions she might regret.
“Of course not,” she said, trying to regain some sense of self, of what she really wanted. “But I need to do this alone. I won’t get you in any more trouble, and I won’t take you down with me. You’ve helped enough already and don’t owe me anything else. I’ve already gotten you into trouble twice now, and I’m not helping you by dragging you into this.”
His mouth twisted. “Won’t take me down with you? What in the world are you talking about?”
When she said nothing, he moved closer. “Since when have we been keeping score? I wasn’t aware we were keeping track of who’s helping who, but if you wanna know the truth, Abby...” He stepped toward her, slow and deliberate movements like he might spook her. “...you helped me more than you can ever know. And if you don’t realize how much, then you haven’t been paying attention. You taught me it’s okay to disagree with my dad and that it’s okay to have a life. You taught me that we need to take risks and make our own choices. And even if we screw up, that’s okay, too. You taught me to live for myself instead of everyone else around me. You showed me what it’s like to put myself out there, even if it’s scary, to open my heart to someone. You taught me that love is worth fighting for. And maybe we’re young and I sound foolish because we’ve only gotten to know each other these last couple weeks, but it’s how I feel. It’s my truth.”
When she said nothing, could barely even look at him, he slumped in defeat. She bit her lip, holding back, and when it became clear she wouldn’t reciprocate, he stepped away from her, toward the gate before finally leaving. And as Abby watched, she felt the loss of him like a hole in her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Abby sat in the constricting confines of the Beetle, her heart leaden in her chest. She knew what she needed to do.
Her eyes flickered to the pool house, where the Belladonna bush hid among the shadows. Gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles turned white with her inner struggle. Her heart and head wouldn’t align, and she didn’t have time to wait until they did.
No matter how much she loved him, no matter how good her grandfather was to their family, he was a fraud, a murderous liar as vicious today as he was more than sixty years ago during the war. He wasn’t Irma Mentz turned family man. He was born Irma Mentz, a young German boy. Through life and circumstance, or maybe just the blackness in his heart, he became The Butcher of Auschwitz and never turned back. Not even for a fresh start or his new family. Ensuring his freedom and safety trumped all.
Taking a deep breath, Abby grit her teeth and set her jaw, then grabbed the box from the back seat, the one that held the journal, GG’s letters, and other evidence she had collected over the past few weeks.
Nerves leapt in her belly as she plucked the business card out of the box, then retrieved her phone from her pants pocket and dialed. Her hands shook as she punched in the number and waited as it rang.
A clipped voice answered. “Office of Special Investigations, U.S. Department of Justice.”
Abby squeezed her eyes shut, praying for strength to do the right thing. Blinking, she exhaled and said, “Kenneth Levine, please.”
THE INVESTIGATOR LEANED back in his seat, pencil tapping the stack of papers in front of him as he eyed Abby like he had no idea what to make of her.
His salt and pepper hair was shorn close to his head, and the suit he wore was slightly rumpled. His narrow gaze and calculated expression had registered with Abby immediately. He had been the man at Daily Grind, the one she thought was watching her.
“I have to admit when you called and sent me that picture from your phone, I was floored.” He scratched his jaw. “I wish my secretary had told me you’d called sooner. Someone recently tipped me off with some information, and I had been looking into it, but this...”
Is that why he had been watching her? Who in the world could’ve tipped him off?
He glanced down at everything she had given him. “So, let me make sure I have this straight. Your deceased grandmother sent you a letter that spurned your hunt to uncover a family secret. And you found all of this,” he clarified.
Abby nodded, saying nothing.
He leaned forward and flicked through the images on Abby’s phone while he spoke. “I’m impressed.” Setting the phone down, he beamed. “This is amazing. I’m not sure you realize what you’ve done.”
Oh, she knew.
A voice inside screamed to take it back. But it was too late.
“Is it enough?” she asked.
She struggled to breathe as she waited for his answer, suppressing the nagging ache in her chest worse than a toothache.
Mr. Levine clucked his tongue. “With the information we already had, this should be more than enough. We suspected he was in the states for years but couldn’t pinpoint his whereabouts. Before his death, Lawson had called and indicated he had information on a war criminal, but since all we had was his recording before he died, we had no idea if it was legit or even who he was referring to. I had done a little recon though, and after I got an anonymous tip two weeks ago, I was watching him.”
Abby’s skin pricked. “But you were following me. Not him. I saw you.”
Mr. Levine frowned. “We always followed your grandfather.”
“But that first day in the café, the one where Kaden and I were talking, and then when I was there again with Ms. Gut—”
“He was there.”
Abby sunk back into her chair. “No.” She shook her head.
It wasn’t possible. She would’ve seen him, wouldn’t she?
“I assure you. Your grandfather was there that day you were with Kaden. I remember you. He was watching. Both times.”
His voice faded to the background.
Abby swallowed as she tried to reconcile herself with what he just told her. He was watching me...
Goosebumps spread over her arms and legs as a chill shook her. The person who had gone through her stuff was him, looking to see what all she had found.
Abby tried to clear her head. The incessant thoughts, the pounding in her brain, and the vibrating of her pulse in her ears made it too hard. She wanted to walk away. Leave and never come back. She wanted to forget all this ever happened but knew it was impossible.
She inhaled a cleansing breath, then glanced back up at him and tried for a smile, but her lips barely budged. She slid the key to the storage unit across the desk. An image of Kaden and the memory of their drive to Newberry flashed in her head, along with the moment he spotted the billboard with the ad for the storage unit—his lightbulb moment that led them straight to it.
She swallowed as he took the key from her, pretending a dagger hadn’t entered her heart like the memories meant nothing.
“This will get you the chest. And everyth
ing else is here,” she said, motioning toward the box of evidence.
“It won’t take long to get a search warrant. After that, an arrest is imminent. We don’t normally do this, but as a courtesy, I could stall and give you twenty-four hours, if you want it.”
Abby pursed her lips, thinking. Whether to warn her parents was a question she had pondered on the drive in from Fairfax, and she hadn’t come to a definitive conclusion until now.
“No. Even once you make the arrest, I’m not telling them I knew. I realize they might find out later, but...” She shrugged.
“Okay. Your choice.”
Abby sighed. “I don’t know if they’d even believe me if I told them I was the one to uncover it all. Part of me still doesn’t believe it myself. Regardless, this will ruin them. Especially my mother. It will tear her down, and I know there’s a chance I might have to testify about everything I found, but if there’s even a small possibility she never has to know I was the one, I’d like to take it. There are some secrets worth keeping.” Her voice cracked, but she composed herself.
No more tears.
“I understand.”
She pushed back from her chair and stood. Mr. Levine had everything he needed, and if she sat there any longer, she’d break. Having a meltdown in the middle of the Office of Special Investigations was not top on her list of things to do. Before she turned, she gestured toward the evidence. “You promise once the investigation and everything is over, you’ll give the journal to Anna Gutman? She deserves to have it back in her family, where it belongs.”
“You have my word,” Mr. Levine said.
“And tell her I’m sorry.”
Mr. Levine shook his head. “You’re one brave girl. You have nothing to be sorry about. You know that, right? You are not responsible for the things your grandfather did. And I think you’ve more than proven your character by coming here today.”
“I don’t feel brave,” Abby whispered, cursing silently as the moisture returned to her eyes.
“Doesn’t mean you’re not.” Then, as if sensing her inner struggle, he added, “Bravery is a choice, Miss Bridges. It’s not inherent or given. It’s a choice we make. And real courage is tested not by those who simply make hard choices but by those who stand by them. Even in the face of fear and recrimination.”
Abby blinked, soaking in his words like a lifeline. Maybe he was right. On the chance he was, she’d keep them, stored away in her heart until she was ready and able to accept them.
With a small wave, she turned, preparing herself to go home and wait for them to come.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Mr. Levine stepped in front of her. “You do realize once we move on this, all his funds, any money tied to him will be frozen, including your trust fund.”
Abby nodded. “I don’t want the money.” Especially now. “It was never about that. I wanted to do this for my grandmother. Maybe somewhere along the line, I started doing it for myself, too.”
“Well, you’ll have the reward money.” Mr. Levine shoved his hands in his pants. “If you don’t plan on telling your parents this was your discovery, how do you want us to handle it?”
Abby frowned, not understanding. “Reward money?”
Levine narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. The reward for information leading to Mentz’s arrest. I mean, assuming this all checks out. But it’s solid—”
“There was a reward?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
Abby stilled. Her eyes widened, and her head spun with the revelation.
She stumbled, grasping at the chair in front of her for balance.
Lawson. It all clicked into place. This was his big break. Not just because of the notoriety it would get him but because of the reward money.
Abby brought her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. It made so much sense. Once he found out who her grandfather was and accessed the storage unit, finding his proof, he called GG and let her know he found something. Then, he found Levine’s information. But it was late, so the DOJ’s office would’ve been empty. There would’ve been no one there to speak with him before he was murdered.
Opening her eyes, Abby chewed the inside of her cheek, staring at Levine, unsure of what to tell him. The last thing she wanted was the reward money. But maybe...
She reached out and gripped Levine’s arm, a thrill of excitement penetrating her melancholy for the first time in the past week.
Here was her bright side.
“Can you give the money to someone else?”
“It’s your reward money, so—”
“Good.” She stepped away from him, the blood tingling in her veins as she scribbled Mr. Oliver’s information on a scrap of paper, then thrust it into Levine’s hands.
“Here! He doesn’t really know it, but this officer helped me. His son was with me when we found the chest. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have figured everything out. He deserves the reward more than me. I could never take it,” Abby said, backing up as she spoke, already heading for the exit.
She had one more place to stop before home, and she needed to get there fast, before Levine got his warrants.
“And you may want to reopen a murder case for Greg Lawson. Mr. Oliver will have the files. Look into the belladonna and my grandfather.”
“Okay,” Mr. Levine said, frowning, but Abby didn’t have time to explain.
She smiled for the first time since discovering the truth.
She may not have control over her grandfather, and she might be responsible for the destruction of her parents’ lives as they knew it, but at least she could make a difference with someone. At least she could use her grandmother’s secret for some good.
She turned and ran out of the office, outside to her car, hoping Mr. Klein’s office had reopened since the break-in.
It was time for a consult.
MR. KLEIN’S OFFICE gleamed with freshly polished glass. A couple of workers milled about, installing a new high-tech security system along with new locks on the doors.
Abby watched them work from her seat in front of Klein’s desk as she waited, thinking of the very first time she sat in the same chair. It was after the first letter. After the journal. She had been so thirsty for answers, needing to displace her grief and the loss of GG into something she could control. Something tangible.
But now the search was over, and the full force of her loss came full circle, combining with the betrayal and shock of her grandfather’s secret past.
Mr. Klein entered and closed the door behind him, taking a seat in the same hulking mahogany desk across from her. “Sorry. I had to deal with insurance stuff. I assume you’re here for answers or for another letter. Did you know that after the break-in there was only one file I noticed was missing?” he said, with a raised brow. “Not very smart on account of the perpetrator.”
Abby’s straightened in her chair. “It wasn’t me.”
Mr. Klein steepled his hands in front of him. “I didn’t think you’d be here if it was.”
Abby sighed, relieved. When she decided to come there, she hadn’t even thought about the possibility he may blame her for the stolen file.
Mr. Klein shifted in his seat. “As for Gloria’s letters, I have the auto-backup on most files—wills, financial asset documentation, and whatnot. Her letters, however, are not among those things. They’re gone. I’m sorry. Whoever took them didn’t want you reading whatever else she had to say.”
Abby squared her shoulders, allowing the longing for GG—and whatever parting words she had left for her—to wash over her like a crushing wave. As she swallowed the bitter pill of the stolen letters, she hadn’t realized how much she had hoped for more. She had calculated them in her grief. She wagered her loss on the remaining words GG had for her like she could bide her time and ride this thing out. Clinging to the notion GG had not completely left her, she needed those letters.
Based on the way Mr. Klein gazed over at her with a crease in his brow and concern in his eyes, s
he guessed he had an idea of who broke into his office as well. No matter how many times he told Abby he knew nothing, she still got the feeling he knew otherwise. But she didn’t have the time nor the inclination to fight his denial. What Mr. Klein did and did not know was irrelevant now. Abby came here on a mission, and if she succeeded in anything, it had to be this one thing.
She squared her shoulders in the face of the crappy hand she had been dealt these last few weeks and said, “I need a lawyer.”
He stared at her a moment with a professional eye, all business, hands steepled in front of him. “So, you are finished. I wasn’t sure if you were or if you came here in the hopes of more information.”
Abby nodded. “I’m finished.”
“Then let’s discuss why you need representation—”
“It’s not for me,” Abby said, interrupting. She felt the time-crunch like a hole in her chest. With every breath, with every beat of her heart, she needed to hurry before Mr. Levine got his warrants and froze her assets.
Mr. Klein frowned. “Then for who?”
“I’ve already made a decision of what I’m going to do with the information I discovered. In fact, it’s already been taken care of, which is why we need to hurry. I’m supposed to have access to my trust fund now, right?”
Mr. Klein nodded, staring at her intently, and the knot in her chest loosened.
“Good. I want you to electronically wire a large sum out of the trust for yourself, as a retainer. Today. Now. I can sign whatever you need. I want to hire you to help a friend. He needs to reduce his debts. He has old medical bills from a deceased family member, credit card debt, and a second mortgage. He’s been bogged down by it for years, and I think you could probably help him come to a settlement. I have a feeling he’s being gouged. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” he said and narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you—”
“I’m sure. The rest of the money will be gone soon. Even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t care. I don’t want any of it. But we need to transfer the money right now and put this retainer in Mr. Oliver’s name. Just tell me where to sign.”
