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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.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The scraping of silverware against the porcelain plates grated Abby’s nerves. She swallowed a bite of food, then grit her teeth. Like she needed one more thing to set her on edge.
Though her parents made small talk throughout the meal, supper dragged on—seconds turning to minutes, minutes seeming to turn into hours. Abby glanced over at the clock on the dining room wall, noting only twenty minutes had passed. She wondered if that was an appropriate amount of time to endure the painstaking process of eating despite the churning in her stomach and pretending everything was okay.
Her gaze flicked from her plate to her grandfather. He ate, his expression placid, unreadable. Everything had changed in the last twenty-four hours, starting with their conversation last night and ending with her discovery this morning.
The same crinkles webbed around his blue eyes. The same deep parentheses ensconced his mouth. Tufts of downy white hair still ringed his balding head, and he still carried himself with confidence and the contentedness of the aged, having lived a lifetime and many storms. Only, Abby knew he was the storm and not the ships tossed at sea. He hadn’t survived anything. He had been the thing to survive. And many didn’t. Not the countless Jews he killed, Yoel, Lawson, or McBride.
Abby took another bite of chicken and chewed, trying to swallow it over the growing lump. Boring a hole through the side of her grandfather’s face, she wondered what would happen in the next twenty-four hours—how things would play out.
“Abby, is everything okay?” her mother asked.
With a start, Abby shifted her gaze. “Yeah. Just tired.” She flashed her a half-hearted smile, then returned to her food before deciding it was a lost cause and excusing herself from the table for the evening.
She made her way up to her bedroom on wooden legs, like a person headed to the guillotine. The clock was ticking. Any time now, Levine could arrive with his warrant.
Settling down on her bed, exhaustion blanketed her. Stress sunk into every pore of her body until she blinked her sleepy eyes up at the ceiling.
As her thoughts slowed with the lull of oncoming sleep, they drifted to Kaden. She pictured his pained expression. She felt the warmth of his touch on her arm, and his words reverberated in her head, echoing in her cavernous thoughts.
