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He paused, then shrugged. “Fair point. So you think what? The widow and lawyer—”
“Were working together, yes.” Nodding, I leaned forward and explained. “In the past month, two different people at two different times in two different places have overheard her on the phone with this man who faked his own death. They’re in league together somehow. And from one conversation, it sounds like he’s currently trying to get more money from her.” I tapped my finger against the will. “I think she paid Finley to alter the will either before or after Arthur died so she could inherit basically everything.”
Gutierrez nodded slowly. “Okay. Makes sense. It’s something worth checking into anyway. But quick question. Who was this Judge guy to you?”
I sat up respectfully straighter. “He was my stepfather.”
The detective paused. Then shook his head. “So the widow you think stole all her husband’s money is your…?”
“Biological mother,” I answered, scowling at him for making me admit it. “Yes.”
“Ahh.” He nodded as if he had everything figured out now. “So you and your mom don’t get along, eh?”
Fury bubbled inside me. Did he really think I was doing this merely to hurt Lana? “This isn’t about revenge, detective. She stole millions from my stepsister.”
He squinted as if trying to understand. “You got a thing for the stepsister, then?”
“What?” I blinked at him, unable to believe such a ridiculous suggestion. “No! I have a thing for justice, you moron. What Lana Judge did was wrong on so many levels. How can I just stand aside and let her get away with hurting all those people? And she just keeps doing it, too. It needs to stop. She needs to stop.”
He studied me for a long moment before finally nodding. “All right. I can respect a hankering for justice. I’ll do some digging on my end, see what I can dig up. You’ll update me if you come across anything else that might be useful here, though, right?”
“Of course.” I stood and held out a hand. “Thank you for your time, detective.”
He shook with me, answering, “Thanks for coming to me with your suspicions, even if it might end up with your own mother landing in jail.”
I glanced away, ignoring the guilt that slashed through my gut. “Yes, well, good day.”
I strode from the precinct, feeling shaken.
I’d done it. I’d told the authorities about my suspicions concerning Lana. Even if I did nothing now, it was too late to take back. Other people would be looking into her, maybe even finding her guilty. And that would be on me, because I’d pointed it out.
Suddenly, I realized why I’d never shared my theories with anyone e
lse before. Not even Brick or Kaitlynn. It was because in my own head, it didn’t have to be real. It was just a thought. A what-if. But now that I’d involved others, Lana could actually end up punished, hurt. Despite the fact that she deserved it, I was the one who’d put it all into motion and basically delivered her sentence.
I didn’t love her, I knew that, but—I don’t know. Hurting her seemed like a taboo line I shouldn’t cross, like crossing it would doom my own soul.
Because what kind of monster brought down his own mother?
At my car, I paused and blew out a breath, glancing down the street. Deep down, my darkest fear was that I’d turn out like her. Some of the biggest decisions I’d made in life were chosen to avoid that very possibility. But what if doing this didn’t make me any better? What if it made me worse than her?
Then again, what would happen if I didn’t do it?
Unsettled to the core, I climbed into my car and thought about Gabby. I wished I could’ve been able to pick her up from work. But she’d be home now, and thus, I had no legitimate reason to see her. To talk to her.
She might’ve actually understood what I was going through too. She was the only person I’d ever confided in about any of this shit. And yesterday, she’d helped me work through these very concerns. I had a feeling she could help me through them now as well.
But I wouldn’t get to see her again until Monday.
Jesus, that felt like eons away.
Shaking my head over this strange dependency I’d developed for a woman I’d only recently met, I started the car and pulled out onto the street, realizing I wasn’t far from Mooney’s, an auto repair shop I visited from time to time, since it was where Isaac worked.
Wondering if he’d still be there this late on a Friday, I found myself turning that way and pulling into the parking lot in front of the garage minutes later. The large bay doors were open and a light was on inside. I could see someone bent over the engine of a truck with the hood popped.
Stepping from my car, I shut the door behind me and started that way, sliding my hands into the pockets of my slacks as I went.
“Just a sec,” a familiar voice called from under the hood as he heard my approach. “I’ll be right with you.”
