Page 10 of Trust No One

He scrutinized me, a troubled expression on his face. “How much is the Hale land worth?” he asked.

Located in wine country, close to Charlottesville, Richmond, and the Washington, DC, areas—it was a prime location. “Hundreds of millions of dollars if I sold it all.”

“Do you have plans to do that?”

I grimaced. “Ken’s asked me that several times.”

Judson frowned at the association with Ken. “And?”

“I don’t know. I need to determine what it’ll cost to save the property.”

It was a renovation expert’s dream. Hale House was a developer’s clubhouse waiting to happen.

“How much to fix it?” he asked.

“A fortune. The 1970s add-on kitchen and electrical rewiring cost over a hundred grand. That’s millions in today’s dollars.”

“Hell of a commitment.”

The lawyers were advising I sell. “It is.”

Seventeen years ago, I’d walked away from the rolling green hills soaked with Hale blood and a legacy spanning generations. The Alexandria town house I’d shared with Ken was a study in modern lines, glass windows, ten-foot ceilings. No history. No stories. No roots.

But when my life crumbled, I realized roots and history mattered. So I was back, wondering how much blood and sacrifice I was willing to give to Hale House.

“How much is Maria suing you for?” he asked.

“She wants half. My lawyer thinks she’s angling for a payout, and if I pay her off, she’ll drop the suit. She’s forgotten I made her daughter my heir.”

“Why did you make Molly your beneficiary?”

“She and I are the last Hales.” Blood mattered to my family.

“Over a decade before she’s of age,” he said. “Whoever has custody of the child controls the estate.”

“Yes.”

Ken had talked about having children, but I’d always found a reason to delay. A good thing, in the end. So many generations of Hales on this land, and that revered legacy rested on my shoulders and those of one little girl.

Anger leaked out. “Gabe loves his wife. He’d never take Molly’s mother away.”

“Better to think this way now, so we can clear Gabe as a suspect. I’ve always liked the guy. When I moved back to town, he was great. Showed me around, helped me find a house. Maria and Gabe had me over for dinner. I hate all this.”

“When did you get back?” I asked. “I thought you were stationed in Richmond.”

When Maria and I were still talking, she’d told me Judson had moved to the capital city to work in the Virginia State Police headquarters. He’d tackled the leadership of a gang task force and spent many months undercover. That kind of work had a high burnout rate, so it wasn’t a surprise he’d shifted directions, moved back here, and transferred to the Division Six based in Salem.

“A year ago.” He studied me. “Thought you’d never come back.”

“Life changes.”

“I heard something about an assault.”

I resisted the urge to touch my neck, still sensitive to the touch. “Three weeks ago, a client attacked me.”

We’d been in the courthouse interview room when Pete Miller, a mid-thirties electrician with large, muscled arms, launched himself over the table. In the seconds before the cops pulled him off, he’d left me with cracked ribs, a crushed windpipe, and a bruised cheekbone. “I took it as a sign to refocus.”

Judson waited. When I didn’t elaborate, he asked, “Where’s this former client?”