Page 20 of When You're Alone

Rebecca nodded, wiping at her cheeks with a tissue. “Yes. We were… well, separated. I’ve been staying here at the penthouse. We were… trying to reconcile.” She exhaled shakily. “Geoffrey had a gambling problem. A real addiction. He sought help recently, but I was giving him space to see if he could truly change.”

Finn leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice gentle. “Was this gambling connected to The Monarch Club, by any chance? We understand he was a member.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “The Monarch Club was the entire reason he spiraled. He’d go there, swearing it was just social gatherings. Next thing I knew, he’d lose thousands in clandestine card games or bets. When I asked him to stop, it was always ‘just one more time.’ But you can’t shut it down—these men are powerful, covering for each other. I loathe that place.”

Amelia nodded empathetically. “So you suspect illegal gambling goes on there?”

“Illegal, hush-hush, well-laundered—call it what you like,” Rebecca snapped, wiping tears again. “One evening he came home so shaken, said he owed a man tens of thousands. He insisted he’d fix it, pay it back. But the pattern never ended.”

“Was Sir Richard Doyle ever mentioned to you?” Amelia asked.

“They had dealings with each other,” Mrs. Wardlow explained. “They were friendly, but not close.”

Finn exchanged a look with Amelia, a silent I-told-you-so about the club’s rumored high-stakes games. “Mrs. Wardlow, did Geoffrey mention if he had any enemies? Someone who might want to do him harm because of these debts?”

She swallowed, eyes flickering with frustration. “He never gave names. Just vague references to ‘people who wouldn’t be crossed twice.’ I pressed him, but he shut down.”

Amelia’s voice was calm. “Could this be retribution for unpaid debts?”

Rebecca slumped back against the cushion. “Possibly. Or maybe he was blackmailed. I don’t know. He said he was trying to fix everything so we could be a family again. Now…” Tears welled again, and she drew in a trembling breath. “It’s all ended in violence.”

They asked the usual procedural follow-ups: when she last saw Geoffrey, whether he had admitted a specific sum of debt, if she remembered any suspicious phone calls. She did her best to answer, though her mind wandered, her words punctuated by sobs. Eventually, they sensed she’d told them all she could without unraveling further.

Finn stood, meeting her gaze with quiet sympathy. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Wardlow. We know how hard this is. If anything else surfaces—any detail—please contact us.”

She rose unsteadily, hugging her arms around her torso. “I will,” she managed. Then her voice turned bitter. “Whoever killed him, I hope you find them. The Monarch Club claims to uphold class, but… it devours people. If you can shut it down, do it.”

With that, the conversation closed. The maid reappeared to show them out. Finn and Amelia offered subdued goodbyes, acknowledging her grief with a final glance. The penthouse door gently clicked shut behind them, leaving the echo of grief in the corridor’s hush.

They walked back to the elevator, neither speaking until they stepped inside the sleek metal car. The doors slid shut, and an equally painful elevator music track replaced the previous. Finnstifled a groan. Amelia stared at the floor indicator, lips pressed tight.

He broke the silence. “So, it’s official: Geoffrey Wardlow was knee-deep in high-stakes gambling at The Monarch. And ironically, that’s the same angle we keep seeing with Sir Richard.”

Amelia nodded. “All roads lead back to The Monarch.”

Finn exhaled, leaning against the mirrored wall. "At least we have an inroad—secret gambling. We just don't know who's orchestrating it or how big it is. If we could confirm which members partake or who the big sharks are, it might point us to the killer. We're dealing with such powerful figures that I'm concerned they'll use their influence and put roadblocks in the way during a standard investigation so they can all keep their noses clean. The truth will get buried. We need… A different approach..."

She cast a sidelong glance at him. “This is true, but why do I have a sinking feeling you have a bad idea brewing?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “We need someone on the inside, don’t we? A fresh face, able to sniff out these clandestine games. Someone they’ll talk to. Someone who can get the info we need because they’ll have looser lips in private, away from an interview room at a police station, lawyer-ed up with the best money can buy. Someone who isn’t what they seem.”

Amelia gave him a wry look. “An undercover job at The Monarch? You do realize how exclusive that place is. You can’t just waltz in.”

Finn straightened, turning to face his reflection in the polished elevator mirror. He tugged on his jacket lapels, attempting a refined pose, nose in the air. Then, in an exaggerated British accent, he said, “But of course, my dear Inspector, I’m quite the English gentleman, old chap. Spot of tea and a crumpet, yes?”

Amelia let out a snort, half-choking on laughter. “You look and sound ridiculous. We don't talk like that any more than every second word out of an American's mouth is baseball or hot dog”

He grinned at his own reflection, ignoring her jab. “Don’t crush my dream. With a nice tailored suit, some arrogant swagger, and a borrowed accent, I could pass for an upper-class investor. Or some American transplant with bottomless pockets.”

She folded her arms. “You realize it’ll take more than a fancy suit to fool those guys, especially if any of them are suspicious of new faces. We were already in the club, though no members were present. Some of the staff might recognize you.”

He winked at her in the reflection. “I’ve got ideas about that too.”

She shook her head, but her lips curved upward. “I don't like this. It seems dangerous.”

The elevator eased to a stop, and a gentle ding signaled they’d reached the lobby. Finn turned away from the mirror. He could still see amusement and caution battling in her eyes. “I’ll work out the details,” he said softly. “But I’d bet everything that the key to solving these murders is to be found in the club's gambling circles.”

As the doors slid open, Amelia stepped out, throwing him a quick sidelong look. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble with the upper crust.”

---