I stared at the letter Gabe had ripped up. It didn’t really matter that he’d destroyed the document, I had already emailed a signed copy to the court to verify that Gabe had fulfilled his sentence requirements.
But I still felt like a bomb had gone off in my office. Maybe I had spoken too rashly, too harshly. I was in fact overjoyed that someone had stepped up to help Isaiah Harvey. I mean, if I had thousands of dollars at my disposal, I would have happily done it myself. The problem was, Gabriel didn’t have thousands of dollars in cash. And I was a bit shocked that his brother had been ready and willing to lend out that kind of money to a man who was barely out of rehab a month.
In my former professional capacity as a sobriety counselor, I definitely would have advised the family agains
