Page 13 of Justice Denied

You got that?

The impatience ignited a spurt of anger, but she tamped it down and responded with a thumbs up emoji. At her desk, which sat outside Ryan Topher’s office on the top floor, she put away her purse and phone, then booted up her computer.

“Ready for the meeting, Mae?”

Ryan held a cup of coffee, as if to silently reprimand her for having to get it himself from the small kitchen down the hall.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic…” She grabbed her steno pad and sharpened pencils. Ryan refused to allow her to take notes on a tablet or laptop during board meetings, preferring her to record the minutes in shorthand. No matter it made extra work for her to transcribe them afterwards. At least Peter Topher, her former boss, had the decency to remember her birthday and ask after Anderson sometimes. Peter had even sent flowers to her father’s funeral, something Ryan had failed even to acknowledge.

Ryan turned on his heel and retraced his steps to the large conference room where the board always met, leaving her to scurry behind him. She slipped in, taking her usual seat in the corner next to the vent, which blew cold or hot air directly on her, depending on the season. Today, the air blew cold since the outside temperatures were expected to hit the low eighties. Another touch of summer even though the calendar said late September.

“Are we ready to begin?” Ryan settled into the chair at the head of the table and opened a folder.

“Isn’t your father joining us?” Chester Cane, a long-time board member folded his hands on his folder.

“Since my father no longer runs the day-to-day operations of this company, I don’t think his presence is necessary.” Ryan’s smooth tone belied the tightening of his mouth.

Mae recognized his annoyance and mentally sighed. If this didn’t go well, Ryan would be in a foul mood all day and make her life even more difficult.

“But this isn’t about the daily operations,” Brooke Williams protested. “This is about the bid for a hostile takeover from Maxwell Technology.”

“Which is why I decided to attend.” Peter Topher shut the door with enough force to rattle the china coffee cups in their matching saucers. He glared at his oldest son, who hadn’t moved from his place.

“Then by all means, join us.” Ryan nodded to an empty chair near the foot of the table.

Mae moved her pencil over the page, quietly recording all conversation. This wouldn’t be included in the official meeting minutes, but her tormentor would want to know exactly who said what.

Peter shrugged and took the open seat. But if Ryan thought not giving his father the head seat would send a message as to Peter’s importance in the meeting, Chester disabused him of that by directly asking Peter what they should do to combat the takeover bid.

Mae effortlessly kept up with the torrent of words as the atmosphere in the board room heated up. Good thing the A/C was on today—maybe it would cool things off. As she flipped to a fresh page, she worried about what the next assignment from her mysterious contact would be, because she had no doubt this was only the beginning of round two.

ChapterSix

Jetta hadn’t believed her mother could ever look frail, her personality had always been so larger-than-life. After her father had died, Mom had returned to teaching high school English, spending most of her academic career at a Title I school in Washington DC. Her stories of facing down student gang members had made Jetta’s hair curl but most of her students had loved her.

Now as Jetta hovered in the doorway of the physical therapy room at the rehab center watching her mother lift weights with a therapist’s assistance, she noted new lines on her mother’s face and pain pinches bracketing her mouth and eyes. Learning the additional burden her mother had carried about her husband being accused of embezzlement made her admire how Mom had shielded Jetta from the truth. But that admiration didn’t excuse her mother’s failure to inform Jetta about what happened to her father.

“One more, Emily. You can do it.” The therapist’s gentle but firm encouragement seemed to spur Mom on to finish the rep. “All done for today. You did good.”

“I don’t feel like I’m making any progress. Probably won’t until this blasted cast is off.” Mom wobbled a bit, and the therapist guided her to a waiting wheelchair.

Jetta stepped into the room. “Hi, Mom.”

“You’re early.” Mom still sounded grumpy, but Jetta didn’t take it personally. Her mother never liked to be seen as weak by anyone, even one of her daughters. “But since you’re here, you can take me back to my room.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jetta gave a mock salute.

“I don’t need your sarcasm, young lady. I brought you into this world—”

Jetta finished the familiar saying with her mother, “And I can take you out of this world.”

A faint smile creased Mom’s face. Jetta dropped a light kiss on her forehead, then aimed the wheelchair toward the door. “Ready, set, go!” She pushed the chair as fast as she could, sliding out of the door and into the wide hallway.

“Jetta! It isn’t a race.” The banked laughter in her mother’s voice gave lie to the scold.

“Yes, ma’am.” She slowed her pace a fraction to make a right turn, then sprinted down the long, empty hall. The wheels sped along the polished linoleum.

“Wheee!” Mom pumped a fist in the air.

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