Page 43 of Justice Denied

“Something troubling you? That young lady, perhaps?” The older man’s eyes twinkled as he asked the questions.

Seth’s cheeks heated with more than sweat from the workout. Ignoring the second question, he replied to the first. “I need to call some companies to ask about old invoices, but I don’t want them to know why I’m calling, and I don’t want to lie.”

“I see.” Clancy crossed his well-muscled arms over his barrel chest. “Would you call what you’re doing an audit of sorts?”

“Maybe.” Seth caught onto where he thought the gym owner was heading. “Perhaps I could say I’m reviewing the invoices without mentioning who I’m with or why.”

“Most people are too busy and wrapped up in their own lives to ask a bunch of questions, so you’re likely to get the info you want without too much fuss.” He slapped Seth on the shoulder. “Good luck, and bring that young lady of yours around sometime.”

“I will.” Seth didn’t bother explaining Jetta wasn’t his young lady. Not yet. Her buss on his cheek gave him more hope than he’d had in a while, though he could tell by Jetta’s wide eyes, her action might have startled her as well.

Back in the office after a quick shower, Seth checked his email for any last-minute assignments, and, finding none, started verifying the invoices. An hour later, he blew out a breath. All of the companies had what appeared to be legitimate websites. Time to start calling. The first call went as well as Clancy had predicted. The person in accounting simply took his word about an audit and assumed Seth was with Topher Robotics. Seth gained confidence with his cover story as the pile of invoices dwindled. But as each invoice proved legit, the thought of this being a wild goose chase took firm hold in his mind. He dialed the twelfth company, SafeSense Technologies, a firm that manufactured sensors.

When he explained what he wanted to the woman in accounting, she agreed to check and put him on a brief hold, which stretched to nearly five minutes. Seth was beginning to think she’d disconnected the call when a different person came on the line.

“This is Huey Reinhardt,” a man said. “After all this time, why are you asking about this invoice again?”

Seth immediately latched onto the last word in the question and pivoted away from his prepared speech. “As you know, Topher Robotics recently repelled a hostile takeover bid from Maxwell Technology.”

Before he could continue, Reinhardt broke in. “And you need to make sure we aren’t going to say something? Seriously? I told Ryan then and I’ll tell you now—we had no idea Dolores had been submitting fake invoices to Topher Robotics. She’d been an exemplary employee for more than a decade. When we discovered what had happened, we took immediate measures to change how we submit invoices, and we fired Ms. Green. We were assured by Ryan fifteen years ago this would not be brought up again. Good day.”

The man hung up. Seth replaced the receiver on his desk phone, his mind churning with the information he’d gleaned. Someone named Dolores Green at SafeSense Technologies had faked invoices to Topher Robotics, which had been discovered presumably as part of the internal investigation into the embezzlement Jay Ainsley had been accused of. The mention of Ryan Topher’s name was interesting. Seth quickly composed an email recapping the conversation and sent it to Brogan for background ahead of their interview.

Then he returned to SafeSense’s website, having earlier spotted a tab for company newsletters. As he’d hoped, the quarterly newsletter stretched back more than two decades, with older versions available as PDFs. He did a name search for Dolores Green to see if any of the issues mentioned her. A few hits returned, the top one being the winter edition from sixteen years ago. She sat in the front row of an accounting department photo beside a Christmas tree decorated with money symbols and dollar bills. Dolores appeared to be in her mid-50s, a plain, nondescript woman with faded brown hair scraped back into a tight bun.

The second issue from the following spring had a story about donations via a Caring Bridge page set up to help Dolores with medical bills related to Roxy, her beloved shiatzu’s cancer treatment. He clicked the Caring Bridge link, expecting it to be a dud, but to his surprise, the page pulled up. Although the donation button had been turned off, the text related Roxy’s fight, and it gave a south Arlington home address. He jotted it down, then closed out of his searches. He’d text Jetta and see if she wanted to stop by in the event Dolores Green still lived there and would talk to them about those fake invoices.

* * *

Mae Stanhope marcheddown the hallway of the research wing of Topher Robotics, her stride at odds with her jelly-filled insides. Her mysterious contact had texted the death emoji several times over the past couple of days, but Mae ignored it. She had to come up with a plausible reason to get the photographs the person wanted, and that couldn’t be rushed. Ryan had left for a round of golf with some of the board members, clearing the way for her late afternoon visit. Her boss never answered texts or calls on the course.

Reaching the door to the secret project, she paused and drew in a breath. She could do this. She had to. After knocking on the door, she waited, slowly counting to sixty before knocking again. She repeated it several times before the same man, wearing the same irritated expression, yanked open the door. Mae stepped forward immediately, her movement pushing the man back into the room. As she’d hoped, he closed the door behind her.

“What do you…”

Mae didn’t give him a chance to finish the question. “Ryan Topher needs a video of Vie in action. Now.”

The man crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve heard nothing of this.”

Mae leaned closer, channeling her boss’s most irritated tone. “Of course you wouldn’t have because emails and texts and phone calls can been compromised. That’s why he sent me directly. So are we going to stand here arguing, or are we going to get that video?” She waited a beat, then added, “Or do you want to see all your hard work vanish when Maxwell Technology takes over the company?”

She’d guessed right that the man feared his research would go to another company. He shrugged. “Come on back.”

Hiding her elation, Mae followed him deeper into the building. He used his handprint to open a door on the left. The windowless room had bright lights, gleaming white counters, and three people working on separate stations.

Her heart sank when she recognized Dr. Brian James and Dr. Jana Willis. She’d been hoping for more low-level employees where her status as Ryan’s personal assistant would carry more weight.

“What’s she doing here?” Dr. James charged toward them.

Mae let the other man explain, figuring he would want to justify his decision to let her into the inner sanctum.

“Don’t look at me. Ryan sent her to video Vie in action,” he snapped.

The other scientist joined them, her eyes narrowing. “I heard nothing of this.”

Mae stepped in. “You wouldn’t have because he gave me the order right before he left to make tee time.” The mention of golf—and the implication of Ryan being unavailable—gave the two scientists pause, if she correctly gauged their expressions. “Look, he wants a short video to show the board members in order to stop another takeover bid. The danger of Maxwell Technology swooping in isn’t over yet. There will be another vote, and soon.”

She debated whether to add anything about Maxwell Technology’s reputation for gutting a company of its most valuable assets and siphoning off promising research but decided not to overplay her hand. The scientists exchanged glances, then the woman firmed her lips and gave a small nod.

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