Page 46 of Justice Denied

“Mr. Reinhardt even had statements from a bank account in the Cayman Islands in my name showing I had deposited several thousand dollars that corresponded with two of the invoices.” Dolores shook her head. “No matter what I said, no one would believe that I hadn’t done this.”

“How did things end?”

Again, Jetta was struck by the empathy in Seth’s tone and posture.

“They decided they wouldn’t prosecute me if I agreed to resign and pay back the money they said I took.” The bitterness in Dolores’s voice told Jetta what she thought of that deal. “I’d worked for SafeSense for twenty-five years, and they threw me out like garbage.”

“I’m guessing you took the deal.” Seth closed his notebook.

“I had no choice, not when they threatened me with prison if I didn’t.” She sighed. “I wanted to call their bluff and insist on a full investigation, but I had no resources to fight them. I did call a couple of law firms and see if someone would take my case pro bono, but no one would.” She crossed to an old-fashioned secretary and lowered the lid. She removed a brown envelope similar to the one Jetta’s mother had received.

“Here.” Dolores thrust the envelope at Seth. “This is the agreement they forced me to sign. They wouldn’t broadcast what I had done, but they would if I ever worked in an accounting position again.”

Seth extracted the papers and Jetta leaned closer to read, smelling the cedar and soap combination she now associated with him. She skimmed the legalese until she came to the amount Dolores had been accused of stealing. “Eighty-seven thousand dollars.”

Dolores twisted her fingers together on her lap. “I’ve worked two retail jobs—the only work I could get outside accounting—for the past fifteen years and still owe more than $25,000. But as the agreement states, as long as I pay something each month, I’m safe from prosecution.”

“You’ve thought about not paying?” Seth asked.

“I’ve been too afraid to see what would happen, but yes, I have thought of it. Talking about it with you has made me realize the only proof they had was the bank account in my name and the altered invoices.”

“The bank account could have been opened by anyone with your information, and just because you handled the Topher Robotics account doesn’t mean you were the only person with access to the invoices.”

Dolores relaxed her hands at Seth’s statement. “Exactly. In fact, I heard that Fiona left SafeSense to work for Topher Robotics a few months after I was let go.”

“Do you know if she’s still there?” Seth reopened his notebook and jotted a note.

“According to the company website, she’s now the head of accounting, answering to Gene Topher.”

Jetta found that very interesting. Something worth following up. Seth thanked Dolores for her time, and the woman walked them to the door.

“You’ll let me know what you find out, won’t you?” The hope in Dolores’s eyes mirrored Jetta’s own.

She touched the other woman’s hand. “We will.”

Back on the sidewalk, she turned to Seth. “You think Fiona altered the invoices and blamed Dolores for it?”

“That’s one possibility.” Seth put the reporter’s notebook into his back pocket. “The other is Fiona knew who at Topher Robotics altered the invoices and decided to jump ship to cash in on that knowledge.”

A sharp crack sliced through the end of his sentence. Jetta screamed as a second bullet tossed a chunk of concrete into the air. Someone was shooting at them.

* * *

Seth pushedJetta to the ground, covering her body with his as gunfire erupted around them. Dirt, grass, and bits of concrete flew up at them as the hail of bullets continued for what seemed like minutes, but he knew would only be seconds. Then the squeal of tires and the roar of an engine replaced the shots, leaving behind the acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder in his nostrils. An all-too familiar smell, but he didn’t have time to dwell on those horrific images, not when he needed to make sure Jetta was unharmed.

He lifted himself on his elbows to gauge whether it was safe to rise.

“Are they gone?” Jetta’s voice quavered.

“Maybe.” Her face, streaked with dirt and blood, made him gasp. “You’re hurt.” He touched her cheek where the blood streamed from a cut, alarm reigniting the adrenaline. “Are you shot?”

“I don’t think so.” She twisted as if to check herself. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.” Anger that someone had taken potshots at them burned deep in his belly.

“I’ve called 911.” Dolores stepped off the sidewalk. “I know this isn’t the same neighborhood I grew up in, but we’ve never had a shooting in broad daylight.”

Jetta rolled to a seated position.

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