Page 67 of Justice Denied

When he entered the waiting room, he spotted Jetta coming through the automatic doors. “Jetta? Everyone okay with your mom?”

Her hand braced the small of her back and her shoulders slumped. “Yes. The doctor came to examine her. Since the cubicle is so small, Mom sent me out and told me to put my feet up while they did. They’ll also x-ray her leg afterwards, so it will be a while before I can rejoin her.”

“Can I get you something to drink or eat?” Seth bit back more questions as she eased into a chair.

“I didn’t think I could sleep before but now I can hardly keep my eyes open.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand.

“Be right back.” Seth went to the front desk to talk to the employee, whose name tag he now noticed read “Farhan.” “Excuse me.”

Farhan looked up from his computer screen. “How can I help you?”

“My friend’s exhausted. Her mom’s back with the doctor, and it will be a while before she’s finished. Is there anywhere she can rest while she waits?”

“That’s the kidnapping victim’s daughter, right?”

Seth affirmed it was, figuring someone couldn’t keep that juicy bit of news to themselves when Emily was brought in.

“She must be so relieved her mom was found and will be okay.” Farhan clicked some keys. “Since we’re not too busy, I can put her in one of the overflow triage areas. It won’t be secluded, but there’s a bed in there she can use.”

“Thank you. I’ll go get her.” Seth hustled back to find Jetta had moved to one of the couches and had fallen asleep on her side. He decided not to wake her and returned to the desk. “She’s asleep on one of the couches. Could I have a blanket instead of making her move?”

“Sure, that’s an easy one. Be right back.” Farhan scooted his chair back and left while Seth returned to keep an eye on Jetta. He wasn’t able to completely shake the sense she was still in danger despite her mother’s safe return. They weren’t even close to identifying who had been stealing money from Topher Robotics unless the answer was right in front of them and they couldn’t see it.

Farhan returned holding a white cotton blanket. “Here you go.”

Seth thanked him, then draped it over Jetta, who barely stirred. He sat in the chair next to the couch and contemplated all they knew. He opened the notes app on his phone and began jotting down his thoughts and questions.

Jay Ainsley had been troubled by something at work in the months leading up to his death. Would Emily have his work calendar?

Someone at Topher Robotics made sure a paper trail for a fraction of the stolen money pointed to Jay, leading to his arrest, which apparently led to his heart attack. Was there any question it was caused by something other than the enormous stress he’d been under? Why did Topher Robotics not sue Emily to recover the rest of the money they said Jay stole? Or launch an investigation into where the other money was?

As far as Seth knew, the Ainsleys didn’t live an extravagant lifestyle. The Cayman Islands bank account yielded only a few million dollars, well below the number reportedly taken over many years. He composed an email to Mr. Warner to ask if he could find out when the embezzlement started and how long it continued.

Someone with insider knowledge sent Jay an envelope to help exonerate him but it wasn’t delivered until fifteen years later. Who sent the envelope?

The papers hadn’t been very useful because the financial institutions hadn’t been named, only bank account numbers. But they did show dates and amounts, so perhaps with other info, a forensic accountant could piece together exactly what happened. Seth sent his FinCEN contact an email asking for recommendations for a freelance forensic accountant.

Dolores Green had been accused of altering invoices from SafeSense to Topher Robotics, but she denied any culpability. Then Fiona Everly left SafeSense to work for Topher. Coincidence?

Someone followed us to Dolores’s house, then took potshots at us. Jetta received an anonymous phone call warning her to stop or the next time wouldn’t be only fired shots.

Seth rubbed the back of his neck as the list grew longer. Nothing seemed to make any sense, especially the kidnapping of Emily. It was as if there were more than one entity behind everything, and only by separating the incidents and information would they be able to get a clearer picture. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Was it that simple? Were they trying to put together a puzzle with too many pieces and so could never see the forest for the trees, as one of his foster dads used to say?

Possibly, but how to split up the list would need to wait. He yawned as the long day tackled him like two sumo wrestlers. He checked on Jetta, who slept on, then tried to find a comfortable position in the chair. As sleep beckoned him, he prayed once more for Jetta and Emily, and for wisdom in figuring this out before someone made good on their threat to seriously harm Jetta.

* * *

Ryan poundedthe weight bag with his right hook, then a left jab. He swung his leg up in a round kick to connect with the hanging punching bag. The bag swayed from his attack as he danced the boxer’s moves around it, delivering blow after blow with his gloved hands interspersed with kicks from his bare feet. The five a.m. workout invigorated him, firing his brain cells into overdrive.

He slammed the bag with his left foot, visualizing the board chair’s smug face. An uppercut with his right sent the bag swinging as he smashed his father’s interfering mouth. Ryan continued well beyond his usual workout time until his muscles quivered and sweat drenched his body. He ripped off his gloves and grabbed his water bottle, downing the contents in a few long swallows.

The door to his downstairs gym opened, and his wife stepped inside wearing a silk bathrobe over her matching pajamas. Pink polish glistened on her toes, a girlish touch that amused him in his sixty-two-year-old wife.

“Come to watch me attack this bag?” He blotted his face with a towel, then he clocked her serious expression—and his cell in her hand. “What is it?”

She blinked back tears, and his heart clogged his throat. “It’s your father.”

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