Page 75 of Justice Denied

Her daughter narrowed her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

Emily paused, then decided she might as well be honest. “Because I think you’re making a big mistake throwing out a chance for a relationship with him because you’re afraid.”

Jetta’s mouth dropped as she stared at her mother. Then she snapped it closed. “Well, we both can’t give you a ride, so who’s it going to be?”

Emily considered. “I’ll go with you,” she told her daughter. “But before you take me back to the rehab facility, we need to talk.” She knew that mulish set of her daughter’s mouth and jaw and hastened to reassure Jetta. “Not about Seth and you, but because I know who organized my kidnapping.”

“You do?” Jetta swiveled to glance at Seth, then back to her mother. “Who?”

“Gene Topher.”

* * *

Jetta jiggledher leg as they waited for Detective Harwell to join them in the windowless interview room. Her mother rested serenely beside her at the table, which was bolted to the floor. Two empty chairs sat across from them while Seth leaned against the wall to her left, his bulk filling the small space and sending her nerves into overdrive. Every time he shifted, she noticed. To be honest, every time he breathed, her heartbeat increased with anticipation he would speak to her.

She should feel safer with her decision to friend-zone him, but she didn’t. She missed his light touch on the small of her back when he guided her through a restaurant or store. She enjoyed feeling like a princess every time he hurried to open her car door or pull out her chair. The baby somersaulted, reminding her of the joy on his face when he’d felt the baby move, his hand warm underneath hers on her stomach. Their one, amazing kiss…

“Ms. Ainsley?”

Jetta blinked at Detective Harwell’s question. “Sorry, lost in thought.” She avoided meeting her mother’s eyes but caught the slight smirk on her face. Great, Mom probably guessed she’d been thinking of Seth and would use it in her campaign to get them together. Not going to work. She had her little one to think of and couldn’t afford to take any chances by picking the wrong man. Again.

“Mr. Whitman, would you please play the recording?”

Seth leaned in between Jetta and her mother and set his phone on the table in front of the detective, then hit the play button. The conversation Jetta had already heard filled the room as she breathed in the subtle scent of citrus and soap. Her shoulders relaxed, and even the baby seemed to settle his—or her—antics at the smell of Seth. She seriously needed to get a grip and concentrate on the interview with her mother.

She tuned back into the conversation to hear the detective ask her mother if she was sure the person who interrogated her was Gene Topher.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Emily shot Harwell a look Jetta long recalled from her own childhood. Mom was getting exasperated with the repeated questions.

“You said you were in pain. Could that have clouded your—”

“Hearing? No.” Her mother hugged her body. “I’m not some elderly woman who can’t remember her name. I have an excellent memory, and you can ask me six ways to Sunday if I’m sure the man who came into the room where I was being held captive was Gene Topher, and the answer will stay the same. Yes.”

Behind her, Jetta could have sworn she heard a muffled snort from Seth, but she didn’t turn around to confirm. Instead, she focused on the implications of what her mother said. She leaned toward the detective. “Have you had a chance to look into my father’s case?”

“I reviewed the notes from the arresting officers as well as the internal investigation into his heart attack while in custody, although his death occurred in your home,” Harwell said. “I also chatted with one of my colleagues in the white-collar crimes unit about the case. After Mr. Ainsley died, Topher Robotics declined to assist us with our investigation, and that essentially closed the case.”

Jetta frowned. “They didn’t want to find out where the other millions of dollars went? Because I thought they only found a couple of million in one offshore account in Dad’s name.”

“My colleague, who joined the department only a few years ago, said the case notes indicated hostility on the part of Topher Robotics when they requested access to the company’s financial records to trace the missing money. Without an active suspect and Topher Robotics insisting we stop looking into it, there was nothing else we could do.”

“But Gene didn’t ask me about the missing money,” her mother said. “He asked me what I knew about something called Vie.”

“Suggesting what, exactly?” Jetta massaged her forehead to stave off the beginnings of a headache.

“There are rumors the company is developing new wearable AI technology.” Seth moved to Jetta’s left as if to join the interview. “It’s supposed to be lightyears ahead of the competition.”

“So worth millions.” Emily summed up what had coalesced in Jetta’s mind. “Which Topher needs because someone has continued to siphon off money for years.”

“Mom, we don’t know that for sure.” Jetta had dismissed Mom’s earlier assertion that the original embezzler hadn’t stopped stealing money.

“They got away with it once and blamed my husband. Of course they would have stopped when things were hot, as they say, but when the police investigation fizzled, then of course, they would start up again. They feel entitled to that money, they feel they’ve earned that money, and they might be more clever about it, but mark my words. They are still taking what’s not theirs.”

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Mae added a small pitcher of real cream to the coffee service on the large silver tray. At board meetings, Ryan always insisted she serve the coffee as if she were some maid in a British mansion. This one should be rather contentious, with the question that reporter had lobbed at the siblings earlier that day. A smirk threatened to break out across her face at the memory of the shock on Ryan’s face and the flashes of guilt on Yasmine and Gene’s. But she couldn’t afford to be seen as anything but the loyal assistant, so she tamped down her inner joy at the turmoil. She checked that the tray had two steaming pots of coffee, sugar and other artificial sweeteners, and cream, then lifted it and marched to the large, opulent conference room.

But the door wasn’t left ajar as it usually was for her to easily push it open and bring in the coffee. Mae glanced around, but no one lingered in the corridor. With no readily available surface on which to lay the tray so she could twist the door handle, she was stuck. Ryan hadn’t told her not to bring the usual coffee, but the firmly shut door suggested otherwise.

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