Imperfect Justice

by Cara Putman

  A seriousness weighed Reid’s features. “That’s exactly what concerns me. What if she remembers a key detail when she revives—a detail that implicates her father?”

  “Then we make sure we’re ready.” Emile glanced at her notepad. No grand revelations hidden in the scrawls and swirls. “Get me what you learn, and I’ll consider grounds for taking custody from a parent. We need to find something that will take our gut reactions to Kaylene’s death and turn them into evidence.” She pulled her gaze from the paper to Reid, and ignored the jolt it gave her. “Time’s not on our side. The sooner we file the better, but right now we don’t have any legal justification for advocating a change in custody.”

  “It sounds like you’ve decided to help me.” His grin was mischievous, and she didn’t want to look away.

  “Maybe, but you need to understand I still have reservations.”

  “We all do.” His phone buzzed, and he slipped it from his pocket. After a quick glance at the screen, he stood. “I almost forgot about this meeting. I’ll work on the hospital angle. See if I can get us a timeline. Will you let me know what else you need from me?”

  “Yes.” Emilie placed a hand on his to stall him. “Please understand this is a long shot. I have a feeling there was a lot going on at home that Kaylene didn’t tell anyone.”

  “We have to do this.” His words left no room for disagreement.

  “I agree, but we have to be realistic. Reid, there’s a good chance we’ll fail.”

  “And there’s a chance we won’t. In my line of work, we make our money in those slim chances. We’ll get ’er done.” He gave her a forced smile and then stood and walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She watched him open the door and walk away, noting the confidence in his movements. She would give anything to have that. Instead, as she glanced back down at her notes, all she saw were the problems.

  Reid hurried to his car. He’d almost forgotten the meeting with his investor and Brandon. The investor needed a tax deduction, and Almost Home needed funding.

  He wanted this meeting to solve both issues, but Jordan Westfall tended to have strong opinions he didn’t make clear until everyone thought things were settled except for his signature. The two had met thanks to their mutual friend, David Evans, but Reid didn’t know him well. He managed Jordan’s money and that was all. He hoped that the combination of their business relationship and Almost Home’s mission would open Jordan’s checkbook. Brandon was great at what he did in many ways, but asking for money wasn’t his strength. And the big guy didn’t need false hope, so Reid would have to keep Jordan on task and engaged.

  As he drove he tried again to get through to the nurses’ desk on Kinley’s floor. They’d stonewalled him so far, but maybe one call would reach someone helpful.

  “Rogers.” A harried voice suggested he not waste time.

  “This is Reid Billings calling for an update on my niece, Kinley Adams.” Reid could hear beeps and clicks in the background as he switched lanes.

  “Reid? I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened.” The compassion in the woman’s voice had him stretching for their connection.

  “Melanie Rogers?” He placed her from a Bible study he’d attended at his church.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “There’s not much to update, but I’ll check her file.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then Melanie continued. “She’s still in a coma, but the doctors are optimistic.”

  “Do you have any estimate of when she can go home?”

  “It’s impossible to predict that. I would suggest you ask her father to add you to the list so we can provide you with current information.”

  “He told me I could ask for information from the desk.”

  “There’s not much change to report. She’s stable.”

  “I appreciate the update.” The words felt so empty. “One last thing. Are visitors still restricted? I’d really like to see her.”

  “I’m sorry, Reid, but her father is adamant that no one other than medical staff have access to her.”

  “Thank you.” He hung up and winged a quick thanks to heaven. It might not be much information, but it was all he was likely to get without Robert’s permission. At least he’d learned they had some time to figure out how to gain custody.

  Half an hour later he pulled into the Almost Home parking lot and slid into a slot next to a Porsche. Jordan had beaten him.

  The sound of children’s squeals pulled Reid’s attention to the side area between the fourth boys’ home and the community center. A couple basketball goals and a kickball ring were tucked into the space, and when he turned the corner he saw a dozen boys ranging in age from eight to thirteen clustered around Brandon and Jordan. Brandon had so many boys hanging off him he looked like an octopus with appendages of varying lengths.

  “There he is.” Brandon stomped toward him, or tried to, dragged down as he was by the kids.

  “I see you found Jordan.” Reid clapped Brandon on the lone free spot on his back.

  Jordan gave him a self-satisfied, slightly awkward smile. “Can’t come say hi with all these young men surrounding me.”

  “I told you there were quite a few.” Reid high-fived a couple of the boys. “If you’ve met these great guys, you’ve seen all you need. Where’s your checkbook?”

  “I think I need a little more data.”

  Reid turned to the boys. “All right. We need time for a meeting.” As the boys groaned and complained, he held up his hands and clicked the button on his keys. “But if you look in my backseat you’ll find something to do while we’re inside.”

  As if he’d told them there was fresh pizza in his car, they abandoned the men in a flash and tore away. If he was lucky, the balls and Frisbees would keep them occupied without causing anyone permanent harm.

  Brandon shook his head as he led the way to the community center and his office. “You shouldn’t bribe them.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” Not on his salary, especially if helping here served the dual purpose of keeping clients like Jordan satisfied.

  “This time.” Brandon snorted and gestured toward the group of boys arguing over the sports items. “They practically expect it.” They reached the door to the community center, and Brandon opened it and stepped to the side to let the other men enter first.

  Reid glanced back at his car to make sure the kids had closed the doors. Jordan was already inside the building, hands shoved in his designer khakis, taking in the wide-open, homey space. Tables lined one half of the room. A couple times a week community meals were served, partly to give the houseparents a break and partly to keep sibling groups connected. Several multicolored couches were arranged around a large fireplace. Stacks of games filled a bookshelf on one side of the fireplace, and on the other books appropriate for young kids through tweens. A selection of YA books was on another, higher shelf.

  “You should see this place when it’s overflowing with kids . . .” Reid had been here several times during large meals, and the pandemonium was impressive.

  “The noise.” Brandon rubbed his head as he glanced around the space, shoulders pulled back and head high. “We’ve worked to make this a place the kids can hang out. It especially helps the sibling groups who may be split among houses.”

  Jordan frowned as he glanced at Brandon. “Does that happen often?”

  “More than I’d like, but we’re restricted when we have sibling groups of brothers and sisters. Currently we don’t have a facility that allows us to mix genders. That’s in the dream.”

  Reid led Jordan to Brandon’s office. It was a Spartan setting; Brandon had kept the focus on the spaces the kids utilized. Reid thought that would play well with Jordan, a man who appreciated the decisive and effective use of funds.

  Jordan sank onto one of the folding chairs in front of Brandon’s desk, a battered metal contraption that looked like a leftover from the Cold War. “Let’s get down to business. Why am I here?”


  “You need some creative thinking about your finances now that you’ve cashed out, and this is an organization I’ve been involved with for years.” Reid waited for Brandon to plop behind his desk and then settled on the last folding chair. “This is a project you can get behind and know your funds are making a significant impact.”

  Brandon launched into an explanation of the purpose and vision for Almost Home. It had started with his background as a kid who bounced through foster care until, as a teenager, he’d landed with a family that made him one of their own. That experience had changed the course of his life, and Almost Home existed to do the same for others.

  As he listened to Jordan ask probing questions, Reid hoped this would be the solution to Almost Home’s immediate needs. He needed one area of his life to go well as he figured out what had really happened to Kaylene and whether Kinley needed saving.

  If she did, he couldn’t fail.

  FIVE MONTHS EARLIER

  His hands shook and he couldn’t stop pacing through the first floor of his home. The Georgetown town house was the one luxury he’d allowed himself. He didn’t want a McMansion, but the town house spoke of wealth and history. It had been perfect for the rewriting of his story.

  One look at her dressed for the formal evening, and he’d known she was perfect. He’d barely been able to tear his gaze away. It was like looking at the other part of himself. A piece that had been missing for too long. Yet her friend had stared at him, a sneer of derision on her face. Did she not understand who he was?

  Confusion had filtered across Emilie’s face as soft color filled her cheeks.

  She didn’t remember him. Well, they had only crossed paths briefly at the Haven. But he’d make sure she remembered who he was now. What he had accomplished. See that the headlines were only part of his story. When she really knew him, she would understand that their love was once in a lifetime. The kind that the great masters wrote about in plays and novels. It would be one for the ages, and he couldn’t wait to build that future with her.

  It wouldn’t take much to learn her patterns and where she placed her affections.

  People weren’t any more complicated than the programs he excelled at building. Learn their routines and you learned what they valued.

  If he was anything, he was an excellent chameleon. He’d learned how to become exactly what people wanted. He could do that now.

  It wouldn’t be a challenge. And when he finished, Emilie would understand how perfect their story would be.

  He’d carefully craft a plan to woo her, full of mystery and romance. Step by step, and she’d understand what he’d known since their paths first collided. She was meant for him, and now he was ready to make her his.

  CHAPTER 14

  For the second time since Kaylene’s and Kaydence’s deaths, Reid got up early and prepared to return to work. Yesterday he’d been in and out of the office with the trip to court and the time with Emilie Wesley. Now he needed to return to work as if nothing had happened. If he stayed away from the office longer, key clients would notice. It was harsh, but there were only so many big fish out there . . . Even if they were nice about it, his clients expected him to cater to their every whim the moment they considered it. And one or two of his colleagues would use any situation to move up.

  Reid had carefully cultivated his pool over the five years he’d been in DC. He’d intentionally selected his mentor to learn how to develop his own list so he wouldn’t be dependent on anyone for crumbs.

  Slowly, month by month, year by year, he’d done that. It wasn’t the perfect portfolio, but it gave him significant sums to manage for others. Sums he didn’t want to lose by disappearing, even with a justified absence.

  It took a good forty minutes to commute to the downtown office in one of the high-rises off K Street. The area was known for its power brokers: lobbyists, lawyers, and special interests. It was the perfect place to position a firm designed to service financial needs of those too busy to focus their own energy and time toward the matter. As he stepped from the subway, he felt the smack of the humid, super-heated air.

  Welcome to DC in August. All the weather was good for was dashing from the car to the Metro to the building, not to emerge until it was time to leave. Let people come to him.

  As a family of sweat-soaked tourists passed, he considered telling them to abandon the sweltering monuments. They should stay indoors and explore the memorials as the sun lowered its way to the horizon, cloaking the scene in a velvet color that provided a stark contrast to the white marble of the lit edifices.

  He pushed through the revolving door into the building’s lobby. A security guard, one he didn’t recognize, sat at a desk behind a surround of Plexiglas and nodded at him. Reid wondered if the screen was bulletproof and then decided he’d watched too many Jason Bourne movies. The security was one perk of working in a building with some kind of government agency hidden in its depths. It was great until Jimmy John’s couldn’t deliver.

  He tugged his ID and lanyard from his pocket and swiped it across the gate, then hung it around his neck. As soon as the gate opened he walked through, joining the flood of worker bees heading to the elevators for the swoosh to higher floors.

  Light ricocheted off the highly polished stone floor of the lobby as suits and professionals hurried toward the bank of elevators. A few palm trees were scattered around the space in an attempt to soften the edges, but Reid’s clients didn’t care one way or the other. They liked the high-security location—something many were used to in their everyday lives. The burden of having more money than Midas.

  He stepped into an already-crammed elevator. It felt like they were part of a clowns-in-a-tiny-car exercise. He half expected someone to be filming the scene with a phone . . . perfect for a social media feed that would go viral.

  Slowly they progressed, one halting floor at a time, one or two exiting at every floor until those remaining could breathe. Finally the doors opened on the nineteenth floor, and he slid through the stragglers and into the lobby of Fletcher & Associates, Wealth Management. Here nothing was held back to create the perfect image. A Remington sculpture sat on the large square coffee table, a row of pricey magazines on the ledge below. A chocolate-brown leather couch was offset by two deep chairs. Clients often complained about having to leave the perches for a meeting. A Persian rug of rich reds and blues lay beneath it all, the plushness quieting steps until people cleared it.

  He strode across the space to the mahogany raised desk where the guardian of the inner sanctum sat. Priscilla Rand was a calm, almost boring woman in her midforties, in her prim navy suit with cream blouse, a colorful scarf with an abstract design softening her appearance slightly.

  She stood as he came around and stepped toward him with arms open. He paused, knowing there was no escape.

  “There are no words, Reid.” She gave him a quick hug, one that felt sincere while appropriately brief. “Are you sure you should be here?”

  “I was actually here a bit yesterday. Had to come in before I drove myself crazy.” He covered the words with a rueful smile.

  She frowned at him. “I must have been at lunch. But it’s too early for you to be back.”

  “I need to do something.”

  “And the sharks are circling.” She stepped back to meet his gaze. “Mr. Fletcher would hold them at bay.”

  “That might not be enough when there’s blood in the water.” The common phrase had never been so real to him. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, if you need anything let me know. Simone is trying hard to keep things for you.”

  He nodded and then continued down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor. The double-story lobby provided a stunning visual space, but it also served as a barrier between the support staff and Marvin Fletcher and his key associates. It had taken five years for Reid to permanently ascend the stairs.

  Simone Teal sat inside Reid’s office, tablet and stylus poised to take notes the moment he walked
in the door. He paused, then removed his jacket and hung it on the hook behind his door, striding in his shirtsleeves to his desk. If he moved fast enough she wouldn’t repeat the scene with Priscilla. But the Howard University grad didn’t embarrass either of them by doing that. Smart enough to be an associate in her own right, Simone insisted she wanted to learn the ropes from someone before she decided about the trajectory of her career.

  Reid knew it wouldn’t last, but he’d take her keen insights every moment she stayed.

  “What have I missed?” She’d been out the prior day for a planned personal day, and he needed her download to get back in the flow.

  With that, Simone launched into a systematic analysis of what had happened at the firm in the last week, before working him through a list of clients with immediate needs. “Mr. Devenue will require your personal assistance and assurance. He’s being hesitant.”

  “Understood.” For a man who’d minted a small fortune launching a high-tech company in the shadow of AOL, Devenue was reluctant to move forcefully with his own funds. “I’ll get on the phone with him and get him on board.”

  Simone looked uncertain. “There’s more involved this time than his usual reluctance.”

  “I’ll handle it.” Calming the nerves of the wealthy who wanted to grow their assets was what Reid did well. Very well.

  “Here are my notes. I also need to update you on a few other accounts.” Twenty minutes later she sat back and regarded him intently. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help you with personal matters?”

  “I’m trying to unravel what happened inside my sister’s house. So unless you have some secret video feed that lets us know, there isn’t.” He tapped the stack of paper. “Thanks for all you did last week. I’ll get started contacting the ones you noted.”

  Simone left him with a whispered, “Good luck.”

  As Reid glanced over her notes, he knew he wouldn’t need luck. Luck had never done much for him, but hard work and prayer had. That’s what he relied on.