Stolen Power

obvious success. I’ve worked hard for what I’ve achieved, and I won’t apologize for it, to you or anyone, Damon.”
The tension was back. Thick in the room like a dirty fog that lingered heavy and oppressive.
We stood there for a few moments, three men who wouldn’t take a backward step, until finally Chase moved things forward.
“I’m sorry, Damon. I forgot you were coming today.” Chase put his hands in the pockets of his chinos. “How about you come around next week and play with Millie?”
“I’m disappointed she isn’t here. She’s all I’ve got to look forward to at the moment,” Damon responded and turned to me. “I haven’t got long left, you see. I’m ill. The doctors reckon I’ve got six months, but I’ll be gone before then.”
He looked back towards Chase. “So a missed playdate with my only granddaughter is a big deal for me. After all, how many do I have left in such a short period, before neither of us can see each other again. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but next time I’d ask you to respect that fact, and make sure this doesn’t happen again, for her sake more than mine.”
Chase sort of grunted a non-committal response.
“I’m sorry to hear about your illness,” I said to Damon.
“It’s alright. My wife went a few years ago, and apart from Millie, I haven’t got that much else left here. I’m looking forward to seeing my wife again.”
I admired his faith. I didn’t quite know where I stood on that front. I wanted to believe, who wouldn’t in my shoes, but I didn’t want to delude myself either.
“Look, sorry to be blunt,” Chase interrupted. He wasn’t sorry. “But Jack is here on business, so I’ll give you a call when Millie’s available.”
“Thanks.” Damon nodded to Chase. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”
He shook my hand again, it felt like he was almost sizing me up.
Chase shut the door behind Damon, waited a few moments, and then turned back to me.
“What’s next? Should I be putting pressure on Ruby?”
“Not yet. If it’s her, we don’t want her to hurt Millie.” I walked towards the door. “Casey and I are going to investigate further, so right now, sit tight and get the money ready. I don’t want it to come to that, but time’s running out so it might. And I need you to be ready for that possibility.”

Chapter 9


Investigating had changed a lot over my career.
When I started twenty-five years ago, the internet was something that nerds talked about, downloading their pixelated images at a painfully slow speed. Facebook wasn’t around to catch up with friends, Wikipedia didn’t exist for general research, there was no Amazon or Goodreads to leave witty and punchy five-star reviews of your favorite book, and young boys had to go to their father’s adult magazine stash for a look at a naked woman.
The internet had changed everything about our lives, making the world so much smaller. Paradoxically simpler but also more complex at the same time. Sometimes I harped on about the easier days before it’s development, but it had its purposes.
I found out more about Hugh Guthrie’s first court appearance in twenty minutes than I could’ve in a whole day investigating in the years gone past.
The result sent me into a tailspin of shock.
The man who provided the gun to my wife’s killer, the man who I held responsible for her murder, had made an appearance before the court, and had his murder charge thrown out.
With the aid of the internet, I researched what happened. The clearance on one of his search warrants wasn’t authorized by the right person, and the evidence had to be thrown out. There was one administrative error after another, almost like they wanted him to get off. Officially, the case was thrown out because five main pieces of the evidence couldn’t be used, but it was all linked back to the incorrectly filed paperwork. Part of me wondered if Guthrie himself had a hand in achieving that outcome. A few dollars there, and a few dollars here, and who knows what could’ve been achieved? Guthrie was certainly cunning enough to try it.
Before the murder of newscaster Brian Gates, Guthrie had manufactured a documentary about school shootings, in an effort to arm the teachers, and had pushed a young man to his breaking point. The teenager used a gun provided by Guthrie to shoot up the school, and in the process, murdered my wife.
Despite the fact that he admitted to me that he set the whole thing up for the purpose of a documentary, the police couldn’t pin that on him. I had his recorded confession, however it was thrown out of court because it was obtained under potential coercion.
I had no other evidence, however I rested on the fact that he would at least go down for the other murder.
Now that was out the window as well.
The rage that built inside me threatened to explode, but I kept it at bay with deep breathing exercises.
This was no time to lose control. There would be plenty of time for that later.
Now, I had to focus on saving a little girl.
It was true what Ben had told me—Chase Martin’s list of fraudulent activities was as long as my arm. Nothing stuck, of course, but the accusations were available on the internet, where disgruntled investor after disgruntled investor lined up to give account of his activities. Rather tellingly, many of his accusers voiced concerns of censorship, with stories of other websites having been closed down after serious legal threats from Chase’s lawyers. The ones that remained were new postings, only a couple of months old and in all likelihood, they would be deleted before long too, keeping cyberspace clean of