Page 54 of The Love Thief

CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT Justice Is Done

“All rise,” boomed the bailiff and, with that, the pre-court chatter instantly stopped, creating an almost palpable hush. Auntie Geeta sat to my left, Mom to my right. Both of them grabbed my hands at the same time. Agent Jackson sat behind us.

I realized I had been holding my breath and let out a deep exhale while my eyes scanned the wood-paneled courtroom.

I saw Barry in a black suit that seemed to hang lifelessly on his now-even-thinner frame.

He was seated next to a man I recognized as a lawyer friend of his, Mel something.

I guess Barry had finally come to understand the meaning of the old expression that an attorney who represents himself has a fool for a client.

Of course, it was now far too late for him to benefit from that wisdom.

In the next to last row of the gallery, I spotted one of his twin daughters. I was too far away to tell which one. She was seated next to her mother, Barry’s first wife.

I was so lost in my thoughts looking around that I missed most of what the judge was saying. Finally, I focused when I heard chairs scraping across the floor and saw Barry and his lawyer stand as the judge spoke.

“Mr. Tavers, have you entered into this plea agreement knowingly and voluntarily?”

“Yes, your honor, I have,” Barry said without emotion.

“Mr. Tavers, is there anything you would like to say before I proceed with the sentencing?”

“Yes, your honor, I respectfully ask that I be confined in Southern California so that I can see my family.”

“I can make that recommendation, but the final decision is ultimately not up to me,” she said dryly.

The judge then spoke about the plea agreement and concluded by saying, “Barry Tavers, I hereby sentence you to ten years in a federal prison, location to be decided by the Federal Bureau of Prisons. I will add that because of your plea agreement, you are waiving all rights to appeal or to collaterally attack your sentence.”

With that, she ordered that Barry be taken into custody. He was handcuffed and escorted out the back door by two uniformed officers.

I had fully expected that at this moment, I would feel jubilation, but instead, I felt nauseated. I told Auntie Geeta and Mom I would meet them in the lobby and quickly went to find the closest ladies’ room.

Standing in front of the white porcelain sink, I let the cold water run over my wrists while I slowly breathed in and out, willing myself not to vomit.

The nightmare was finally over. Why wasn’t I doing backflips?

Sure, Barry had stolen from me, lied to me, and used every dirty, underhanded trick in the book to try to get me to take the fall for his crimes.

Of course, he deserved to go to prison, but that knowledge didn’t make this moment any easier.

I heard the bathroom door open and, in the mirror, I saw Barry’s daughter, Lily, walk in. Our eyes met at the same time. She approached me.

“I’m so sorry for what my father did to you, Holly. You never deserved that. He’s a monster, more than you’ll ever know,” she said as she gently placed her hand on my upper arm.

“I came here today to make sure that he really would be put away for his crimes,” she admitted as tears slipped out of her eyes. She looked so sad.

I quickly dried my hands and gave her a huge hug. “I’m sorry for you, too. This must be so hard for you,” I said. “Where’s your sister?”

“Tiffany and I are not speaking. Dad embezzled our entire trust fund and we had to drop out of college. She was always a daddy’s girl, craving his attention and approval, and she accepted his crazy lies.

When I told her I was finished with him and that I could no longer have him in my life, she tried to get me to believe that the money wasn’t embezzled but invested for us offshore and that we’d get it back in a few years,” she revealed.

“Plus, Tiffany bought into his story that Grandmother is the real criminal and that he ONLY accepted the plea deal to keep her out of prison in her remaining years. I know he’s lying.

He’s always been a liar. And, I found out that Grandmother knew exactly what was going on and that she was a Nazi sympathizer.

It’s all too horrible for words. I’ve moved back in with my mom, and for now, I’m going to community college until I figure things out,” she explained, sounding tired and a bit lost. My heart just broke for her.

In less than a year’s time, she’d lost her father, her grandmother, and her sister.

I said a silent prayer that Lily would find a way to leave all this darkness behind her.

I stepped out of the ladies’ room to find Jackson, Auntie Geeta, and Mom waiting for me in the ultramodern white and glass lobby.

“Holly, honey, you okay?” Mom asked in her very mom-like way.

I paused for a moment, resisting the urge to say, “I will be.” Tuning in to my heart and searching my body for my misery level, I realized I really was okay. More than okay. I felt whole, content, satisfied, and grounded.

“I’m happy this chapter of my life is now over,” I said as I playfully bumped into Jackson. “Thanks to this guy, my real-life hero.”

Jackson saluted us. “Well, this hero is hungry! Who wants to join me for lunch?”

“You kids go have some fun. We’ve got to get back to the office,” Mom said with a knowing look as she quickly hooked her arm into Auntie Geeta’s and walked away.

Jackson took a quick look at his watch. “If we roll now,” he said, “I know where we can get some great sushi before the lunch crowd arrives. Are you up for that?”

As if on cue, my stomach growled in response. Jackson burst out laughing. And at once, my neck and face flushed pink.

“Okay, I can take a hint,” Agent Jackson chuckled. “Young lady, you are coming with me. Let’s go get you something to eat. How about some outdoor terrace dining? Does sushi sound good, or would you prefer an Indian lunch at Bombay Heaven?”

Holy fuck. Jackson wanted to go to lunch. With me. Now. Again. But this time, we were no longer officially on an agent-witness level. I suppressed the urge to do a cartwheel in the lobby of the federal building.

“You had me at Indian lunch,” I said with a grin.

It was a little past noon when we walked into the restaurant.

I was impressed that the staff all seemed to know him.

Evidently, Agent Jackson was a regular here at Bombay Heaven.

The lunch buffet offered the usual mix of Tandoori chicken, saag paneer, several curries, rice, raita, naan, and chapati.

Tasty and filling but certainly not what grabbed my attention.

Way better than the butter chicken was the man who was sitting right across from me: this smart, handsome hottie.

It took me a second to realize I had never considered how truly cute Agent Jackson was until this very moment.

Returning to our table with plates piled high, Jackson looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite place. “No more of this ‘Agent Jackson’ stuff,” he said with a smile. “Besides,” he added, leaning back in his chair for emphasis, “all my friends call me Spyder.”

“All right, so does this mean I get to question you, as well?” I said a bit too flirtatiously. Whoa. What am I thinking? I couldn’t help myself. Perhaps I was feeling a high that suddenly made me so bold.

“Of course,” Jackson said without skipping a beat.

“Like all federal agents, I am an open book, totally vulnerable and transparent,” he said with no hint of sarcasm.

I could feel my stomach do a backflip. I once again stared at his beautiful hands.

Resisting the urge to grab them in mine, I practiced the breathing techniques I had learned in India.

“Okay, Spyder.” I smiled. “For starters, you can tell me how exactly you wound up with that nickname.”

Jackson laughed, obviously caught off guard. Was he blushing? “Well,” he began, “for my eighth birthday, my parents threw me a party at a rock climbing gym. At the time, I was sure I was going to grow up to be a professional rock climber.”

I smiled, enthralled by how cute little eight-year-old Jackson must have been, and trying hard to suppress thoughts about what our children might look like.

“But being a rock climber wasn’t my only dream,” he continued, suddenly looking decades younger.

“I also wanted to be a superhero. So on the day of the party, I thought, what could be better than to combine these two aspirations by wearing my favorite Spiderman pajamas? And that was the birth of my nickname, Spyder.”

“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “A real-life superhero, complete with an origin story and everything!” Jackson beamed.

I took a sip of tea and tried to refocus.

“I do have another question,” I said, with a serious tone.

“Shoot,” he said, as though he knew right where I was headed.

“Can you please explain to me how you got Barry to take a plea deal? How did that happen? And what about his mother? Is she going to prison also?”

“Holly, should I officially debrief you?” Jackson asked in his official voice.

“Yes, sir, go right ahead.”

“Well, as you know,” Jackson began, “the Tavers had insisted all along that they had the provenance papers for each piece of art and had no knowledge that the art was stolen. Before their very public arrest, they actually had the audacity to make a statement to the press stating that they were the victims in this matter and demanded an apology from both the FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s office.

But the real truth came out during Phyllis Tavers’s ‘Queen for a Day’ interview with AUSA Susan Karson.

” Phyllis Tavers also had a Queen for a Day interview with Susan Karson?

This was news to me.

Jackson took a last bite of Tandoori as the waiter refilled our teas.

“In order for what I’m about to tell you to make sense, I’m going to have to give you a bit of the backstory,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”