Page 44 of Jenna's Protector
Mitzy’s eyes light up at this information. “That’s very helpful. If you were always driven, it narrows our search parameters significantly. It seems like everything might be located within California.”
As they flip through the pages, Ethan points to a sketch of a stern-faced man. “Is this Lucian? The one you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes,” I confirm, a chill running down my spine at the sight of his face. “He was the main trainer, the one who—who prepared us for the auctions. He was—cruel. Efficient.”
“Were there other trainers?” Skye asks gently.
I nod, flipping to another page. “This is Marcus. He was in charge of our physical training.” The sketch shows a muscular man with a cruel twist to his mouth. “And this,” I turn another page, “is Vivian. She taught us etiquette and how to—please the clients.”
As I speak, Carter’s hand tightens on mine, a silent show of support.
Suddenly, Stitch leans in, her eyes fixed on a detail in the background of one of my sketches. “Wait, what’s that?” She points to a small brooch pinned to a man’s lapel.
I squint, trying to remember. “I… I’m not sure. I saw it a few times on some of the higher-ranking men. I didn’t think it was important at the time.”
“Do you have any sketches with a more detailed view of the brooch?” Stitch asks, her brow furrowed in concentration.
I shake my head. “Sorry, no. It was just a small detail I noticed in passing.”
Stitch taps her head, looking frustrated. “I’ve seen it before, I’m sure of it. But I can’t place where.” Stitch studies the sketch intently, her brow furrowed in concentration. “There’s something about this brooch… I can’t quite make out the details, but it seems significant.”
Mitzy leans in, examining the drawing. “Jenna, your sketch is incredibly detailed. Is there any chance you might remember more about the brooch?”
I close my eyes, trying to focus on the memory. “I—I’m not sure. I have a good memory for visual details, but I didn’t pay much attention to the brooch then. It was just something I noticed in passing.”
“We might be able to use some advanced AI to extrapolate from what you’ve drawn and find similar designs or symbols.” Mitzy taps her chin, then looks to Stitch. “What do you think?”
“Definitely worth looking into.” Stitch interlaces her fingers and cracks her knuckles.
“We’ll run all this through our image recognition AI, cross-referencing with known symbols, corporate logos, and mythological imagery.” Mitzy pours over the sketches. “It’ll take some time and serious computing power, but it might give us a starting point.”
The room falls silent as Mitzy and Stitch get to work. The only sound is the soft hum of powerful computers processing the data. After what feels like an eternity, Mitzy’s screen lights up.
“Can you tell me a little bit more about Sentinel?” Carter clears his throat. “How does it tie into all of this?”
“Sentinel is a global criminal organization we’ve been tracking for some time.” Ethan steps forward, his expression grave. “We first encountered them when we took down a subsidiary of theirs called Citadel.”
Blake nods, picking up the thread. “More recently, we helped a biochemical engineer obtain asylum in the United States. She worked for a company called Red Phoenix Pharmaceuticals in Shanghai and discovered they were diverting heavy water for use in nuclear weapons. That’s when we first became aware of the Chinese character ‘??’ being connected to Sentinel.”
“We’ve seen evidence of them all over the world. Involved in varying criminal activities. Montana, Shanghai, and now here in California. They’re incredibly well-organized and deeply embedded in various industries,” Mitzy chimes in, her fingers flying over her tablet while she talks.
“So, you think there’s a connection between what happened to me and this—this global organization?” I’m in awe of the scope of what we’re dealing with.
“We never like to jump to conclusions,” Skye says, “but with the tattoo on not just your wrist but the man who bought you, it’s looking more and more likely.”
Jeb leans in, studying the sketch of the auction house. He’s been quiet up until now. Gently, he clears his throat to speak.
“Jenna, you mentioned a bidding system. Paddles, you said, but did they use anything else?”
“Like what?”
“Electronics?”
I close my eyes, trying to recall. “The bidders all had these small devices, like tablets. I remember the glow of the screens in the darkened room. A large display at the front showed the current bid.”
“Interesting,” Mitzy murmurs, already tapping away at her tablet. “That kind of tech leaves traces. We might be able to track purchases or shipments.”
As they discuss possibilities, I feel a surge of hope. My painful memories might help bring down this organization.