Genevieve was never a smart person. Sure, she was a quick study and could adapt easily. But she was impulsive. She did before she thought. That caused her a lot of trouble. Jackson Wilfred, on the other hand, was smart. He thought, and thought, and thought before he did anything. He weighed out possibilities and ran over different scenarios until he had a good plan of action. Some people would say that that didn't exempt Genevieve from the title of 'being smart'. Genevieve didn't really care for those people.
It would have been obvious to him that hacking—even using—a computer (or any traceable device) wouldn't escape the notice of people at Blind Spot. But Genevieve was impulsive. She didn't think—she just did.
It should've been obvious that she would be caught. There was a security breach within the home ground. So, when Blind Spot agents stood in front of her bed for the night, asking for her to come with them. In the bleak hours of the morning, she was being escorted to Director Cory Davidson's office. But she wasn't as worried about it.
It didn't matter that Genevieve got caught. Hacking into their system wasn't for her own benefit. It was to prove her control over herself. If these people thought they could loop her into their problems because her brother was involved too, then they were wrong. Blind Spot could spy on her and keep track of her all they liked—it didn't change the fact that she would run away from them every time.
Hacking was a form of stealing. Stealing was once how she was defined—Kleptomaniac, Thief, Scum. Getting caught or being punished didn't matter. She was making a statement.
Save for a few blinking lights and lit computer screens, there wasn't much happening in the halls of Blind Spot Agency HQ. Soon, Genevieve and her one very calm escort were standing in front of the Director's cabin. Clearly, she wasn't perceived as big of a threat now.
"Go in," the woman sent to escort her held her hand out, nodding for her to go in. Cory Davidson's office was mostly the same as it was when Genevieve was last here. The same dark mahogany desk with the computer system that she once tried to hack and metal drawers lined up in a corner of the room. The only new addition was a money plant in a big ceramic pot sitting near the entrance and a two-cushion sofa.
On the sofa sat Flynn Davidson and Kiara Deaton. Cory Davidson stood in a suit with his back turned to her. Looking at them, Genevieve cursed herself for not being better prepared. At three in the morning all of them looked so... fresh. They were dressed immaculately, not a hair out of place and they all looked ready and alert.
A day earlier she might've met them wearing a backless hospital gown. Luckily, she didn't have to wear that gown anymore and she'd gone to sleep wearing what she was wearing the day before—jeans and a rumpled collared shirt. She finger-combed her hair and patted it down, deciding it was all she could do to look presentable.
"You can sit down if you want Nevi," Davidson said and then the door behind her was closed.
Genevieve didn't sit down. Glancing at the two agents on the sofa, she nodded at them. Deaton nodded back. Flynn nodded and gave her a small smile. It was meant to be reassuring, maybe. Walking up to his desk she straightened her shirt and spotted a pamphlet called 'Morse Code in 6 Weeks'.
"You tried to get into one of our virtual meetings." He turned around, staring at her head that looked down at his desk.
"I tried to hack into one of your meetings."
They were being way too lenient with her. Was this because her brother was alive and on their side? They really shouldn't be. She had just confessed to trying to hack into their system—there should be people trying to handcuff her right now. She looked back at the door. No one was there.
Davidson sighed and leaned his body on his desk. "I know it may seem like things are slipping out of your control Genevieve—Ms. Wilfred," he paused as she lifted her head to look at him. "Will you please take a seat?"
Genevieve did sit down this time and pulled the Morse Code pamphlet closer in front of her. Davidson spoke again: "As I was saying, I know this is an abrupt change from your life in Maine but—"
"Do you have boot camps to teach morse code?"
"What?" Davidson said stopping again. "Not exactly. But we do teach morse code quickly and efficiently."
"And you need pamphlets to do that?" she waved the pamphlet at him. "World class Blind Spot agents learning morse code in true summer camp fashion. Do you know how to?"
"Yes," Davidson pulled out his chair and sat down. "Yes, I do. And so do Agents Deaton and Davidson. Its basic training is delivered and perfected before recruits are even inducted. It's very useful because it's universal. Everyone in this business knows it. Is that enough on morse code, or do you want me to talk you through its importance in the second world war?"
Genevieve set the paper down and smiled at the Director. "That's fine," she told him. Then when everything became quiet again, she said: "Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't really thinking and I promise it won't happen again."
"No," was all Davidson said. Her eyebrows scrunched together. It was her most sincere apology and he had rejected it in only a second. She looked back at the two special agents behind her again and then focused her gaze on the Director again. Technically, he wasn't the Director. He was in charge of an entire division and continent. Granted, he was in charge of one of the most influential places in the world, but it was different now. Sure, the strange respect Genevieve had for him was still intact, but it wasn't the same.
Cory Davidson wasn't really running things. Genevieve just thought he did. That meant things were out of his hands. Not in his control. She was glad for it, but a part of her was also scared.
"As Agent Deaton has perhaps already told you—and as you've probably already guessed—you are on a hit list, Nevi." Davidson leaned back in his seat. "You're a vulnerable target right now. And that's not just a problem for you—"
Her head fell back in annoyance, "It really is."
Davidson continued: "It is actually not. You could be used as a hostage, leverage or actually be brutally killed. Your brother is concerned for your safety and he refuses to work productively until we see to it that you are safe."
"So, you're going to be killing the people who want to kill me?"
The question was abrupt and Genevieve hadn't really meant to ask it. Of course they weren't going to kill anyone from Redstone if someone here managed to catch them. No, someone from Redstone would be too valuable. Blind Spot would be interrogating them using mind games, offers of expungement or less jail time in exchange for names or community service. Or they could try third degree. Third degree would probably be the first thing they would do.
"Not necessarily," Kiara Deaton's voice said. She said nothing after.
"No one is going to be killed if they don't have to. But as you've already seen, Agent Deaton has been on your protection detail for quite a while. And since the threat hasn't been neutralized, she will have to continue doing that. With you knowing now, obviously."
"I can take care of myself," she retorted. She couldn't really. The claim sounded childish. At least not when it came to protecting herself from gangs and hitmen. "Besides, I know my brother and"—she didn't know what to call Flynn Davidson in front of his father—"and... Agent Davidson, went on a mission somewhere. And if they were involved, it means it was a Redstone related mission. Meaning, Deaton was involved—meaning, she couldn't have possibly been guarding a much less important thing as me."
Davidson smiled. Genevieve supposed it was a sign that showed he was either impressed or just exhausted and wanted to get her situation over and done with. He folded his arms and sighed. "I believe you've met Zuri Obano? A retired agent of ours. Psychiatrist."
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth, trying to make that less obvious. "I have."
Retired agent. Genevieve wanted to laugh. And then bang her head against a wall because it was so simple. So easy. Anyone who had half a brain knew no one who worked in this line of work ever retired. Not CIA, MI6, Mossad. Blind Spot was no different. In intelligence, when you retire, you just get pensions instead of salaries. Everything else stayed the same.
Davidson knew she was angry. He was probably enjoying it. Basking in the glory of knowing more than her. He probably wasn't thinking of any of that. His focus was most likely on finishing up with her and then getting to another case happening in another part of the country. In another part of the continent. He couldn't possibly care. "He offered to keep an eye on you. And I hear, also helped with your—"
"Yes, he did."
"He also said that you're on medication?"
"Yes, he did."
"I assume you're running out? We will provide—"
"I have enough of them left. Thank you," she told him sharply. "Can we get to the point here, though? Everyone isn't used to being awake at three in the morning to fit your schedule." Pulling her hand through her hair, she combed through the tangled mess again with her fingers. The new potted plant adorning the Director's office was unusually bright. The green of its leaves shone in a way that seemed artificial for a plant. Maybe it was an artificial for-show plant. Davidson was the kind to show warmth and kindness. He was probably also the kind to leave you the second he got what he wanted.
"The point is that in a few hours time, you will be given access to everything we have on Vincent Redstone, his gang, his family, his past... everything," he said firmly. Genevieve knew where this officially was going. She had her doubts, but she had her hopes too. "I want you to know that since Kiara is an essential part of this team, you will have to be a part of this mission once again."
"You can't do that." It was a desperate attempt. Failing attempt. Stupid attempt.
He lowered his head and looked at her from under his eyelashes, in a way that reminded Genevieve of one of her older female teachers in elementary school that just stared at you silently, urging you to put the marker you slipped into your pocket back before she had to take real action. "May I remind you, Nevi," Davidson started and Genevieve knew that something unavoidable was coming. "That you haven't been granted expungement. No charges have been dropped—people may not be actively looking for you, but a cold case, is still an open case."
Vraiment? "You're threatening me?" she asked, trying to keep up a strong face. "That's a new low. Even for you."
"It's not a threat if it is true," he told her, leaning back in his chair with a smug look. "Our deal was that you help me with Redstone and I help you get a clean slate. And it's hardly fair that you get a clean slate when Redstone is still a free man in this free world." Between the little spaces in the window blinds the unbound horizon sketched with a tinge of blue suggested the becoming morning. But everyone here was wide awake. The two agents behind her didn't even need to be here. "Besides, Hal Agnor is still being held by Redstone. If that isn't incentive enough, then I don't know what is."
There was nothing and no one outside. Not even a tree. Just the endless sky that never met the earth. Alone—but peaceful and serene, not isolated. "Blackmailed and threatened, and all before sunrise," Genevieve replied, resting her head on her shoulder. She looked Davidson right in his green eyes. "I truly hate this organization."
Green eyes crinkled as he grinned. "Luckily, the organization does not care."