Access Denied: The Bullseye

11. The Rothsteins

No one was sitting down when Genevieve entered the meeting room in a secluded corner in a Blind Spot hallway. Everyone that was meant to be there, was there. 

Kiara Deaton, Nicole Harvey, Carlos De' Gracias, Ishaan SIngh and Jackson Wilfred; all stood near a wall, talking in pairs. Only Flynn Davidson was left to come and she had seen him outside with the Director and another old man. As soon as he saw her, Jackson patted Carlos on the arm and strode over to her, guiding her outside and gripping her arm in what he probably thought was comforting. It wasn't. Genevieve felt like a dog with a chain around her neck. 

"Est-ce que ça va?" he asked, uncertainly. His voice was shaky and unsure, but his face looked stern and confident. Genevieve closed her eyes in frustration. Her brother had a habit of easing people into uncomfortable conversations. After returning from the construction site, Genevieve had went straight to her temporary living quarters. She hadn't been able to talk to anyone since she tried to run in to a building that was supposed to blow up, but didn't.  

"Bien, merci. I'm okay," she answered. She started to move away. "Can we please not do this right now?"

Jackson sighed, his eyes rolling back. "Genevieve, you cannot jump out of moving cars and run into buildings with bombs in them—"

"It was faulty."

"Still." A step away and she would be out of his reach. A look of irritation crossed his face and Jackson gripped her arm. "What were thinking?"

He wasn't yelling at her, but he wasn't pleased with her either. That much of course she expected, but her brother never truly yelled at her. Patience and a cool head had come easy to him. Right now, his fingers dug into her arm like her nails sometimes still dug into her hands. He wasn't yelling just yet, but soon he would be. 

To answer his question, she truly didn't know what she was thinking then. All she knew was that there was a possibility that Hal Agnor was about to be blown up. And if by some miracle she found him before he was blown to a million bits, she wouldn't feel as guilty talking to his daughter, Marlowe the next time. 

"I wasn't—"

"That's right you weren't thinking at all," Jackson told her, his voice rising. He looked around and saw Flynn coming in with Director Davidson and another older man. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper and his grip loosened. "You never think. It was a really stupid thing to do. Running towards the danger."

"Vraiment?" She yanked her arm from his hold. Luckily, she got angry very easily and especially at her brother. Patience wasn't a genetic gift. "Did you even think that Hal might've still been in there? What if he was and the bomb wasn't faulty?"

"But we did look and he wasn't—" he stopped and held up an accusatory finger at her. "That is beside the point. I told you to listen to me and leave. I needed you safe and you did the exact opposite"—he gripped her arms again—"When I tell you to do something, Cesco, I expect you to listen."

"I don't have to listen to you."

Jackson narrowed his eyes at her, prepared to hold his ground. But before he could, harsh steps stomped towards them. A suit-clad Flynn Davidson walked up to them and Genevieve and Jackson both stopped their first fight in more than five years. He gave both of them a pointed look, "talk later, we have a very important guest." And though Genevieve was angry and slightly embarrassed that he gave her a pointed look; that was all he had to say before they were ushered in, both taking seats on opposite sides of the long table. 

Davidson and the old man both were the last to be seated when Flynn grabbed a sleek blinker and pointed it at the slide projecting onto the wall. Pointing the blinker at the white blind, only one word appeared in thick bold: