Access Denied

27. Tickets for Rejection

Genevieve's fingers played against the dark wood of mahogany desk in Director Cory Davidson's office. The desktop computer had been removed from his desk and replaced with a slim laptop. The wall clock was set exactly according to time and the chain of metal drawers grew a little longer since the last time she was here, meaning more records of the world's darkest secrets.

"Thanks," Davidson said into the phone. "Yes, I'll call you back in some time."

He rounded the desk and came back to his seat, dropping his cell phone down with thud. He laced his fingers, a sympathetic look on his face. The nerve he had to pity her.

"I just got off the phone with the Head of the Records at the Federal Bureau. You criminal record has been expunged and all evidence concerning it, you can consider gone."

Genevieve gave him a stiff nod. "I really appreciate it. Thank you."

He then took out a white envelope and slid it forwards, stopping it just in front of her drumming fingers. When a Nurse had seen her hand, she had immediately reported about it to a Doctor. Now, her hand had a flimsy dressing wrapped around it meant to heal the scratches and cuts on it.

"That's a couple grand in cash," Davidson told her, his eyes studying her every move. "I was pretty sure you don't carry a credit card."

Genevieve nodded. When she finally left Blind Spot HQ, the first thing she was going to do was buy herself a new pair of black gloves.

Director Davidson cleared his throat, preparing to restart the conversation she had shot down before. "About the protection detail—"

"I said I don't need it Davidson."

He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair. "I know you don't need it Nevi. But with Jackson's secret out, you are going to be in the center of an open fire. Rothstein, Redstone, M.A.I and anyone else in the black web are going to be after you. This is a race to the death, Genevieve."

"You don't have to worry about me," she told him, remembering Marlowe's last words to her before Genevieve left her ward. "It won't fix what you've already done."

Davidson's lips thinned as he tried to hide his grimace. She had had a similar reaction when she had heard the words from Marlowe. Though, she should have expected it.

Marlowe's doctor had said that she would respond better if someone she knew was with her when she woke up. Genevieve had the opposite effect. Marlowe believed—or was told—that Genevieve was the reason her father was presumably missing. He could've also been dead, but Genevieve didn't want to tell her that when she was already that angry with her.

She knew that most of what Marlowe said to her was out of fear's sake, but that didn't mean it hurt less. Marlowe Agnor—someone she considered a little sister—hated her and would listen to no reason.

It was either, reuniting her with her father or facing her anger for further time.

Shaking his head to himself, Davidson sighed as he leaned his elbows back on the desk. "You know, you would have made a brilliant Field agent. You have the brains, the instinct and the additional quality of quick hands. Some basic fighting technique and a month of training, and I could see you anywhere in the world taking care of an assignment."

"But I'm not an agent, Davidson," she drawled out. The back and forth with him was getting quite repetitive. "I never was and I never will be."

Davidson gave her a tight-lipped stare. "Pity. You would do well."

A few seconds past before Genevieve stood from her seat and straightened her clothes. She gave the Director a small nod, "I guess I'll be leaving then."