Mr. Pinkerton gave Garrett a hard heated look after hearing what his apprentice believed of his relationship with Fawn.
“I want you to put such vulgar thoughts away from that brilliant mind of yours,” he ordered sternly. “You have it all wrong, and I hope you haven’t expressed such dangerous assumptions to anyone else. She receives enough contempt from those spiteful young women in the bullpen.”
Garrett watched his mentor look down at an open file he had been reading when he entered. He inwardly admitted that his inquiry into the relationship Mr. Pinkerton had with Fawn was presented poorly. He was angry and most of all, tired.
“You have my sincerest apologies for my thoughtless accusations,” he apologized. “I returned to find you’d made so many changes you always said you only trusted from me. There are new employees I haven’t vetted and this young woman who looks more like a museum actor than a serious security clerk. Forgive me for stating my first impression as though it were fact.
If I may know, then, if it isn’t some fanciful interest, why have you put her in charge of our most sacred elements? What makes you trust her so completely you’d give her access to blueprints I’m certain outline inner chambers no one is to know exist? Why do you feel she can be trusted with case files that include missions someone like me has managed?
It isn’t only the detective agency she’s overseeing in her position. It’s the Order,” he said in a lowered voice. “It’s me, Lucas, and agents like me.”
Mr. Pinkerton nodded his understanding. “You’re worried about your safety. I understand, Garrett.”
He stood from his chair and walked over to a small table set with a liquor decanter and several short glasses. The glass of the decanter stopper clanged as it was lifted and again as it was set onto the metal tray.
Garrett watched the golden brandy spill into two glasses and rubbed his chin as he considered the security breach in so many locations across the globe.
“We don’t know how they’re infiltrating,” he told Mr. Pinkerton. “I was needed abroad, but I could’ve come home early if these changes couldn’t wait.”
“I’ve over-indulged you, my boy,” Mr. Pinkerton chuckled as he handed him a half-filled glass. “You think your word is the only one I can or should depend upon.”
“What is her experience?” Garrett countered, unaffected by the remark meant to humble him. “You’ve yet to mention it, forcing me to believe she has none.
My word doesn’t have to be the only one you can rely on, but advice should come from those closest to you, closest to this company and to the Order of the Horned Tiger *, and those with years of experience in what we need.
She can paint so you gave her sensitive documents to reconstruct? What am I missing, Lucas? I won’t again suggest something vulgar, as you call it, but can you at least help me to understand this decision? Can you give me at least that much when it’s my life on the line and others in the field like me?”
Mr. Pinkerton sat at the seat beside Garrett rather than the chair behind his desk. He wanted to speak candidly, and Garrett looked toward the door to be certain it was secure.
“There’s something I’ve kept from you, my boy,” he spoke softly. “I had a mild stroke while you were gone.” He held his hand up at Garrett’s attempt to speak out of concern. “It was mild, as I said. It happened the week after you left for Pennsylvania.”
“South Korea,” Garrett corrected, still in shock over the worrisome news.
Mr. Pinkerton chuckled. “It’s just us, Garrett. I knew you were in Pennsylvania and why. I knew the moment word came of the assassination of the Devil’s Advocate. I’m assuming your subsequent trip to South Korea to discuss security breaches served to, also, report to Investigator Yun JiHo. I’m old but my mind is still as sharp as a tack.”
“You didn’t stop me,” Garrett noted. “You’re an elder. Not by blood, of course, but the younger generations of Tigers all regard you as such. Why didn’t you stop me? You knew it was an unsanctioned hit.”
“I did,” Mr. Pinkerton replied. “Just as I know the plane crash on Thanksgiving was your doing.”
Garrett relaxed back into his chair and took a sip of the warming liquid with a worried shake of his head.
“Your secret is safe,” Mr. Pinkerton assured him. “It had to be done, and those who are elders by blood agree. Nothing will be said unless trouble comes of it.”
Garrett set his glass onto the desk and nodded in gratitude.
“About this stroke,” he urged his boss to continue.
“Only your brother knows of it,” Mr. Pinkerton went on. “He was with me in the parking garage when I collapsed. I swore him to secrecy. With the Society of the Four Flowers * sniffing around like sharks looking for blood, I didn’t want anyone seeing my situation as a weakness. I ordered him not to tell you because you had to stay safe. You didn’t need distractions.
While I was recovering, I met Fawn. She came to the hospital rehabilitation ward for those of us who had suffered brain injuries. She was a frequent visitor and would bring paints and mooncakes.”
“Mooncakes?” wondered Garrett.
Mr. Pinkerton laughed. “I understand they’re more of a seasonal treat in China.”
“During the Mid-Autumn festival,” Garrett remarked.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Pinkerton acknowledged the lesson with a nod. “She explained it was to bring luck to our healing.
Her daily visits were a blessing. My doctors insisted it was her kind and gentle nature and our conversations that had such a positive impact on my recovery.
She’s an intelligent and creative woman. She had painted gardens in the shapes of mazes and puzzles. To solve them, we could only use our minds. No pen or pencil was allowed to touch her canvas. When she would sit with me, we would discuss how she created such challenging puzzles. I began to see the value in her ideas as something that could benefit our security system.
You see, she had traps in these mazes. Certain flowers were the blockades, and in order to make it through, we had to remember what flowers would trap us and which ones would move us along. It was all very intricate and difficult to explain unless you’re looking at one.
After I was well enough to be released, I asked if she wanted to work for me as a home-health nurse. She politely declined, stating she would be leaving soon. She never told me where she was going.
During one of my check-ups a few weeks later, I learned she hadn’t been back to the hospital since I left. I asked for her personal information so that I could contact her, but since she wasn’t on the hospital staff, no one knew more than her first name. I was on my way out of the building when she walked through the same door.
I stopped her and spoke with her a bit, offering her a job designing a mural for our office ad. She hesitated at first, but I finally convinced her.
I could see she hadn’t been eating much, and she looked tired as hell. From our conversations, I knew she had no family or friends, but I didn’t know much of anything else. I didn’t know where she lived or in what condition she lived. Her clothes were always clean, like the rest of her.
She makes her own clothes, by the way. She says they, like the mooncakes, are her way of honoring her family she never knew. I assumed she meant back in China, but she never explained.
After the ad was complete, I wanted to pay her through the company. She requested cash, explaining she didn’t have a bank account and preferred to have money on hand.
I took her to dinner that evening and invited her to help me with our security system. I wanted a maze of sorts, with tricks and traps like she had in her puzzles. She seemed to come to life as she spoke about it.
When she visited the vault, she immediately went to work explaining all the weak spots and how anyone could exploit the security measures we had in place. She offered solutions for everything with barely a breath in between.
I offered her an office here so I could speak to her about new projects, but she wasn’t comfortable around others. I noticed at the hospital, she only spoke with the patients who needed her and didn’t say much to the staff or visitors. She kept her head down around those people. I told her I would find a place for her to work, a place where she would have full control.”
“So you put her in charge of sensitive and classified files,” interrupted Garrett. “Sir, I’m not trying to be difficult or argumentative, but you just told me you hardly know anything about her, other than she was kind to you and other patients. I still don’t understand why she deserves such a position of trust.”
Mr. Pinkerton cleared his throat and looked down at his glass still filled with the amount he had poured into it.
“I had a dream about her,” he replied almost sheepishly.
Garrett laid his leg across the other, his ankle resting on the other knee, and folded his hands thoughtfully on his lap.
“It wasn’t a simple dream,” he added as he looked back up at Garrett’s questioning gaze. “I dreamed she would be instrumental in bringing down the Four Flowers.”
When Garrett remained silent and patiently waited for Mr. Pinkerton to continue, the older man relaxed and explained.
“My mother always spoke of her dreams coming true, though my father thought it was hogwash,” Mr. Pinkerton recalled. “My uncle, though, he always said one of the traits that made Pinkerton detectives so good was this sixth sense we had about us. That always stuck with me and made me less embarrassed about this knack I have.
After I met Fawn, the dreams became more vivid. I don’t know how she’s supposed to do it, but in the dreams, she was overseeing security when it all fell into place. Hiring her seemed to get the ball rolling on whatever it is we do to finally see an end to that abhorrent cult.”
Garrett sighed and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair while his other hand straightened his tie.
“Are you now going to admonish me for hiring someone on the whim of a dream?” Mr. Pinkerton assumed.
Garrett shook his head and thought carefully before he spoke.
“I’ve often found answers in dreams,” he revealed. “I’m still not certain hiring this strange woman was a good idea, but if you’ll permit me to run a background check on her, it will better put my mind at ease.”
“Already done,” he replied, then softly laughed. “You don’t think I left everything to a gut feeling, do you? You know me better than that, my boy. She’s clean. You have my word. After all the hard work you did helping me get my family’s company back in order, I wouldn’t risk endangering it to another downfall, nor would I risk the lives of you and other field agents or the work our Order has done against the Four Flowers.
Will you give her a chance, Garrett? For me?”
“Yes, and if I get too involved, they’ll likely hurt her even more,” he worried. “I’ve been remiss in allowing their treatment to go on for so long, but if I say something, their jealousy and disapproval will only worsen. The young men aren’t as harsh, but you know, they’ll take sides with their female co-workers to score points. Perhaps I can release a memo about office gossip and this being a team and the Pinkerton family.”
“That sounds like a start,” Garrett agreed. “Oh, I picked you up something in South Korea.”
Mr. Pinkerton took the bag Garrett handed to him from beside his chair and set it down onto his desk. He carefully removed a large box and set it down in the way the label indicated was up. When he carefully lifted the lid, he breathed in joy and wonder.
“It’s a collection of soju called The Four Seasons of Pungjeong,” Garrett explained while Mr. Pinkerton removed the four bottles of Korean liquor. “Pungjeongsagye Chun is spring, Pungjeongsagye Ha is summer, Pungjeongsagye Chu is autumn, and Pungjeongsagye Dong is winter. There’s an explanation pamphlet included.”
“Beautiful! Just beautiful!” exclaimed Mr. Pinkerton. “Why didn’t you give me this sooner? We could have tried it out instead of that old brandy.”
Garrett laughed and shook his head. “I would rather wait until I can enjoy it with you. I planned on getting a short nap after our meeting. I’m finding Doug was right about taking today off, but don’t you dare tell him!”
* In reference to The Detective & The Socialite
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