The office was quiet as Doug read through the few text messages Garrett allowed him to see. He gave a small grin as he flipped through the printouts Garrett made of them for his files. 

     “You’re going by your Chinese name,” he noted. “Any reason you’re keeping your identity from her?” 

     Garrett shrugged. “I like to keep my work life separate from my home life. You know that. It’s so seldom I get to.” 

     “Yet you’re turning this friendly gesture into work,” Doug replied. “Why won’t you tell me how you met? There must have been a reason for you to give her your private number.” 

     “I told you. I heard her crying behind a closed door, and since I didn’t want to intrude, I left her a note,” he explained.  

     Doug stared at him a moment as if to consider the truthfulness of the account.

     Garrett twirled his cigar cutter around his finger as he returned his brother’s doubtful gaze. “The person who kept the stroke a secret from me doesn’t have the right to demand more than I’m willing to say.” 

     Doug gave a quick, short chuckle and shook his head. “Fair enough. Are you thinking of taking this further than friendship?” 

     “Don’t start with me, Doug,” Garrett huffed and rolled his eyes. “I have no time for relationships, especially if this turns out to be something the Order needs to take care of. If that’s the case, I’ll be making another trip soon.” 

     A knock on the door interrupted Doug before he could respond, and they both looked to see who it was. 

     “Trevor,” mumbled Doug. 

     “He’s always hanging around,” Garrett noted with a tone of frustration. “Doesn’t he ever work at his desk?” 

     “Go easy on the kid,” Doug grinned. “He just wants to be noticed by the greatest detective at Pinkerton.” 

     “Don’t let Lucas Pinkerton hear you say that,” laughed Garrett. “We’ll all be sitting through another three-hour documentary on his family history, sans the scandalous parts. 

     Do you give those recruits bathroom breaks?” wondered Garrett as they continued to watch Trevor through the one-way glass. “He’s moving about like his bladder’s about to burst.” 

     Doug only laughed. 

     “Mr. Fagan, sir,” Trevor called out. “Are you there? I have a message from Mr. Pinkerton, sir.” 

     “Speak of the devil,” remarked Doug. 

     With an annoyed grunt, Garrett pressed the remote lock and released the inner latch securing the door. Trevor heard it and hurried in as soon as he could press the door handle. 

     “Mr. Fagan,” he greeted Garrett. “Oh, Mr. Fagan,” he greeted Doug. 

     “Come join us, Trevor,” Doug invited, to which Garrett kicked his shin beneath the desk. 

     Doug jumped in pain but laughed when Trevor sat down. 

     “What’s this message?” Garrett asked. 

     He wanted to be done with whatever Trevor had to say so he could speak more with Garrett about Yuè’s foster home. Their discussion involved the Order, not a Pinkerton case, so they had to be cautious about speaking of it in front of anyone like Trevor who wasn’t part of the vigilante organization. 

     Trevor straightened in the black office chair as he spoke to the senior agents.

     “Mr. Pinkerton wants to see you about your birthday party,” he told Garrett. “He has some ideas he wants to run by you, including some food choices. I think he’s planning on asking Miss Fawn to make mooncakes.” 

     “Mmm … Fawn’s mooncakes,” sighed Doug. “I know you’ve been around the world, little brother, but I’d bet anything you’ve never had mooncakes like these. There’s something special about them. They’re so much better than the ones you’ve brought back from your trips overseas.”

     “Mom would skin you alive if she heard you say that,” warned Garrett, and Doug laughed. 

     “They really are good, sir,” Trevor agreed. “Miss Fawn is kind of weird and she has those funny old-fashioned clothes, but she sure can cook.” 

     He gave a big grin as he spoke and looked at Doug to agree. 

     Remembering Garrett’s outburst the day before and that Mr. Pinkerton had spoken to him about Fawn’s volunteer work at the hospital, Doug glanced at Garrett to see his reaction. 

     “What makes you say she’s weird?” asked Garrett. 

     Trevor, not realizing the loaded question he’d been asked, quickly answered. “You know, how she just showed up one day and started making all these changes. I was hired a month later, and it was all anyone could talk about. It was like she and Mr. Pinkerton have a close relationship. 

     Well, you know. You went to the vault. She gets in before anyone, stays in there all day, and leaves after everyone. The only time we really see her is if we have to go down for files.” 

     Garrett twirled the cigar clipper faster around his finger as he looked from Doug to Trevor. 

     “If you hardly ever see her, what makes her weird?” he asked. “Also, why do you say her clothes are funny? I don’t recall seeing her in a clown suit.” 

     Trevor started to laugh but by the widened stare of Doug, he felt he may be walking into a trap. He decided to choose his words carefully. 

     “I only mean it’s funny to see someone so young wearing old lady clothes,” he replied. “You know what I mean, sir. It’s like if Monique came into work wearing pilgrim clothes. We’d all think that was funny, right? I meant no disrespect to her or your culture.” 

     Doug cleared his throat and Garrett leaned back into his chair. He remembered the hostile reaction Fawn had to his teasing about her dress, and he believed he understood why. Trevor must have been parroting what he’d heard the others say about her, just like the remark about her relationship with Mr. Pinkerton. 

     “I think we’ll leave clothing critique to a better setting, one suited for a fashion show rather than a detective and security office,” Garrett replied. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

     “Yes, sir,” Trevor quickly responded. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” 

     Garrett stood as he tossed the cigar clipper onto the desk. 

     “I’ll go speak with Mr. Pinkerton about these ideas for my birthday,” he told them. “Doug, can you escort your new protégé back to his desk? I’m certain he has a stack of paperwork to organize just as any new recruit.” 

     “Yes, sir, Mr. Fagan, sir!” Doug responded with the stark enthusiasm of an assistant rather than an older office supervisor. 

     He laughed when Garrett grinned and they all left the office toward their separate ways.