Laurel Lance sighed as she shifted another box of files. Six weeks since she had been released from the hospital after her injuries had healed from when the earthquake demolished the old office in the East Glades, and workers were still hauling files out of the rubble.
Laurel set the box down and rubbed her side. Why did broken ribs take so long to heal?

"Stop complaining, Laurel," she muttered to herself, "at least you're still alive." She had Tommy Merlyn to thank for that. He'd gone from self-centered, lazy playboy to the man who would give his life for her—but he never had the chance to reap the fruit of his efforts.
Laurel quickly swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped away the tears in her eyes.

"Knock-knock!" called a voice that never failed to make Laurel's heart race.
Oliver Queen stepped into the auxiliary offices of CNRI, looking none too shabby for the ordeal he survived. His nose had broken, his arm was still in a sling, but the bruises and cuts on his face had almost disappeared completely. He smiled at Laurel, his blue eyes piercing her hazel ones.

"How is the move going?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

Laurel sighed, "Still moving," she quipped, accepting the hug. "Workers are still combing the wreckage, but it doesn't look like they'll find much more than what we have here—" she gestured to the disorganized heap of dirty file boxes, "and that's less than half of what we had."

Oliver surveyed the scene pensively. "You'll make do," he reassured her. "I'm sure the ones you have here were a lot of the ones that mattered, anyway."

Laurel shrugged and went back to sorting files into brand-new cabinets, courtesy of the old Merlyn Global offices, since their business had been appropriated by Queen Consolidated upon the demise of the two remaining Merlyn family members.

"I suppose," she responded. "But still, what are we going to do for missing cases? Word of mouth?"

"Ms. Lance?" A tentative voice came from the doorway. Oliver turned and allowed a short, thin, balding man to enter. He smiled at the young attorney. "Hi, I'm Jeff, you said we'd meet today to discuss my case?"

Laurel frowned, "I'm sorry—we've been kind of backlogged lately...what case was that?"

Jeff eyed the stacks of files and nodded. "The one against DuPries and Associates," he supplied, "about the swindling?"

Oliver's ears pricked at the mention. DuPries wasn't a name on his father's list, but what was one less crooked businessman to Starling City?

Laurel blushed, and Jeff nodded, "I see; I don't mind starting from the beginning, as long as justice can be served."

Oliver could see Laurel glancing uneasily in his direction. He took the initiative. "Well on that note," he announced with a grin, "I'd better get going. It was great to see you, Laurel," he nodded to her.

She nodded back with a rare smile. "Good to see you too, Ollie. Tell Thea I said hi."
"I will if I see her," Oliver answered.

Once outside, he dialed Felicity.
"I need you to look up DuPries and Associates," he informed her.
"Why?" she asked over the clatter of keys, "Is it going to be your next target?"
"That depends on what you can find, Felicity," Oliver answered. "I'm on my way there now." He smiled, "By the way, how's the new recruit?"
"He's just fine," Felicity answered with amusement in her voice. "Diggle's showing him the ropes."

In the hideout beneath the Verdant Club, Felicity turned and smiled just as the brawny bodyguard delivered a driving blow to the head of the Hood's newest recruit—Roy Harper.

Oliver arrived to find Diggle surveying the monitors with Felicity. Roy sat off to the side, cradling an ice pack against his bruised cheek and staring murderously at Diggle.
"Hey," Oliver walked over to him. "How is day three?"

"Fine," Roy mumbled around a fat lip.

Oliver smirked, "Guess you're going to have to cancel that date with my sister tonight—unless you'd rather try and explain what happened."
Roy rolled his eyes.
"He's getting faster," Diggle informed his friend. "There's only a few tricks he still has to learn."

"Good," Oliver had moved on to surveying the information Felicity had gathered. "Now how about our Mr. DuPries?"

"Shifty as they come," Felicity commented wryly. "Missing funds, back-door deals, shoddy work conditions—Man," she shook her head. "This guy has to be stopped! Here's evidence that the guy took donations to improve work conditions at his factory—"

"And the workers never saw a cent," Oliver clenched his jaw. This was hitting close to home, reminding him of how his father once ran the steel mill.
He reached for the hood.

"I wouldn't chance it if I were you," Felicity warned him.

Oliver glanced at her, "I thought you said he had to be stopped."

"Yeah," she replied slowly, "but not that way."

He raised his eyebrows. "What are you not telling me?"

Felicity pulled up a few articles from several years ago. "The guy is an eccentric hermit. He's been holed up in his house for years. Does all his business from there."
"Cell phone or e-mail?"
"Nope, a land line and fax machine."
"Dang," Diggle cried, "this guy must be from the Stone Age! Who uses a fax machine any more?"
"This guy does." A smile played around the blonde's mouth. "No one goes in or out—except his daughter."
Oliver sat forward, "Daughter?"

Felicity pulled up another page. "When I saw how impregnable his security systems were, I started looking at the daughter. Meet Geraldine Romola Amelia DuPries, her daddy's pride and joy, and the only family he has." She clicked through pictures of Miss Geraldine wearing designer clothing at high-end hot-spots.

"What does she do?" Oliver asked, as a plan clicked together in his mind. "Shopping?" Geraldine reminded him a bit of Thea.

"Mostly," Felicity responded. "She's attending a European-style girls' finishing school for upper-crust elites. She goes out in the morning, attends classes, hits the mall, goes home."

"Security detail?"

Diggle snorted, "If he's got his house locked up so tight, you can bet he's got his daughter on a tight leash!"

Felicity brought up traffic camera stills. "If she does, they're experts at not being seen. Geraldine seems to go where she wants, with nobody obviously following her."
"Are you sure her bodyguards aren't just really good at blending in or something?" Roy suggested before Oliver could stop him.

Felicity actually removed her glasses to nail him with a death-glare. "I sat here for over two hours running every face in a single shot through the recognition system data from another shot. No matches—ever!"

"Okay," Oliver regained focus on the mission at hand, "So the mark is inaccessible, but the daughter has free rein—" he grinned at the others. "That's my in." He swung his hoodie on with a snap.
"What are you going to do?" Diggle asked.

"I'll wait in an alley, grab her, and bring her back here," Oliver answered. "Digs, you and Roy can get a room ready for our guest. Preferably one with a camera."
Diggle nodded.

"Can't I go with you?" Roy begged.

Oliver shook his head. "The fewer the better," he answered, and departed.