He did not have the patience for this. Dread's new bodyguard, or whatever the hell he was, spent his time attempting to light his cigarettes with a blowtorch he had stolen from Berto along with countless other tools he was planning to use for only god knows what. Rachel was becoming a little too friendly for comfort with her old brother-in-law, the aforementioned Dread, or as he insisted on being called: "Mr. Nathanson" or "Marco". Berto had started building new Fidos that spewed motor oil on anyone they didn't recognize, and since they were faulty, they just vomited all over anyone within range, and Kat and Max weren't talking to each other because Kat had broken Max's- no, Josh's- new skateboard. To top it all off, he now had a Langley lackey at his desk requesting assistance on a case the agency had forced N-Tek out of. And people were surprised he was already completely bald at his comparatively young age.
On top of everything else he had on his plate at the moment, the now had to deal with the overly polished man sitting in front of his desk insisting he was not from the CIA, yet requesting information for said agency.
"Look," Jefferson sighed, "just let me know what kind of clearance you've got, and I'll see what kind of information I'm authorized to give you."
The other man was silent.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well what kind of clearance do you have?"
"That information's privileged."
"So is mine."
"Mine's more privileged than yours."
"Well then what I know can't be that important to you."
"It's not."
"Well then why d9o you need it so badly?"
"That's classified."
It was going to be a long day.