Chapter One: The New Suit
John Reese was a little later than normal. Harold Finch expected at any moment for him to come sauntering into the library where they had set up their base operations of helping people in peril. Harold continued glancing at his watch. Each sound caused him to look up to see if John would be coming forward, perhaps carrying a pink box of glazed donuts or two cups of Chai Tea with the strings from the bags blowing backward as he walked. He only allowed himself to look up because the analytical side of his brain knew that each of those sounds was in fact not his partner.
Still no Reese.
Finch wanted to dial him but hesitated, recalling how Reese had been acting lately.
Reese had always needed a little extra time to recover from cases involving abused women. Memories of Jessica were still too fresh.
Today, Finch needed Reese at the top of his game. A new number had come in, and past experience proved that in each case, time was always of the essence.
Then he heard the familiar footsteps. He needn't look up to confirm. He could feel John's presence without a visual confirmation. Continuing to look at his computer monitor, he didn't want John to know that he had been concerned.
Reese stood before him with his customary physical distance and folded arms. "New number?"
"And good morning to you, too, Mr. Reese," Finch answered.
"Yes, morning," Reese responded. He had intentionally left out the good because he hoped Finch would hear it as an understood. There was very little about the morning that had been good, so he omitted it from his response.
The two men nodded at each other.
Reese had awakened that morning to pain reeling from the fight he had had with the ex-husband of their latest case. Even though Reese had ultimately won, the ex had gotten in a few good blows. Clad only in a bath towel and looking at his body in his bathroom's full-length mirror, Reese had mumbled to himself that he was getting too old for beat-downs of that nature. He had known he was running late and that Finch would be worried, but he had still decided not to rush against the clock. He had reasoned that Finch would call if a new number had come up and he was needed immediately.
The woman from the case he had just wrapped up had looked eerily similar to Jessie. He had allowed her to kiss him as a thank you as she boarded the Greyhound bus. His heart felt as though it had burst as he watched the bus head down the street and out of sight. Standing statuesque on the street unable to move, Reese felt as if he had just said goodbye to Jessie all over again. As his mind slowly awakened, he began to feel the cold air smashing into his face. He fought against the temptation to go to the bar and down whiskey until he felt the nothingness again.
Back at his apartment, he had allowed himself to actually feel the pain of Jessie's loss as he tended to his head wound and iced his hand. So the morning after, this morning, he hadn't been able physically and emotionally to get out of bed and rush to the library. He had needed a little extra time to allow his emotions to settle; the physical pain would take care of itself.
"Yes, a new number. It came in early this morning," Finch stated. He wanted John to offer a reason for his tardy or to confide in him that he was struggling with his emotions from the case they closed yesterday, but typical John Reese came into play. He stood towering above Finch's feeble frame with his usual stoic facial expression.
Finch got up and shuffled over to the glass wall where he had taped up the picture of their latest number. Reese followed him.
"This is Avery Dodson, President and CEO of Vestidge Securities Company," Finch stated as he turned to look at John to gauge his attention.
John seemed to be paying complete attention, which was rare, Finch thought.
As John turned to look at Finch as an encouragement for him to communicate the background information in a timelier manner, Finch could see the physical remnants of their last case on John's face and hands. John bore slight dark bruising under his right eye, bruised knuckles, and a jagged wound on his forehead near his hairline. Finch could see that Reese had actually tried to conceal the wound by allowing his hair to come down on his forehead more than usual.
Becoming aware that Finch was looking at his wounds, Reese uncomfortably stepped back and took a seat at the table near the wall, continuing to look up at the picture taped on the glass and the strings leading to papers detailing information about Mr. Dodson. "Who wants to hurt a president of a medium-sized securities company?" Reese asked, forcing Finch to look back at the wall and away from his injuries.
"Why I don't know. That's your job, Mr. Reese," Finch bantered.
Reese shot Finch a quick smile, which relieved Finch that his partner was coming back to his usual self—albeit his usual self was also not too easy for normal people to be around.
But Harold Finch was certainly no normal man.
And that's why the two men made a perfect team.
"So, I think you should infiltrate Vestidge Securities Company. I've made the necessary arrangements for you to meet with Mr. Dodson as a potential client. As John Hammond, you are looking for a new company to invest your money," Finch said.
"What time's my appointment?" Reese asked.
"You have a 2:30. I'll have a new suit for you. You certainly can't go in your present condition."
The familiarity of this interaction made John feel settled and grounded. Often the cases, particularly ones where he had to work undercover, messed with his mind. He had spent so many years being so many other people that he truly didn't know who the real John was any longer. Through helping people on their cases, Finch had been helping him become reborn into a man with a real purpose, a good purpose. But at this moment, having not fully recovered from the emotions of the last case, Reese was ready to be John Hammond, taking a little time away from being John Reese.
The two partners continued to work, researching Avery Dodson and Vestidge Securities Company, building a complete identity for John Hammond, and looking into the backgrounds of Dodson's family, friends, and associates. To Finch and Reese, Avery Dodson was the perfect American citizen and man.
From his digital footprint, it appeared that Avery Dodson was a happily married father of two children, was a devout Catholic, and was a member of the Ruritans, the PTA, and the local country club. He paid his bills and taxes on time, borrowed no money, had a perfect credit score, was an active donor to various charities, coached his daughter's basketball team and his son's soccer team, and competed every year in a triathlon.
His wife's pure-bred American life mirrored her husband's. She drove the proverbial minivan, visited her parents once a week, led a Girl Scout troop, and volunteered at the free clinic. The family's recent Christmas photo showed all four of them dressed in light denim jeans and matching Christmas sweaters sitting with their arms draped around one another beaming from ear to ear with smiles that showed their perfect white teeth as they sat on Flexible Flyer sleds amongst fluffy cotton puffs serving as snow.
"Gee, this guy's a saint," Finch said.
"This family can't be for real," Reese answered. Turning the Christmas picture around to show Finch, Reese jested, "They're a caricature of themselves, Finch. No family is this White Bread."
Finch snickered at Reese's word choice. "Even the Dodson family dog is immaculately groomed."
Shaking their heads, they both went back to their research.
Dodson's employees had never filed a complaint, and many had been with the company for at least 10 years. Pictures of company banquets showed a festive and well-adjusted workplace. His employees varied in ages, were a mixture of backgrounds and races, and were straight, gay, bisexual, and transsexual. From the outset, Vestidge Securities Company truly was an equal opportunities employer.
There was no single detail out of sync.
In frustration, Reese finally said, "Maybe The Machine got it wrong this time." He knew The Machine was never wrong, but the words had left his mouth before he could stop them.
Finch didn't need to bother answering. He looked up from his monitor and gave John his usual condescending look when John would say something ignorant.
To Finch, John Reese was a reasonably intelligent man, but he wasn't knowledgeable of how The Machine worked. Finch knew Reese had pried into his business and The Machine, but he hadn't yet been able to understand The Machine's intelligence and exactly how it was able to make decisions and identify its numbers.
"I just don't get it," Reese continued. "Why Dodson? He's about as All-American as you can get."
"The Machine makes no mistakes. There is something. The Machine can connect malevolence from even the thinnest thread of someone's life. You and I may not be able to see it…yet, but The Machine does. It's never wrong. We just have to find that thread. Once we do, then we understand the case. Keep reading, Mr. Reese," Finch instructed.
Observing his friend for several additional moments after his response, Reese's eyes dropped down to the papers he was holding and continued reading.
A little later, Finch could see Reese's eyes getting heavy. He wondered if Reese had buried his emotions in alcohol the evening before. He knew that the young woman was too similar to Jessica, which caused Reese to lose his objectivity. She had been the one planning her ex-husband's murder, but Reese had refused to turn her in to Carter and Fusco. Instead, he purchased a bus ticket, gave her $5,000, and sent her on her way. Telling Finch he had no regrets and that he didn't want further conversation about his actions, Reese then stated that he was heading home for the rest of the day and not to call him unless there was an emergency. Finch wanted Reese to talk to him, but, being a very private man himself, he understood why Reese wanted to be alone.
"Here," he said as he thrust a small piece of paper with an address scribbled on it toward Reese, "Go pick up your new suit. It's ready for you."
John put down the papers, got up from his chair without saying anything, and took the paper from Finch's hand.
"Grab some lunch for us while you're out," Finch yelled toward John's back as he made his way to the exit.
Without turning around, John held up his hand to acknowledge that he heard Finch's request. Finch went back to his computer monitor, trying to piece together every single detail that had caused The Machine to identify Avery Dodson as their latest number. Sometimes he wouldn't come to know until John did his part, which is why Harold Finch had come to rely very heavily on his new partner. While he and Nathan had been long-time friends and he had counted on Nathan to serve as the company beard, he needed John Reese far more. He had actually come to regard his new partner as a friend as well, which had surprised the very closed and private Harold Finch.
A little later he heard the familiar entrance of Reese. He was ready for a lunch break.
"Discover that thread while I was gone?" Reese asked.
"Still digging. I see you got your new suit and deli sandwiches, eh?" Finch asked, allowing a grin to cross his mouth.
John draped his new suit still in the garment bag over the chair in the corner. He then handed Finch the bag of food, allowing Finch first dibs on his sandwich of choice. He knew Finch would select the turkey on croissant, though. He always selected the turkey on croissant. John, on the other hand, wasn't selective over the type of meat or bread. He still used food for its intended purpose: to keep his body fueled. For Finch, however, food was always an experience. John had come to realize that all wealthy people were like that.
They ate quickly, speaking very little. Finch had wanted to ask John how he was doing, but he knew that John preferred to move on. Seeing John ball up the brown sandwich wrapping and put it in the bag along with his other trash, Finch motioned toward the garment bag. "Go try it on so I can make sure that the cuffs are right," Finch instructed.
John got up and left the room with the garment bag. He came back a few minutes later clad in the new suit.
"I told him to make sure the pant legs would break at the front of your shoe and approach the top of your heel at the back. Did you even try on the suit at the shop?"
Reese was taken aback by the question. No, he hadn't tried it on. He wore suits all the time, so there shouldn't be such a fuss about this one. He knew Finch would be uptight about the break and heal, but he had never seen the difference between Finch's obsessive, nit-picky tailored suits and his own. They looked the same to him.
Finch could see from Reese's face that he couldn't tell the difference between his off-the-rack suits and Finch's custom tailored suits. Typical government employee, Finch thought to himself. "Just stand there," Finch directed in an exasperated tone as he shuffled over to the box he used for sewing materials.
Finch having that box amused Reese, but he had always respected how industrious his employer was.
Eyeballing several spools of thread against the grey pants, Finch was finally satisfied that he had the exact color to make an adjustment in Reese's pants so Reese could satisfactorily pull off being the wealthy businessman, John Hammond.
Reese stood still as Finch made adjustments to the bottom of the pants. This situation was not new to the two of them. Finch had altered just about every new pair of pants Reese wore when he was going undercover as a wealthy man.
"Satisfied?" Reese asked as Finch put the needle and spool of thread away in the box.
"Why, yes I am," he answered. "You should probably get going in the next few minutes. Wealthy businessmen are never tardy."
Reese nodded to Finch, taking his wallet from the pocket of the suit jacket he wore coming to work that morning and slipping it into the breast pocket of his new grey suit.
"Did you get John Hammond's identifications and family photos I put on the table?"
Reese looked around to where Finch was pointing and saw that they were still sitting there. "Rhetorical question?" Reese smirked.
Finch smiled.
TBC