"He's dead…."
She was pretty sure she had said it. That is, she felt her mouth move, and even heard all the correct syllables, spoken in proper order, unmistakably by what she recognized as the sound of her own voice.
But at the same time, she couldn't be sure whether she had spoken actual words.
And so, in spite of the shock her statement had sent flowing through the room, Michelle decided this would be a good time to take a moment and examine whether she was actually making any sense.
….Which she wasn't, of course.
Ha! To think that her father, the great Mr. Jones, would give up his life, all to protect some stupid five year old kid, to whom his relation was the kid being the in-mission-conceived-son-of-the-overly-angsty-boyfriend-of-the-daughter-he-had-abandoned-years-ago. This was all unconceivable, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Oh, god. And to think she was about to make a complete idiot of herself, announcing this ridiculous piece of fiction to a room full of the faceless powers that be, the people who sit at the tip of the pyramid called "Organized Anti Terrorism Covert Ops".
Or "The Espionage Mafia", as she called them in her head, to make things shorter. "Thank goodness I caught myself in time!"
Her next thought was, naturally, "Then what am I doing here?"
If she had nothing of actual importance to report, why had she bothered taking the six hour flight, only to make it to a room full of HOLOGRAMS of people who were supposed to be Important.
And then, for the sixtieth time that day, it sank in. She was here because her father WAS dead. And he was dead, because giving his life, for the stupid five year old kid, of the –overly Angsty -boyfriend of her sister, was exactly the kind of thing that HE would do.
Her stupid, old and guilt ridden father, had died for the sake of stupid, annoying little brat, Adam Samuelle, to make her stupid, ever- miserable sister slightly happier (or, essentially, to blackmail her into becoming the head of section 1).
And just as she was about to mentally reprimand herself for thinking ill of her sister and her little sort-of-step nephew, as father would surely have done for her had he been alive, the voice of someone speaking made it clear to her that her moment of self reflection was up.
"What do you mean, dead?" Was proof enough that she had indeed spoken and been heard.
Mafia bosses wanted answers, and they wanted them now. And so she, Michelle, will play the mourning daughter, the trust worthy assistant, and the level headed bearer of bad news.
Just like father would have wanted.