Glendale Apartments - Chicago, IL

It was a cold, dreary Friday morning and John had gotten little sleep the night before. With a hot cup of coffee in hand, he paced his small one bedroom apartment and thought about last night's call from the machine. He had managed to get the social security number by pulling the books in the school's library using the Dewey Decimal system, but that was all he was able to obtain before the janitor walked in and asked why he was still in the school. He needed to find out who this new number was and help them, and he knew who would be the one person able to assist him. John just wasn't sure if that person would want to help him.

He picked up the burner phone he was warned to only use in an emergency and powered it on. After taking a deep breath, he dialed the only number in his contacts. After several rings, a perky female voice answered the line. "Thank you for calling the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Museum. How may I direct your call?"

"Connect me to the manager of the Emerging Technologies Exhibit, please."

"No problem," said the friendly voice. "One moment."

After a few minutes of holding music, John heard the one voice he hadn't heard in almost two years. "Harold Crane speaking."

"I need your help," John answered, getting straight to business. There was no beating around the bush, but he had to be very careful of what he said and how he said it.

There was a pause on the other line, signaling recognition on the other end. "That's… not a problem, sir," Finch started, recovering from the initial shock of hearing John's voice after so long. "How may I help you?"

"Does Ernest Thornhill still work there? I was contacted by him last night and he left me a number to contact him," John explained as cryptically as he could.

"I'm sorry sir, no one by that name works in this department," Finch replied as he began to log in to his personal laptop. "What was the number that he left you?"

John rattled off the numbers of the social security number and he could hear Finch typing in the background. "So… can you help me?" he asked after another long moment of silence.

Finch had always heard the expression that everyone has a twin, but nothing could have prepared him for the face on the mug shot staring back at him. Oh, my god. She looks just like… He shook his head before he could finish the thought. "Are… are you… sure that was the number he left you?" he inquired.

"Yes…" John answered, waiting for Finch to give him a clue about what he'd discovered on the number.

Finch couldn't take his eyes away from the picture of their new number. From the information he was able to pull up, she was a convicted felon named Cookie Lyon. She'd been arrested and charged with drug trafficking, but beyond that, she could pass for the twin sister of Detective Jocelyn Carter. He wasn't sure if John could handle this information, but he would forward it as they had agreed upon long ago for certain circumstances as this. He printed the information about her along with her pictures and prepared them to ship overnight to Chicago. Finch could only hope that this was a mistake from the machine, but he knew it was false hope.

"As I said before, no one by that name works here. However, he may have worked here before I was hired. I will follow up and have someone return your call. Thank you for calling the MIT Museum. Have a wonderful day, sir," Finch said before hanging up abruptly.

John was very put off by the abrupt send off, but he was sure that he would get what he needed the next morning by courier. Whatever it was about this number clearly had Finch shaken up, but John wouldn't press. He walked into the kitchen to pour his now cold coffee down the drain and got ready to head out to the school for his first period homeroom class.

Glendale Apartments - Chicago, IL

Cookie and the two federal agents accompanying her, rode in the elevator in silence as they reached the designated floor. She hadn't had much to say since leaving the prison and didn't really have much to say in the car ride over this morning. They'd filled her in once again on what they needed and how she was to provide the information. Although she loved being able to look out of the windows of the SUV they rode in and enjoy the rise of the morning sun, she was less than happy about why she was free in the first place.

Once they reached their floor, they exited the elevator and walked down the hall to what would be her temporary apartment. "This will be your apartment," Agent Davis explained as he and Agent Blake escorted Cookie inside the small one bedroom apartment on the third floor of an older building in Lincoln Park. "It's quiet here and you should feel safe."

Cookie softly chuckled. If Lucious or any of his goons find out why I got out early, I know I won't feel safe, she thought.

Davis continued, "You should probably get familiar with your neighbors. While we'll be keeping tabs on you, it's also best to have neighbors who'll know something's wrong if they haven't seen you.

"There's an elderly couple who lives down the hall in apartment 14. A young woman who works for the city lives across the hall. And a high school basketball coach lives next door. I believe he teaches at Lincoln Park High," Davis explained before he rattled off more information about people she couldn't give two shits about.

Cookie rolled her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Okay Davis, I got it. I'll bake some brownies and introduce myself as Cookie the coke dealing ex-con who was released because the Feds want her to rat out her husband... ex-husband." Even though she never signed the divorce papers, she didn't really have a leg to stand on. Her incarceration was automatic legal grounds for an at-fault divorce. She couldn't have fought for her marriage even if she tried. Lucious had left her there to rot. Alone.

"Ms. Lyon, I know what we're asking of you isn't easy, but I would think that this is a better option than rotting away in a jail cell," Agent Blake sneered, not caring for her attitude.

Cookie shot him a hard glare, but kept reign on her temper. As happy as she was to no longer be behind bars, she wasn't necessarily kosher with being an informant. She'd lived by the code of the streets all her life. Snitches get stitches… or worse, end up in a body bag. She didn't need to be reminded of her time in prison. She'd spent 17 years there. Blake was already on her last damn nerve.

"Fine, I'll make nice with the neighbors. Anything else?" she asked, looking between the two men.

Agent Davis was a black man that appeared to be younger than Cookie by a few years. With smooth dark skin and a brilliant smile, he was very handsome and could be incredibly charming if he put forth the effort. Being a suit was probably the best career choice for him, but she could see him doing so much more. Agent Blake was an older white man in his mid-fifties with balding, graying hair. He looked as if he only lived on coffee and cigarettes. He wasn't a looker and the age lines on his weathered face showed signs of a hard life. She wondered what he had seen or done as an FBI agent to look so worn down.

"You are to meet up with Davis every morning for briefing, and to provide any information you've learned. When you've gotten on the inside and built back that trust, you will start wearing the wire. Do you understand?" Blake asked in a no-nonsense manner.

Her full red lips had thinned into a hard line. They'd already gone over this before and she hated being spoken to as if she was an idiot. "Like I said a hundred times already, I understand." She stared Blake down and felt herself losing control, ready to shoot off at the mouth and cut him down to size.

Sensing the tension between them, Davis cut in. "Good. Here's your key, your cell phone, and your weekly stipend for food, toiletries, and other necessities. If you need anything or if you're in danger, my number is speed dial number seven. Agent Blake is speed dial nine." Davis gave her all the items she needed and headed for the door.

"I expect to see you tomorrow morning at the park a couple blocks away. I'll be waiting for you on the bleachers," Davis reminded her once more before he and Blake walked out of the apartment, softly closing the door behind them.

Cookie locked the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky sigh. This was going to be hard and she knew that all the odds were against her. Just where in the hell would she start?

She turned to catch her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. She had to admit, Tammy and the girls from the cosmetology school hooked her up before she left the pen. Her hair was done, her makeup was tight, and she still managed to wear the hell out of the sexy, albeit outdated, leopard print dress that she wore going into prison seventeen years ago. She looked damn good for a woman fresh out of jail. She felt her confidence grow tenfold and knew what her first move would be.

"I gotta buy some new clothes," she said to herself aloud. "I can't roll up in there with this old ass dress."

Her first stop would be her sister Carol's house. She hoped her cash stash was still hidden in the attic. It would be what she needed to buy the clothing necessary to make one hell of an entrance at Empire. Lucious hadn't come to see her once while she was away. That motherfucker needed a reminder of what he used to have. She grabbed her keys and cell phone, tossed them in her purse, and left the apartment.

Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm still trying to figure out where I want to go with this story. I have a general idea, but I'm trying to get back in the groove of things. Also, this story remains unbeta'd so please excuse any errors you see. I hope I caught most of them. Thanks for reading.

02/27/2015 Updated Author's Note: I tweaked some things in this chapter also (I think I know what I want to to with Agent Davis now. Tee hee...). Bear with me folks, I think this story is gonna be a bumpy ride.