Brennan finished her address and an unusual situation. She was upstaged by another speaker. A few reporters from the various journals were there to take in the events. All their questions related to her daughter, Dr. Christine Booth. Comments such as she were such a well-rounded speaker. How confident she was. Although she has those academic accolades, she dominates the podium so well. These points warmed, ran into her very core. But some emotions were better suited for her home; Not in this academic setting. Although she always was proud of her children, she usually kept it under wraps so that the world didn't see this aspect of her soul. But today, her daughter had shined in ways she wished she could have. She showed her intelligence but also unburdened her heart. She talked about how in the academic world, there was a dichotomy.
"There was an idea that to live within the real world, one should look down upon the others. And that, as academics, you were expected to live in the ethereal and abstract reality or universe, that the reality didn't come in. And that made you a better scientist that made you a true scientist. She disputed this. She said that her experience, in a sense, was the best of two worlds. She was eternally grateful to have a father such as she had. You who do not know him are blind to his. To you, these are the oddest points, which are as follows, His daughter would be in an academic career, but he insisted that she would be able to defend herself. Insisted that she kept tabs on what, as he would put it, ordinary people talked about. Taught her to connect to the common person, teaching her the common so that she can take it in when the extraordinary does happen. She went on to give stories from her own childhood and upbringing. She began by saying these last weeks since the demise of my dearly departed father. Many of his friends have come to her with testimonies... testimonies, explaining how special he was. My experiences now as an adult-only validate how special he was. Of course, I am fortunate that my mother accepted working with my father many years ago. There is a prejudice that exists within the FBI against those who are academics. And there is a prejudice that exists within academia against those who "work with their hands." Why do we have prejudice because? We're scared; we're afraid of the other. My mother became a pseudo-FBI agent. She helped my father with his paperwork, working through his problems in the FBI, going through procedural issues. My father learned how to go through the scientific data to assist my mother. Some of you like to highlight the fact that my father would mangle terms. The part that you don't know is that my father knew what those terms were and knew it was a way of poking a little fun. When my mother got too serious, it would help her to be able to prioritize the important, allow her to be able to reach the potential she had. So you may say, like many of you have already said, I heard by all years that my father was some type of Luddite. He was some sort of Neanderthal. And I tell you, you belong in some 18th Century Gothic novel because you're a parody of what it is to be an academic. You're a parody of what it is to be human. You're scientists. Many of you study human behaviours. But do you experience human life? Have you experienced a genuine relationship? And if you haven't, you should really get a life. I was betrayed by the FBI. My father, my family were betrayed by the FBI. But there are good people in the FBI. And there are good people in the world. As a young American, I would hate to see people becoming cynical on account of this misfortune. I hope people get to know who my father was. Because unfortunately, my father was far too humble. He would not let others know what he was, who he was, and what he was capable of doing. over coffee. Now, this is relatively private. But I think it's essential for you to understand that I had picked something up in the news over coffee many years ago. I had heard some scuttlebutt in the lab, and I asked my mother the truth of the question. It was this. Did my parents almost break up before they got married? You know, they lived together before they got married. And my mother explained the situation in a way which she could only explain. The first point that she made very clear is up to a point in her life; no one person in her entire life understood her to her marrow except my father. And he would do anything to protect her from herself. He would do anything to keep her from being hurt. And in time, particularly after this occasion. She never doubted him again. She knew he always had her best intentions. I was an infant. And there was a Cyber Sleuth whose name I prefer not to say out loud, but because we're academics, I will say it. His name was Christopher Pelant. Christopher Pelant was a sadist, a narcissist, unfortunately, a brilliant one. And he had figured out how to hurt the two people who had stopped him time and time again. Was to use my father's goodness, his uprightness and my mother, her sense of truth against them.
I was an infant in a sandbox; my father received a call hacked by this Christopher. And Christopher had access to the CCT cameras in the park. He threats that if my father accepted the proposal of marriage, he would kill five random people. If my father told my mother, he would kill five random people, innocent. And that was so my father had to break off his engagement. And this caused my mother tremendous stress, tremendous pain. Unfortunately, those closest misread my father's intentions and thought that my father was not faithful. My father didn't say anything. He stayed quiet, stoic silence. Why? Because five random people, five random families would be affected by a decision of his own happiness. My mother told me this, amidst tears, tears, like she recounted her own fault. When she began to push him away, he began to openly doubt their relationship. My father had an old friend who, as it could be said, never came back from the war. He had been a military chaplain and experienced way too much. He had been broken and never repaired, left the church, left the military, and began to drink himself into oblivion. But even amongst that, as a barman he was, he knew my father to his utmost. And my father would go and ask him for help, how to figure these problems dilemmas out. And, of course, there was no easy way out. But this man was bright. One of the times that my father visited and asked him for help asked him how to get around these issues. He slipped a card of his bar into the pocket of my father's shirt. My mother recounts us with a smirk, a smile, and a few tears. She was convinced that this was proof that everything was finished. She was devastated. But my mother needed proof before she acted. So, she went to this bar on her break time, only to find that it was a bar that had no women inside, just some ex-military types suffering and drinking themselves into oblivion. And there's one guy at the bar who looked somewhat familiar. She went up, and she said she wanted to talk but didn't want to drink. And he said, 'You must be Booth's girl.' And she looked at him. 'I'm not a girl, but what does that mean?' 'Booth doesn't come here to drink either.' With that with those words. My mother had already figured out everything. Something was going on, and it was driving Booth mad, but he couldn't tell her. They exchanged a few pleasantries. He said he couldn't tell. But you could give her a few hints. Those hints caused my mother to figure out that she was wrong. And there must be something more significant going on. Feeling that she had betrayed him. She tried to make it up to him. not knowing and not obliging him to say what it was, which was so tormenting. Months later, once my father killed this sleuth of sorts, he was able, in theory, to explain what had happened. My mother already suspected it and figured it out. And she told him to calm his conscience, to give him peace. "You did well if you would have told me, and that man would have found out, you would have killed five people, I would never have been able to forgive you, nor myself, and it would have destroyed everything. You took it on yourself; you tormented yourself, in a sense, tormented me too, but not as much. I'm sorry for everything I put you through.'
I have heard in the last weeks of people knocking the character of my father. Could you have done as my father did? Can a Neanderthal have such a delicate conscience? Would a murderer have chosen to suffer instead of the innocent? Well, the answers are clear. I believe clearly in what I see in your faces. At this moment, those in the crowd looked at each other. And they perceived that everyones' face was moist with tears. The FBI and academia can work together. But they have to take a model. They have to make a mould. They have to make a blueprint, the relationship of my father and my mother. My mother demanded the highest in academia, the highest in her sciences, and the highest integrity; she wouldn't fluff the details. She wouldn't fluff so that she could somehow get a conviction. No, it was always true. They would always get the right guy. Even if it meant working long, long hours. My father would defend his partner against anyone. People know. I recently heard a hit was ordered by some thug because my mother had infuriated some gang banger in Washington. And they put a hit on her. My father got word of it that somebody had put a hit on the Booth's Doctor friend. My father hunted down the gang boss in the middle of the worst neighbourhood in Washington, threatened him within an inch of his life. And after that gangs, the new order was don't touch the doctor. This was years before they were involved. So for those of you who believe that my father was after her money, thinking that my mother was some poor damsel in distress. You're all wrong. You're wrong. You're ignorant, And you are not actual scientists. You're the type of scientist who pops up on televisions and spits out useless facts, but not the ones who put in the work. So with my closing words like to thank, of course, my mother, who is a widow, suffering widow, who unfortunately had to experience along with all of us, the murder of her husband, in his own home by someone who I'm sure did not act on his own. And demands all of our respects, not demands that she moves on, find something flashier and more exciting. Now, my mother demands respect. And I hope that that respect will be given to her. I believe that both wings can work together. Well, presently, I am working in the Jeffersonian. I'm working as a liaison with the FBI. Which begrudgingly accepted me as a liaison, as I do have three doctorates in the proper disciplines. But I will not forget what happened to my father. Thank you."
By the way, the crowd clapped, applauded. The organizers were amazed. This is not usual for an academic talk. But this Doctor Booth wasn't your ordinary speaker. Brennan brought all of these memories back. She was so happy that Christina had finally come back to the family. There was so much more to do. She had her family, but she needed to get them to continue moving forward. Otherwise, this trauma would mark them in the very same way that trauma had marked her own childhood. She needed to help them move forward. Brennan went to say her goodbyes and really smiled for the first time in weeks, gathered up Angela by the arm and informed her that she needed to find her superstar daughter before somebody tried to put a hit on her, to which Angela laughed. But stopped, and she whispered, " Bren. You didn't hear anything like that? Did you? Dr. Brennan looked at her and said no. "But my daughter is far too clever to pull the whiskers of the beast and not expect retribution." So they went, and they gathered up Christine, surrounded by many younger interns and those looking to get into the field asking for advice and mentorship. FBI types, asking if it was worth the trouble of getting into Quantico. Was there a place for an academic in the FBI? After she finished, she did answer questions from the Washington Post and a few other journals. And she used her hashtag #weareBooth and told them to follow and find more testimonials about her father's life. She gathered her mother, her Auntie got into a waiting car began their trip home.