There was a text on Annabel's phone. It was from her contact saying, "Keep a close watch on Christine."

The working group is now thinking of their next step. On the seventh floor of the Hoover was a particular room that was created. No one truly knew it existed. It was a room that was tucked behind a storage room but was palatial. Hoover had demanded it made, and his successors had it placed in the new Hoover building. The working group was called the New Republic; it was made up of a league of friends, were descendants of generations of leaders of the country. Of those who had been caught up in Glen Durant's plans, they refer to them as heroes. Unfortunately, they had been taken down by a segment of the FBI and the Jeffersonian by that cursed Booth. Why couldn't they have just died and gone away?

During the meeting, an unembodied voice came through a speaker in the middle of the table with a simple question, "Who authorized the hit on Booth?" There was a young buck in the back of the room towards the corner. His father and uncle had died in the supermax prison in Colorado because of Booth and his cursed family, and he perked up, and he said, "I did." The answer coming from the voice of the speaker was slow, deliberate, and sombre. "You woke a monster if you would have only left him to disappear. We had his daughter on a lead. We had her controlled; everything had been set up according to plan. We lost it all. Thank you very much. The friends of Booth always had suspected there's a group of us who want to get back at him. We might need to attack again. And attack would have to be soon. So, they began to talk amongst themselves. Some at the table were hawk-like and wanted to use their strengths to strike directly at the family. To kill the cursed Brennan to kill her daughter, her son and maybe her stepson to eliminate the Jeffersonian component years before someone had planted bombs but failed to kill them. That cursed crew. There was a resilience about that group. One of the older members who had slipped the dragnets back in the day perked up and said, "Be careful with this group. Although the knuckles of this group are dead, the brain and heart are still there. But what scares me more are the children. You have a girl who lost her father. And from what I've heard, we have a girl on this, Christine, what's her name again? And another sombre old man said. "My Goddaughter, Annabel."

"Yes. Annabel says the girl is smart, genius. Objectively, she was a significant loss to the FBI. They lost a good agent, But astute. She'll figure it out; She'll look for the evidence; she's a combo. She's like Booth. She can track, she can fight just like her mother. She's very perceptive, brilliant. We must be careful. If we're not careful, we could all die in the same Supermax prisons once again. And there won't be another generation to follow up in our footsteps. Another younger man whose family had been damaged by the great fall of Gen Durant perked up. And his words were, "But what about vengeance? What about using technology properly this time and not relying on age-old. We need to be more innovative; We need the more brilliant. This is just one family.

One group of bright people Yes. But they don't have the lineage we have here. We have members here whose families go back to the foundation of this very Republic. Signers of the very constitution, who defended the Capitol on that day when the British burnt to the ground. Are we scared of some upstarts? If so, it is better that we just dissolve ourselves now and be safe and go away?" One of the older men, a table, hit his hand very hard against the table and stated, "dare you to say things like that? I'm just saying we must be careful. If we're not careful. And they come after us. They do have contacts in high places. And then it was a chuckle in the corner. Director Brown sitting in the corner. "My daughter is with your main problem. Let me take care of the others. The other directors don't want trouble after what Brennan did our Washington office. And the mess she's making with Booth. Nobody wants to appear in public. Let's just continue pushing forward, and we'll have this concluded. We'll solution this maybe it's a car accident. Perhaps it's a plane accident. Maybe it's a home invasion again. At that, one of the older men, seemingly military, shuddered at the thought. "enemies of the state are one thing. But using dishonourable men to do despicable things in someone's home is not our way; that was a complete and utter mistake. If we had done things differently, they would not have been able to unravel us. We act viscerally; we need to work more militarily, not like some petty potentates. We are reforming the Republic; We're making something new. We're basing it on honour; They looked at each other. They agreed. And they sent a message off to Annabel asking her to report on Christine Booth.

If anything seemed askew, it wasn't the case. after a weekend, going to mass on a Saturday with all the Booth kids, all the sibs together, going out for dinner afterwards, spending Sunday with the family. Christine was surprisingly refreshed. And then Annabel walked into Christine's work area, Her office at the Jeffersonian but didn't knock. Nothing polite just said. "Anything for me, Christine?" Christine looked at her and then remembered something that her mother had been told she had always insisted on because certain people do not give respect unless demanded. And as her mother had told her before, when you have one doctorate, you demand respect. With three, it should be given. Christina looked up at Annabel and said to her in a very nonchalant manner. "Annabel, when did you graduate from Quantico? What number were you in your class, Annabelle?"

Annabelle then shuffled said she said, "I graduated towards the top third class." At this point, Christine added, "The top third of how many students?"

"Well, you know, the average size, you know,"

"I also went to Quantico, so the Class rank is important, actually is very important. That gives you slots that give you possibilities of locations, promotions. What's your number? Tell me. The worst thing it's going to be is that it'll be lower than mine."

"That is FBI history; you resigned from the FBI?"

"Because, yes, I resigned. So, I go to my own father's funeral. What's your number? Annabel?"

"What's it to you?"

"Because I already know it. You graduated number 102. Out of 300. Not bad. Not great. You're shooting is mediocre. How you investigate is so sloppy. You pass so much of your work on to me. But it's funny because I Appreciate my work. Actually, I enjoy your work too. But I was thinking, you know, you're the liaison with the FBI, but you're an FBI agent. So, from now on, you only come here when you've got lab work that needs results. And I want to see your FBI stuff because it's sloppy, and it looks terrible on everyone here.

With this, she was bustling. And she said, "How dare you! So what you went to Quantico, you probably flunked out, or you paid someone off?

Christine looked at her and said, "Okay. Take that back. Well, I will tell you the truth."

"What truth."

"I graduated from Quantico in First place. But you know that already because you're keeping tabs on me. I have three degrees, three doctorate degrees. So, I have a couple of masters degrees. And of course, I have a couple of bachelors degrees and one of those in criminology. Suppose you don't improve your paperwork on the cases that I'm involved in. In that case, I'm going to report you because you spent your nights watching my apartment while you should be doing your work, and not, she pulled out a file that she had thought had already gone into clearing, which had had a mark on it from coffee and some crumbs from food. Your work is sloppy; You're sloppy. You said I paid someone off. You say that I knew someone on the inside. My father wasn't a deputy director based in Denver. My uncle wasn't a member of the FBI. I'm not that type of royalty in the FBI. You are. So, what you accused me of, I suspect you have at this point."

Annabel's face turns purple livid, but also by the fact that she had been made. She thought she'd done an outstanding job. Christine continues, "Yeah, I don't understand your eating habits. You have dinner at 11:15pm. And you eat until 11:50pm. And then you leave, and there's somebody else that comes in. Do you track everyone for the Jeffersonian? Is that a new thing? What are you? What are you up to?"

Annabel was beside herself. "Well, you could be a traitor of the country.

"Well, then I shouldn't be a liaison. But you know better than that. I know better than that; I got clearance. So oh, I forgot to tell you. But in the last four cases, the FBI has returned; all your paperwork is garbage. And the clearing office has asked me to rewrite it because it was either disastrously written, mistake-ridden or just plain and simple wrong. Your conclusions are not held out within the science. So, unless I'm working for the FBI, and they're going to pay me double. I think we're going to need to recap our conversation, simply put, you are reassigned now." Someone knocked at her door. And Christine, in a very nonchalant manner, asked them to enter.

"Something that I learned from my parents, the best duo in FBI/ Jeffersonian ever saw, was that mutual respect was vital. For example, Even after my parents were married, my father never entered my mother's office without knocking first. Never sat down without asking first. Never tried to show her up in her own ambience. Everything that you've already tried to do. And anyway, she turned in her seat and welcomed in one James Aubrey.

Agent Brown looks up, and she goes, "Oh, Special Agent Aubrey, how are you doing?" James knew what was up, as Christine had already filled him in the night before. She explained to him some of the difficulties that she was having. And as someone who she had known from Quantico, she asked if maybe he could look at some of her issues and advise what they could do. James had already seen the material and was what was going on. James sat down, quickly looked through the material, looked up at Annabel and asked Annabel in a quiet voice. "Agent Annabel Brown, I've known your father. We were in Quantico together; He was a little bit older than me. But we were in the same period. We served together in different areas, were in New York together, and we've known each other. This type of work is unacceptable. For a first-year agent, for someone as seasoned as yourself, it brings out two points. One is that you're, moonlighting with another outfit, which is against company policy. Or you just don't care. If I bring this to the director or Deputy Director, it will bring up some ugliness. So, as he takes the files, I recommend that you redo them all. And once clearing has cleared your work, you asked for reassignment someplace else. Obviously, Washington is not your place, maybe asked to go back to Denver, are perhaps a smaller office with less intense work. Because this work is below an agent's, her face was purple, but she didn't know what to do. And then she turned her heel on both Christine and James, but Aubrey cut her off and said, "If you two were work colleagues, still, this attitude that could be possibly acceptable. But presently, you work for two different institutions. And I believe she significantly outshines you in her academic accomplishments. So, I think she is Dr. Booth to you.

James begins to chuckle inside himself because he figures out the problem. Annabel cannot say the last name Booth. It's like it's stuck in her mouth. It's stuck in her throat -It's like a bone that stuck in her element- She can't utter it. She finally spits out Booth with hatred. And James now figures out everything he wants to know. He says, "I hope we're all arranged. Sure, I will speak with the Deputy Director about this because I know for a fact that the FBI looks forward to having a fruitful and robust collaboration with the Jeffersonians and without any animosity, and I'm not sure what's going on here. But this is not functioning. So, I think I will recommend that it be broken off. Effective immediately. We will need another agent shortly. He turns on his heel he walks out the door.

Annabel Brown is aghast. How had it all gone so wrong? She had been told by one of the more senior agents whose job it is to select agents to be moved forward, to have a career, it has to be on one of these big centers, not some backwater. He knows she knows for a fact that he has the director's number on his speed dial, and he will be put through. She slumps in her chair, gathers her stuff, collects the poorly done work, puts it away, and makes it towards the door. Dr. Christine Booth looks towards the agent and calls out, "Agent Annabel, are you leaving?

Brown replied, "what do you think?

"Oh, I was just going to say Goodbye and good luck on your future endeavours. Hopefully, surveillance will not be in your future because you're not very good at it. She opens the door and walks out, walks out to her car and calls her father. Her father picks up on the first ring, "I'm out. No longer with Booth." There was absolute fury on the line. This will make him look bad in his new republic group. She was to be that critical element that would link all the machinations and prove the usefulness of her daughter. And her daughter had not just been outed, but her career had just been submarine. Her father heard, listened and said, work on those files that you need to work on to clean up this mess. And let me see what I can do.

James is driving home when his phone blares out a weird tune – his daughter was messing with the phone again.

James Aubrey.

Hello, James, my boy James, my boy.

Aubrey knows what this is about. "Deputy Director. How are you doing?"

James, it's been too long. We need to get together.

Do you happen to be in Washington? That's where I am today.

Oh, amazing. Yes, I am.

I was just in town to visit my daughter and getting things done at the Hoover.

Excellent. Why don't we meet tonight? I know a spot we can meet. And he gives him an address. This director hadn't been in Washington for a while and hadn't really connected the ideas and locations were commonly mentioned, addresses very, very rarely given. He writes it down, and excellent. I'd love to catch up. He hangs up.

He calls the director.

Hello, I was wondering if the director could take my call. He didn't answer your cell phone.

Oh. The director is online with Special Agent James Arbury. They're going through some items from Quantico. I'll let him know you're called the director. Director had been the one who replaced the ill-fated director who had decided to force Special Agent Booth to walk the gang plant and quit on the FBI. Our new director, his background was in the NSA. So, he was of a different variety and a different political culture. But his friends, his close friends, had all been military and an all-known Booth closely. So, when he came in, he did what he could to try to entice Christine to come back to the FBI. He offered promotions. But he perceived that his predecessor had burnt the bridges so severely that only time would find a solution.

This evening sitting at a table was James dressed down a touch from his typical FBI dark suit and tie attire but sitting at a table close by, but not too close Was his wife who was there to be His second pair of eyes. Although her hair was a bright red hue, she tended to mix well into the Founding Fathers' regulars. They would be nursing her drink the night over, watching to see if he brought anyone with him and making sure that nothing weird was going to happen. Jessica had thought of something else, which was to see how much of the change she had hoped that Brennan's daughter had made by inviting Dr. Booth out for drinks with her that evening. As she told James, "she is a civilian, a normal American citizen, not a member of the FBI anymore. But there's not someone who scored higher in shooting than Little Miss Booth. So, if things go sideways, she'll kill all of them. And she's still a PH. D and fellow at the Jefferson. So, they sat in a corner, looking like just another pair catching up on family whatnot, one middle-aged, Jessica Warren-Aubrey and Dr. Christine Booth, sipping on tonic waters and soda and lime. Talking amongst themselves but listening very closely to what James already was talking about. The deputy director walked in a bit upset. He had thought he could talk James down from talking to the director, only to find out that the director had looked for him and had given his ear. He sat down, ordered a drink and started talking shop. And at one point, James asked how the family was doing so on and so forth. Until Deputy Director Brown brought up said, "I heard you were talking with the director today." James nodded. "business. I run Quantico; he needs to know what's going on. I give my opinion about agents, past, present and future. He listens. He makes decisions. We continue." Then he hissed out. "You rebuked my daughter. How dare you!"

James giggled that he left out a big laugh. He goes, "you may be a deputy director in Denver, but your daughter belongs to the FBI. If she does something, which deserves correction, she'll be corrected. Now, what was it that she did? And he then recounted a fictional story of their meeting fictional accusations of malfeasance fictional as though there was this massive conspiracy to darken the name of his daughter. At that point, James asked him, as a good father, you must have accompanied your daughter's career in the FBI closely. He said, of course, I have inspired her. I'm her father. Good. That's excellent. That's very important. When she graduated, what was her number? To James's shock, He didn't know. It's what I'm thinking. If I asked you Deputy Director when you graduated Quantico, what was your number? And before the words left James's mouth. The answer spat, "fourth, I was fourth. I was upset. I should have been first." James said, and rightly so. "When I graduated Quantico, I was one. I work hard. Your daughter doesn't remember what number she is." Then James looked at him very seriously. "What strings did you pull? She should have failed. Looking at her work looking how shabby her work is. If I were to put her back into Quantico, she wouldn't graduate. What did you do? That's what I was talking to the director about recertifications. I found out that around the time I took over on the farm, a classmate of yours was the director at Quantico. He retired since how much did you pay him? It will not be too difficult because we will go through the scores and agencies' scores on the graduates of different classes. Those who have family connections, of course, but interest in having their children in the FBI.

Not too difficult. But reviewing the work that your daughter has done, I pulled six months of reports. How about what strings did you stretch to get her to work with Christine Booth? Now I understand after everything that happened, Christine was probably toxic for anybody. The FBI needed a special person. Why her? She would be the last person in the world you'd put beside a Booth. Let's kill that poor girl. She's just not adequate. Christine, top of her class, top shooter. Top physical, top academic performance-wise on top of everything. I asked Hover about the case, and they said that Christine has been redoing all her work for weeks. And finally, they were fed up, and they flagged it.

Christine doesn't work for the FBI. So, if you're planning on telling me that I should lay off your daughter because you're some type of Deputy Director, I think you should check your phone. There was a message from the director saying he was informed that tomorrow, as a courtesy, one friend to another. Special Agent Annabel Brown would be reassigned to Quantico to requalify and recertify because of supposed lacunas in her background files. Deputy Director Brown swallows down his last two gulps of whiskey. Face purple with fury. "Aubrey, you did this. You will pay. I have friends." He goes on.

"No, no. I know you have friends. Because there's no way that your daughter got where she got by you alone. I'm just curious about who did it. The director is curious too; many people are interested. At that, he turns and marches himself out of the founding fathers, searching for his car. Searching for his phone. Texting a very close friend. Someone he had been together since the days that they had been Junior agents and sitting around the table with Glen Durant.

"We need to talk tonight."