Summary: It's not her son introducing Felicity or the woman herself - or even Walter - who first brings the blonde girl to Moira's attention. No, it's a third party. Question is, what does Moira Queen make of this Felicity person hanging around her newly-returned-from-the-dead son?
"Mr. Walker," Moira dispassionately stares at the slightly rotund, sweaty-palmed man making his way to her. She'd put the fear of God into the man and he'd never dare to touch her son's trust fund but she can't for the life of her think why he'd be here now.
For all that her son acts out the role as playboy, he is notably different. Not that anyone who had twenty percent of their body scarred wouldn't be, for all that he pretends otherwise.
Still, she can't imagine why Walker is here now – while he was a wise investment in her son's youth, always informing her when her son made outrageous purchases (helicopters, diamonds and the more entertaining attempt to buy his sister and entire amusement park when he was late for her birthday), she had not called on him and could not for the life of her think of any purchase her son could have made that would bring Mr. Walker to her doorstep.
But here he is and while she will need to let Raisa know to tell the maids to give the couch a thorough clean given just how sweaty the man is today – wiping some off his forehead in a futile attempt to hide the pit stains on his shirt, the way his face shines or the wet handshake he'd given her – she will need to indulge him at least on this until her son is ready to manage his own finances responsibly.
At least Malcolm had given her practice at hiding her dissatisfaction and disgust with certain people.
"How may I help you?" Crossing her legs, she folds her magazine beside her. She can catch up with the latest QC newsletter later.
"It's how I can help you, Mrs. Queen," he tells her, a smile which she supposes is meant to be ingratiating but comes across as slimy instead.
"And how can you help me, Mr. Walker?" Moira asks, never letting her cool drop at his rather presumptuous nature.
"Ollie – I mean, Mr. Queen," he course-corrects rapidly, quailing under her gimlet stare, "just bought a house."
Well, it would explain why he hadn't been at the mansion. And while she is glad for her son's return and doesn't relish the idea of him leaving the house so soon after his return home, she does understand it may be time for him to have his own space after five years of being independent.
"It is his trust fund," she reminds the man, reaching back for the magazine, hoping he will receive the unspoken message that this discussion is done.
"Ah, yes, but he asked for it to be put jointly under his name and someone else's."
Moira hesitates; the man obviously wants her to ask and she's reluctant to follow anyone else's lead; on the other hand, she does have years of experience in going along with what other people think, in letting them think they're dictating the terms all the while subverting them slowly and ruining behind the scenes without their knowledge.
Not that any of this will be necessary here, she reminds herself. Mr. Walker is just unfortunate enough to be the right mix of slimy and greedy to always get her hackles up. It's also why Thea's trust fund is under Mrs. Finnegan's purview; that and it would be sheer stupidity to have them both with one person if there is any mismanagement. Not that there would be – Moira's made that more than clear to both parties; that and that the consequences to them and their family, should they choose to be disloyal, would be dire.
Still, if the house was for both him and Tommy, Mr. Walker wouldn't be here throwing up such a fuss (or so she hopes – for his sake), so she engages, letting the magazine drop again, offering another polite smile, making a good mien of being intrigued by a juicy piece of gossip, leaning ever so slightly forward with an encouraging nod.
"A Felicity Smoak, Mrs. Queen," he tells her and she runs through the gamut of names she has of her son's known liaisons or even people who are known to be in the party-girl-environment and comes up empty.
"And who, precisely, is this Ms. Smoak?" she queries, one eyebrow raised imperiously and the man hands over the folder in his palms. There's an actual sweat-stained handprint around the manila folder. She eyes the thing with disgust, even if she won't allow the man to see it – a sign of weakness – and while she has the upper hand in this, she has no intention of making this any more difficult (or prolonged) than it has to be.
"Ms. Smoak works at your- at Queen Consolidated. In IT. She's twenty-three. Graduated from MIT with a Masters at nineteen in 2009. Her mother's a cocktail waitress in Las Vegas where she was raised. Father's absent," the man rattles off nervously while she flips through the folder he's assembled.
It turns out her son purchased the house nearly a week ago and it's taken Mr. Walker this long just to get the information on this girl together – sloppy. She hates this kind of incompetence; the information in here she could have gotten (mostly, at least) just from her employee file in a matter of hours, not days.
There's nothing much more even in here. A bit of gambling and card counting causing her to be prohibited from casinos; but as a genius math whiz kid in Vegas, that's more or less expected. The degree is impressive – but it's the photo, of all things, that gives her pause.
Because Moira knows more about her son's preferences in bed than she'd like to – and not a one of them was blonde, short or wore glasses. Her son's taste ran fairly predictable and pedestrian – dark-haired, long-legged beauties. Much like his father's tastes, come to think of it.
The only thing she can't fault him for is that he usually only goes for women with a brain to go with their beauty; so at least she has not raised him to be completely shallow. That way even if he were to end up permanently with one of them, Moira would not have to worry about them not being able to support her son under public scrutiny or embarrassing the Queen name at galas by not being able to uphold a discussion.
This Ms. Smoak, however, is completely out of the left field. She might have understood – and accepted – her son giving away a house to a woman for… well, whatever reason he thought it justified. The same reason he gave away diamond necklaces to one-night-stands whose name he could not recall the next day, Moira presumed.
But sharing the title of the house?
That suggests something else entirely.
Something new. Something unexpected.
Moira is not a fan of unexpected.
Unexpected is what killed Robert and lost her her son for five years. Unexpected was her husband's dalliance with Ms. Rochev nearly causing him to abandon his family. Unexpected was her former husband writing her current one and asking him to look after his daughter borne outside the Queen family.
No, Moira is decidedly not a fan of unexpected.
Snapping the manila folder shut, she stands up, hand outstretched for a polite handshake.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Walker," she tells him. "I will make sure you are rewarded for your loyalty."
"Oh, it's nothing, Mrs. Queen, don't even worry about. I would do this anyway, but I really appreciate it," he says effusively, half-bowing as if she were a real Queen and Moira barely stops herself from rolling her eyes. Mr. Walker wouldn't know unpaid loyalty if it smacked him in the face.
She guides the man out the door and her smile drops the moment she closes the door behind him.
"Has Mr. Walker left, Mrs. Queen?" Raisa asks and Moira allows herself a deep sigh. There's no need for masks in front of Raisa – she's been part of the household for decades, overheard more arguments and secrets than anyone else, and has yet to breathe even a word of it to anyone. Now that is loyalty.
"Thankfully," she allows herself to say. "That man should be restricted to phone calls only," she bemoans and Raisa smiles slightly.
"Is everything alright with Mr. Queen?" Raisa's hands have tightened fractionally around her apron, the worry evident.
"No, no. Oliver's fine," she reassures firmly.
While at first affronted, for the past decade Moira's been nothing but glad that Raisa's first loyalty is not to her, Robert or even Walter. No, her loyalty lies with her children – Thea and Oliver are close to their housekeeper's heart and if it ever came down to a choice between her and either of her children, Moira has no illusions about what the resultant choice would be. And with her involvement in the Undertaking, the threat of Malcolm and Robert's supposed-accident, well, she couldn't be gladder that the fierce Russian woman is so staunchly in their corner.
Even if it hurts how her children look up and care for the woman, sometimes, but then she has no one but herself to blame for her absenteeism during their childhood. She'd not fully considered, back then, what it would mean if her children were mostly raised by the staff. Hadn't expected them to grow attached the way they had.
"Apparently, he just purchased a house together with a Ms. Felicity Smoak. Do you know her?"
Raisa, however, looks genuinely puzzled and denies it – Moira believes her. That's fine – a job for one of their PI's. The most intriguing information of what she already holds in her hands is that the real estate agent refers to a couple in love and planning on getting married and having children.
While she'd certainly hoped to live long enough to see her children married and with grandchildren, she doubts that's what's happening here.
Most likely another impostor, a con-man. The question is whether Ms. Smoak is aware and part of the con to swindle money out from under the Queen family or if the con man has her under his thrall, too. It doesn't matter if the girl truly is a genius – which she ought to be considering how young she was when she graduated – in matters of the heart, girls and women alike are all-too-easily led astray, their softer hearts and empathy far too an easy target for most of the men of this world.
Moira would know; it is, after all, how she once fell for Robert Queen.
Still, she'll find out one way or the other and either help and console the girl or bring her to her knees for daring to try at taking what rightfully belonged to her children. Either way, she'll make sure they're protected.
It's all she's ever done since the first time Oliver looked up at her with those wide, blue eyes; before then, he'd been an obligation for carrying on the Queen name. Moira had never really wanted children, hadn't known what to do with them.
But from the moment he was in her arms, looking up at her with all that boundless trust and love, she'd never once looked back. There was nothing in this world Moira wouldn't do to protect Oliver and Thea – from themselves, and from the world at large.
Felicity Smoak will be just another person in that chain and she will be dealt with accordingly, one way or another.
"Please place a call to both Nicholas and Gregor. We need a full work up on this Ms. Smoak, as well as the man she was with. High priority. Urgent. We will pay accordingly."
"You do not think it was Mr. Oliver?" Raisa asks curiously, but already on her way to the phone.
"No," Moira says firmly, closing the topic and leaving her housekeeper in charge of organising the two PI's. She will need to ask Thea if Oliver has ever mentioned this Ms Smoak, however unlikely, and Walter to see what his take is on the young genius. Then she'll involve the family lawyers.
But, for now, she's sure that her current theory will prove true – it's not the first impostor, and it likely won't be the last, but so far none of the con men have held up against her.
This one will prove no different.
Notes: Ha! Hope no one was expecting this :)
I just love the idea of Moira just getting pieces and parcels of the information fed to her through third parties and being very, very confused and coming to all the wrong conclusions. Gets even funnier when she calls in to their attorneys who are researching a few things for Oliver Queen... oooh, what could that possibly be *whistles innocently*
Thanks for your encouragement and lovely comments. I am a little better, progressively trying to put it past me, but yeah. Your comments all helped. So thank you all. You're all lovely and wonderful and I didn't write much today (dentist this morning. Yeouch!) but I still wanted to give you a little something. Hope you thought it was as funny as I did :)
