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The Agents Named Conrad and Rebekah

ℝ𝕖𝕓𝕖𝕜𝕒𝕙 & ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕣𝕒𝕕

Rebekah sits holding the rather large coffee in her hands. After yesterday she had spoken with a lot of branch managers who were so eager to turn down her request for a meeting the next day. Their responses were ranging from ‘too short notice’ and ‘we don’t cover that in their branch’.

Finally, after many fruitless efforts, Rebekah is able to meet with a manager who manages the Bank of America off Broadmoor and Washington Park overlooking Lake Washington.

As Michael directed, she had forwarded her intentions to her new FBI friend about the meeting, however, due to her strong-arming nature sent him the time an hour after the actual scheduled meeting.

That’ll force him to communicate with me. Rebekah smiles slyly to herself, she uncrosses her legs and then re-crosses them draping her right leg over the left.

It is warm in the bank, immediately as she enters goosebumps dart across her skin, forcing her to regret not tying up her trench coat before she left the car.

She takes a long gulp of her coffee tasting the bitter grainy liquid signalling the coffee is coming near to the end, instinctively she pouts.

“Miss Calamba?” The small, thin man pokes his head out from behind the oak door his eyes sunken in and his cheeks deflated. Rebekah stands up, clasping her notebook in her hand and her coffee in another.

“Yes, Mr Islington.”

He ushers her forward to walk into his office, pushing the door further to allow her in. Rebekah sits down, dropping her small bag on the floor, placing her coffee next to it.

The man closes the door slowly almost scared that any sudden movements would push the door off its hinges. He shuffles to his desk his plastic-like suit making a crumpling sound with each move.

When he finally sits down Rebekah lets out a held breath. Her eyes dart to the clock. At this rate, her assigned partner would turn up and take over the investigation, leave her on the sidelines like a substitute.

“Should we wait for the other one?” he asks clearly not pressed for time.

“No, that’ll be quite alright,” Rebekah replies quickly, almost stumbling over her words.

Rebekah had written a list of questions direct and informative to make the inquiry as smooth as possible. She opens her notebook and begins with the first question.

“This transaction could you tell me the parties involved,” she starts. The man makes a series of clicks on the computer his hand shaking ever so slightly.

“I believe it was a transaction of 881,000 made from Aldrek pharmaceuticals to Mae Geoffries.” Rebekah writes down the answer. “I must mention to you Miss Calamba th-”

“Rebekah is fine Mr Islington,” she says interrupting him. He looks at her momentarily before continuing.

“I had a look over Mae Geoffries’ account, and it is not uncommon for large sums of money to be delivered to this account.”

“Are you saying that an amount of under nine hundred thousand is normal for such an account?” Rebekah asks. Mr Islington shakes his head, causing the man to sway from side to side.

“No Miss Calamba, such an amount, however common would still be brought up with suspicion. All I mean to say is that figures ranging from five to nine thousand are dropped periodically. Almost weekly in fact however not from Aldrek pharmaceuticals.”

“Then where Mr Islington does this money come from?” she asks her urgency trying to transfer through her words.

Mr Islington clicks some more, forgetting the critical information that made him a branch manager. Rebekah has to resist the urge to take the computer and find out for herself.

“It would seem from-”

The door bursts open as Conrad saunters in, a small line of sweat graces his upper lip as he eyes, Rebekah.

“FBI agent Grier, I’m here for the Aldrek pharmaceuticals transaction.”

“Please.” Mr Islington stands up an action that Rebekah knows will take a long time to undo. “Sit down Agent Grier.”

Conrad plops into the seat next Rebekah eyeing the Asian woman next to him dressed in a painstakingly boring two-piece suit and blouse with none other than flats gracing her feet.

His eyes skim the shorthand notes she had taken before turning back to Mr Islington, who only just begun to lower himself into the chair.

“As I said to Miss Calamba, large sums of money often enters Miss Geoffries account; however, from a different source.”

“And what source might that be Mr...”

“Islington,” Mr Islington finishes.

“Right, Islington,” Conrad repeats.

“It would seem from a company named Folk-” He stops as he eyes the name his throat becoming unbearably dry that the man had to reach for a glass of water and down it all. He clears his throat.

“I apologise the name is rather... obscene.”

“Well if you can manage Mr Islington, I would greatly appreciate it,” Conrad replies.

Unable to bring himself to formulate the words, Mr Islington turns the computer towards the pair so they can see for themselves.

“FolkWhore.” Rebekah concludes, “What is that?”

Mr Islington clears his throat, his eyes eying the now empty glass.

“It would seem from our records that they are a costume store but have branches internationally. I would also like to mention that while Miss Geoffries receives money from Folkw-... FW she also sends money to an account in the UK with a similar surname, a relative perhaps.”

“Thank you, Mr Islington, for your help,” Rebekah says. She is the first to stand but only by a second.

The pair simultaneously outstretch their hand to Mr Islington who looks almost frightened by the whole ordeal. He looks between the hands that threateningly approach him.

“That is no worries Miss Calamba, if there’s anything you need from the bank or me, please don’t hesitate to call.” His hands remain firmly on the desk, and Conrad takes that as his response to leave.

“We will be in touch Mr Islington,” Conrad says, heading out the door Rebekah nipping at his heels.

As the pair exit the building, the brisk wind whips around them like a storm. Rebekah instinctively brings her coat in a bunch at her waist, chucking her coffee cup away in a nearby bin.

“Setting the meeting an hour late was sneaky of you,” Conrad remarks, breaking the silence. “Lucky thing I am punctual man otherwise I would have missed it.” He turns to face Rebekah his forest green eyes boring into her brown ones.

He easily towers her— being six foot and Rebekah a measly five, five. She cranes her neck to look at him, her short raven hair flying in the wind.

However, what Rebekah lacks in size she makes up with confidence, she shoves her notebook in her bag.

“If I hadn’t done so you would have put me on the sidelines, Detective Grier.”

Conrad steps closer to her, causing Rebekah to stumble only slightly backwards.

“This is no game Miss Calamba, this is very, VERY dangerous territory you are waltzing into, way beyond your paygrade,” Conrad spits.

“Well, this is MY field. You need me as much as I need you,” Rebekah counters. Conrad steps back, fishing out his phone.

“Speak for yourself Calamba.” He opens the ‘Lyft’ app scheduling a ride for himself. He turns to Rebekah, who was looking for her car keys. “Whatever the case is both our seniors want us working together. We should focus our efforts on Aldrek pharmaceuticals.”

Rebekah shakes her head, causing her hair to smack her in the face.

“No, I think this Mae Geoffries is the answer,” she replies.

Conrad sighs, and he runs his hand through his brown hair. He can see his driver approaching from a distance, so he didn’t have time to argue.

“Fine, you take the Mae Geoffries lead I will take on Aldrek. We will meet once every two weeks to catch each other up to speed. Deal?” The car pulls up as he gives his hand to Rebekah who shakes it.


Conrad opens the door to the taxi.

“I’ll see you in a fortnight Agent Calamba. The name’s Conrad by the way.” He shuts the door winding down the window.

“The name’s Rebekah.”

A.N. So Conrad and Rebekah meet, but immediately put on their own investigative past. I wonder how they’ll get on. Let me know what you think. Most importantly thanks for reading.

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