Chapter 45: We Don't Talk About Edison
Virginia.
FBI Quantico Headquarters.
Behavioral Analysis Unit.
In the Unit Chief's office, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner hung up the phone and walked out. He addressed a blonde woman in the bullpen, "JJ, gather everyone. We're wheels up for Wyoming immediately."
"What case?"
the blonde woman JJ asked in surprise. "I didn't receive any case file."
She was the BAU's communications liaison. She reviewed the countless requests for assistance from jurisdictions nationwide, filtering out those that didn't meet their unit's criteria and selecting the truly significant cases before presenting them to Unit Chief Hotchner.
"Direct call on this urgent case. We'll brief on the plane,"
Unit Chief Hotchner said grimly.
"Copy that,"
the blonde woman JJ nodded.
While this wasn't standard procedure, it did happen.
Major and urgent cases, or those involving supervisors with direct access who could bypass normal channels, often circumvented her screening process.
Thirty minutes later.
A Bureau jet lifted off, heading straight for Wyoming's Wind River Valley.
Over five hours later,
as the anxious white field supervisor waited, a convoy of two black SUVs pulled up.
"Agent Hotchner, thank God you're here,"
the field supervisor immediately greeted him with relief.
Although the BAU had officially assumed jurisdiction, he was still the acting case agent until then. For the past several hours, with corpses and casualties scattered across the billionaire's estate, the grotesque trophy room in the basement, and reporters outside trying to breach the perimeter for footage, his stress levels were through the roof.
Now, the BAU—living up to their reputation—had arrived within hours, despite being nearly 2,000 miles away.
"This is Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, Senior Special Agent Derek Morgan, Communications Liaison Jennifer Jareau, Senior Special Agent Elle Greenaway, and Dr. Spencer Reid,"
Unit Chief Hotchner introduced his team to the field supervisor.
"Pleasure to meet you all."
The field supervisor warmly shook hands with each team member. When he finally met Dr. Reid, he looked at his youthful face and thought of Chuck in the basement, a knowing smile crossing his features. "Dr. Reid, you must be a consultant contracted by the BAU. Getting a PhD at such a young age—impressive."
"I'm also a Senior Special Agent,"
Dr. Reid said, somewhat defensively, showing his credentials.
"You're also an FBI agent? Not an external consultant?"
The field supervisor was taken aback. "And a Senior Special Agent?"
If it were a consultant, he'd understand—after all, the FBI had a long tradition of that. He'd even been hoping to experience working with elite consultants.
But this wasn't a consultant—this was a legitimate FBI agent with a badge. And crucially, this wasn't a rookie trainee like Jane, but a Senior Special Agent. That was hard to swallow.
The FBI's agent hierarchy goes: New Agent Trainee, Special Agent, Senior Special Agent, Supervisory Special Agent, Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Special Agent in Charge, Assistant Director, Associate Executive Assistant Director, Executive Assistant Director, Associate Deputy Director, Deputy Director, and Director.
Most agents stay at the Special Agent level, and many veterans get stuck at Senior Special Agent and can't advance further.
He had worked for decades before finally getting promoted to Supervisory Special Agent. How could this kid be fast-tracked to Senior Special Agent?
"Spencer has doctorates in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering, plus bachelor's degrees in psychology, sociology, and philosophy."
Chuck emerged with Jane at this moment. Hearing the conversation, he continued, "As long as he wants, he can earn more. Senior Special Agent is just his starting point."
"Chuck!"
Reid exclaimed in surprise.
Chuck nodded at him.
"You two know each other?"
the blonde communications liaison JJ asked curiously.
"Yeah."
Reid nodded enthusiastically: "When I was considering my focus at Caltech, mathematics was my first choice. I met Chuck through my advisor at an academic conference. After completing my doctorate in mathematics, I didn't continue deeper into pure mathematics. Instead, I pivoted to studying multiple disciplines."
"Why the change?"
Jane, looking much better after the past few hours, asked curiously.
"Because Reid realized he couldn't surpass him in math, so he restructured his career path,"
bald African-American agent Morgan replied smoothly, glancing at Jane's overly friendly demeanor toward Chuck. "But Edison said genius is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration. Reid, you were only 16 at the time, so it's natural to be rattled by a setback. If you had stuck with it, I believe you wouldn't have lost to anyone."
"Morgan,"
Reid interrupted awkwardly.
"What's the problem?"
Bald Morgan, reading Jane's body language, was confused by Reid's interruption.
As a ladies' man and someone who devoted nearly all his time to the BAU, seizing every available opportunity for connection was essential.
You never knew where the next case would take you.
Besides, he had never encountered a woman as striking as Jane.
"Scientists don't like to talk about Edison,"
Reid explained uncomfortably. "It was actually Einstein who said, 'Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.' And then there's this addition: 'But that one percent is the most important, more important than the ninety-nine percent.'"
"...I still think Edison's version makes more sense."
Bald Morgan's expression fell flat.
"Because Edison only understood the ninety-nine percent, not the one percent. Even that ninety-nine percent he stole from others,"
Chuck said. "Just like that quote—he adapted it from Einstein's original one percent."
"Alright, JJ, handle the media circus."
Unit Chief Hotchner couldn't take it anymore and issued orders directly: "Gideon, take Reid to the basement. Morgan and Elle, you're with me in the main house."
"This way."
The field supervisor led Unit Chief Hotchner and the others into the estate.
Chuck and Jane accompanied Gideon and Reid to the basement.
"Devils are frightening, but humans can be far more terrifying than any devil."
Agent Gideon entered the macabre trophy room and gazed at the young women's lives preserved in the glass display cases. Even with all he had witnessed, he couldn't help but sigh.
"156! That's got to be a record!"
Reid, like Chuck, had a sharp eye for numbers. After surveying the T-shaped corridor, he immediately announced the count.
Inside the main house,
Unit Chief Hotchner, accompanied by the field supervisor, took point. Agent Morgan and Agent Elle followed behind.
"What's eating you?"
Morgan couldn't help but ask, noticing Elle's repeated glances in his direction.
"Nothing."
Elle smirked and looked away.
"If you've got something to say, just say it,"
Morgan pressed.
As a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, profiling others was practically involuntary. He knew exactly what Elle was thinking the moment he saw her expression, but he couldn't resist making her voice it.
"I just think you guys are predictable. You can't help but posture when you see an attractive woman,"
Elle ribbed him.
"It's human nature."
Morgan didn't deny it. He ran his hand over his bald head and said with pride, "And I've got a perfect track record!"
(End of this chapter)
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