Chapter 72: Goodbye, The BAU
The Dean smiled and addressed Justine, but her eyes remained fixed on Chuck throughout.
This situation required absolute discretion, and the person with the most influence was naturally the most important to satisfy.
With any other student, as long as they cared about Princeton University's prestigious reputation, the matter could have been resolved with a few carefully chosen words.
But this involved Chuck, who was completely beyond her authority and possessed considerable influence in law enforcement circles. She could only try her best to accommodate his preferences, ensuring he would maintain confidentiality.
Chuck nodded, saying nothing more, respecting Justine's choice.
"Excellent decision!" Seeing the matter settled, the Dean's smile became more genuine. Knowing Chuck didn't appreciate small talk, she nodded and walked away.
"Where are you planning to go?" Chuck glanced at Justine.
"I..." Justine opened her mouth, but suddenly realized she had nowhere else to go.
Back to the dorms? That place would be the source of nightmares, and now it was sealed off as a crime scene.
Besides the dorms, she was broke and had nowhere else to stay.
"Come to my place and get some rest tonight. We'll figure things out tomorrow," Chuck said, heading toward the exit.
He'd given his business card to her initially, just like he'd given one to her best friend Cheryl and to rookie FBI agent Jane. Unlike Cheryl and Jane, whose special circumstances and striking appearances had made them targets for trouble, Chuck had given Justine his card because he genuinely recognized that this ordinary-looking young woman possessed integrity, independence, and strong character. Furthermore, she seemed highly capable with a promising future, making her worthy of his professional card.
The legendary world of American television thrives on networking and mutual benefit, and Chandler's philosophy was particularly fitting here.
He might help Justine today, and perhaps someday she'd be in a position to help him.
The professional world isn't about conflict and competition—it's about relationships and mutual assistance.
Justine hesitated, but finally followed Chuck out.
She truly needed a safe place to rest and think about her future.
Chuck drove Justine to his townhouse, got her settled in the guest room, and after giving her a brief orientation, went about his evening routine.
Today's events had unfolded rapidly—from celebrating Thanksgiving with Monica and old friends, to the evening's relaxation, to rescuing Justine and interrogating the hooded punk girl. For Chuck, who dealt with sensory processing issues, while years of practice kept him functional, it would be much better if he could complete his evening routine on schedule and have some quiet time to decompress.
After sending a text message, Chuck began his daily routine to manage sensory overload, showered, and settled in for the night.
Justine, in the guest room, didn't sleep as well. Lying in the comfortable bed, she stared at the ceiling, contemplating her future.
The next day, Chuck woke at his usual time, got ready, and began preparing breakfast. Justine, who had also gotten up upon hearing movement in the kitchen, asked, "Would you like some scrambled eggs?"
"Thanks," Justine said. "Do you know when the dorms will reopen?"
"Soon enough," Chuck said as he cooked. "The Dean won't tolerate the liability of students returning early and discovering evidence. She'll push the police to process the scene and reopen it as quickly as possible."
"Oh," Justine said, relieved.
"You can stay here through the holiday break," Chuck placed the eggs in front of her. "Just help me keep the place clean."
"Of course," Justine nodded gratefully.
Chuck said nothing more.
Although Thanksgiving break for college students wasn't as long as winter or summer vacation, it was still 5 to 7 days compared to working professionals who got one day or sometimes no time off at all. It wasn't insignificant.
Justine would probably feel uncomfortable staying for free, so it was better to give her something productive to do. Maintaining the townhouse would be perfect.
After all, for someone with his particular standards for cleanliness, no amount of cleaning was excessive.
After finishing breakfast, Chuck packed his briefcase, took his travel bag, nodded to Justine, walked to the garage, and drove toward New York City.
He had no concerns about leaving Justine alone in his townhouse.
Beyond the security system, important items like his firearms were secured in a safe in the back room. Any tampering would trigger immediate alerts.
That's right! He wasn't completely without backup plans. Besides his preferred Barrett .50 caliber rifle, he also had an M134 minigun secured in the townhouse's back room.
If some heavily armed gang decided to make a move on him, he'd make sure to deliver a perfectly timed one-liner as he surveyed the aftermath, leaving them questioning their life choices like they were stuck in some philosophical crisis.
While everyone else had handguns, he had the Barrett and the minigun. That's just how the game worked!
He drove to the FBI's New York field office and, upon arriving at the federal building, spotted some familiar faces.
"Chuck!" A group of people got out of their vehicle—various ages, men and women, diverse backgrounds. The youngest, a tall, thin, curly-haired young man, saw Chuck and waved enthusiastically.
"Spencer," Chuck paused and nodded in acknowledgment.
It was Reid, accompanied by his BAU colleagues.
Chuck wasn't surprised by their presence, as both the Christie hunting website and the Red John intelligence fell squarely within the BAU's jurisdiction.
"We meet again," the bald African-American agent Morgan said, removing his sunglasses. "Seems like I run into you everywhere."
"Running into me beats running into all of you," Chuck glanced at him.
"..." Morgan paused.
He understood Chuck's implication. While the BAU had a reputation for saving lives, more often they only got involved after a significant body count had accumulated. Even at crime scenes, they frequently needed a continuing pattern of deaths to develop the psychological profile of a serial offender and generate leads for apprehension.
While they did rescue people, that was typically a secondary outcome.
Like all American law enforcement agencies, their primary mandate was solving cases, nothing more.
"Dr. Wolfe, great to see you again. This time we can collaborate directly," Gideon, the veteran profiler and spiritual leader of the BAU, smiled and shook Chuck's hand.
"Are you certain you're taking lead?" Chuck returned the handshake. "Are you handling the murder website, or Red John?"
"Red John," Unit Chief Hotchner, the operational leader of the BAU, replied. "The murder website falls under the Cyber Crime Division's purview. Serial killer cases are more appropriate for our team."
"I heard that Dr. Wolfe single-handedly apprehended all the suspects alive and rescued the female student. That's genuinely impressive," the two female BAU agents, JJ and Elle, looked at Chuck with professional admiration.
"Too bad they're all dead," Morgan said quietly.
"All dead?" Chuck looked over.
"You hadn't heard?" Morgan feigned surprise.
"I should have expected as much," Chuck gave him the same look he'd used when saying, 'Running into me beats running into all of you.'
Morgan: "..."
(End of Chapter)
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