"What's up?"
The door opened, and a red-haired woman appeared behind it.
The woman was no longer young, at least much older than Gen, perhaps not yet 40, but probably not far off.
Whether it was the undisguised crow's feet at the corners of her eyes when she smiled, the obvious nasolabial folds on both sides of her nose, and the forehead wrinkles that appeared on her forehead because of the slightly surprised smile when she saw Jack and Gen, the two uninvited guests, all showed that she was no longer young.
But Jack believed that she must have been very beautiful when she was young.
In today's society, praising a woman for her temperament is usually considered a skillful compliment, and if the attitude is not sincere enough, it may even be considered as a sarcasm.
But the red-haired woman in front of him is indeed very elegant, gentle and intellectual, and has an aura that can make people calm down and concentrate.
"Sorry to bother you," Jack said, flashing his signature business smile, revealing four perfectly white teeth. "I'm Detective Danny Reagan, and this is my partner, Kate Beckett."
He lifted the hem of his jacket, revealing the badge pinned to his right waist.
Federal agent badges differ significantly from NYPD ones. Like most FBI agents, he rarely wore one on his belt, preferring to simply show his ID.
But the NYPD badge Jack was displaying wasn't a fake; it was personally awarded by Commissioner Reagan. He even had a fake file in the NYPD database, just in case.
"Someone reported that things are getting a bit uneasy around Greenwich Village lately. My partner and I happened to be passing by today. Do you mind if we go in and take a look?"
"Oh, really? I live alone here, and the neighborhood's always been pretty safe. I haven't heard anything about anything going on at night," the woman said, surprised.
"Maybe it was just some kids' prank, or maybe an old man's suspicions." Jack continued to smile and shrugged, a hint of complaint in his tone.
"You know, this is supposed to be the patrol officers' job, but we happened to be passing by today, and since we owed someone a small favor, we're just doing it as a matter of routine."
The woman's gaze lingered on the disposable paper cup in his hand, then glanced at Gen beside Jack. Her mind raced through countless scenarios
, probably involving an office romance, partners and lovers using a mission as a pretext for a park outing, and so on. A playful smile, a kind of "I see you're using your power for personal gain, but I won't say it," appeared on her face.
"Well, I happened to have a pot of tea, so maybe we could enjoy some cookies together for afternoon tea."
Gen was undoubtedly gifted in some ways. Her face flushed instantly, and she lightly punched Jack. Then she pointed to a stack of mailed magazines on the steps, clearly left there by the postman.
"As a gentleman, shouldn't you help this lady carry her things inside?"
Without waiting for a refusal, Jack bent down and lifted the thick stack.
"Well, thank you so much."
The woman made way for the two "detectives" at the door and introduced herself. "I'm Grace Hendrix, just call me Grace. It's nice to meet you.
The room is a little messy, I hope you don't mind."
Jack looked down at the magazines in his hand. There were at least 50 magazines in such a thick stack, all exactly the same. He was quite familiar with the name of the magazine, it was the famous fashion magazine "Tianqiao", and he couldn't help but feel a little curious.
"This is the first time I've seen someone collect so many fashion magazines at once."
"Sort of," Grace smiled awkwardly, unsure how to explain. "They sometimes send me magazines with my work in them." It wasn't until
Jack walked into the living room and saw the easel that he suddenly realized, "Aha, so you're a cover artist and illustrator."
"Yeah, doesn't that sound a bit old-fashioned? I know everything's digital now, and traditional printing is becoming obsolete."
Grace counted on her fingers, looking a little embarrassed. "But every time I think I'm going to be out of work, some magazine or newspaper calls me, so..."
She shrugged like Jack had before, "I guess I have a guardian angel."
Finch, this guy, tsk tsk, Jack shook his head inwardly, silently labeling someone a warm-hearted man and a self-serving person.
In fact, it was this issue of "Tianqiao" magazine that brought him here. The fashion queen Miranda had called him a while ago and asked if he would offer a long-term contract to a painter named Grace Hendrix.
This question had Jack stunned at first, and only after asking Chris did he discover that the request originated with Finch, relayed through Justin and then, after a lengthy process, reached Miranda.
As previously mentioned in the "Runway" magazine murder case (Chapter 1274), both the magazine and its publisher, Alias Clarke, have now been acquired by Shangri-La.
Miranda couldn't refuse such a small request from the upper echelons of the group. While a fashion magazine primarily features model photos, it also requires hand-drawn illustrations and backgrounds.
The artist recommended by a senior executive was quite impressive, and Miranda, the editor-in-chief, was so impressed that she even considered signing a long-term contract with him. However, she was unsure of his intentions.
Fearing her flattery might backfire, Miranda turned to Jack, a seemingly mysterious FBI agent with a supposedly "all-powerful" connection.
Someone immediately thought of Finch's mysterious fiancée and asked for the artist's address, leading to today's visit.
When Grace returned to the living room with a tray of tea and snacks, Gen was holding a framed photo of Finch and Grace.
"Is that your husband?" Gen asked knowingly.
"Ah, that's Harold, my fiancé." Grace set down the tray and took the frame from Gen.
"He looks like a nice guy," Jack complimented casually.
Grace gently brushed the dust off the frame, nodded slightly, and smiled. "Yes, he's a pretty good guy. In fact, I never thought I'd meet a man who understands me so well."
Her face lit up with an enviable smile of happiness. "You know, if you spend all your time painting, you're doomed to single life.
But Harold approached me. I was painting in the park that day, and then, out of the blue, this man appeared in New York in January, smiling at me while eating an ice cream cone, and asked if I wanted one too."
Can he even pick up girls this way? Could this guy Finch be using a "machine" to cheat?
Jack was muttering to himself, his smile suddenly faltering. Perhaps it was indeed the case.
The "machine" was capable of understanding human emotions, and Finch, as its creator, was, in turn, its first learning model.
Finch had previously said that the "machine" had developed feelings for him similar to a child's dependence on a parent, even acting to protect him.
So it seemed reasonable that the "child" would want to find a partner for his single "father," a mother for him, right?
Gen's acting was undoubtedly the best Jack had ever seen. Upon hearing this, a faint blush crept across her cheeks, and she glanced at Jack with a hint of shyness and indignation, as if they were truly a couple.
"So, are you living together? Any plans to get married?"
"No, oh no, or maybe I did, uh, once." At this question, Grace's happy smile, brimming with sweet memories, instantly faded.
After a moment's silence, she seemed to regain her courage, rearranging the photo frame and forcing a smile towards the two guests. "I lost him two years ago in an accident."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry about this." Gen, tearful, grasped Grace's hands, as if moved by her feigned strength.
"
She was so lovely. Honestly, I don't know how Harold has lived without her. He's such a cold-blooded bastard, to others and himself."
Gen waved goodbye to Grace with a smile. Turning back, her expression remained unchanged,
but her tone was tinged with indignation. Jack, also smiling, spoke with a hint of sarcasm. "It's surprising to hear such a sigh from a sociopath."
"I'm not a sociopath." Gen glared at Jack, her previous feigned docility completely gone.
"Though sometimes I really wish I were that kind of person. That way, I'd have an easier time doing what's necessary."
She held Jack's arm tightly, just as she had when they arrived. The handsome couple attracted many a glance from passersby, though someone remained calm, even wary of the woman beside them.
"I think you might have misunderstood me, Agent Tawalle. I don't like killing, but sometimes you have to, when you're alone."
Gen's voice softened once more, only to be interrupted by Jack's sneer.
Who did this woman think he was? The kind of idiot who, after being scammed out of half a million dollars, turns around and forgives someone just because they shed a tear of "repentance," hugging their beloved moonlight to the background music of "Can You?"
Forgiveness is one thing, but first, they should get the half a million back. Isn't half a million a fortune? It's enough for an average family to save for a lifetime.
"In your eyes, how many humans do not fall into the category of 'error codes'? In fact, there is one thing I'm quite curious about.
That librarian, Ms. Barbara Russell, you have kept her alive and sent her a copy of 'Flowers for Algernon' every year.
Are you trying to make her die of guilt in this way, or are you waiting for her to come to her senses and reveal Hana's whereabouts one day?"
Jack stopped and stared into Gen's eyes with burning eyes, "Or, the reason Barbara is still alive until now is just because you think she has no idea about Hana's whereabouts, so you chose a simple way of torture.
Or do you actually always hold on to some hope, like Hana's mother, thinking that she may still be alive somewhere in this world?"
Gen also froze in place, the sadness in his eyes flashed away, replaced by burning anger.
Jack raised his hand to block the slap she was about to swing at him, and instead held the woman's slender arm tightly, "Okay, now I can confirm that you are not an antisocial personality, just a wild girl from the Texas countryside who lacked discipline since childhood and has a deviant personality."
After that, there was no conversation all the way until Jack parked the car in the underground garage of the base building. Before getting out of the car, Gen slowly said, "Anyway, I owe you a thank you."
Someone waved her hand generously, "You've already thanked me before."
But Gen immediately showed that malicious smile, "So you took me to meet that bastard's secret lover. Aren't you afraid that one day I will... Using that lovely woman to threaten you?"
Jack scoffed, motioning for her to follow him upstairs. "Don't you see the 'machine' as an electronic god, the hope for humanity's future?
While you're quite adept at acting and lying, I doubt you're lying about this one."
Gen's face, which always managed to perfectly execute any expression but rarely showed confusion, tilted its head and frowned. "Of course, but what do you want to say?"
Jack smiled without answering. He led her into his room, sat down at his desk, opened his laptop, and double-clicked on a text document on the desktop. Gen
stood behind him, frowning, studying the text of what looked like a script, but this time he didn't rush to ask.
Jack quickly typed a line of words, "Was it because of you that Harold Finch was able to meet Grace?"
As he lifted his hands from the keyboard, the cursor flickered rapidly, then automatically wrapped to the next line, and a single word appeared. "Yes."
Gen's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth in disbelief.
In the blink of an eye, the line Jack had just typed and the automatically displayed answer vanished.
Jack put his hands back on the keyboard. "So Finch also designed a love matching function for you?"
"No, that was just an early test phase. The administrator's instructions at the time were to find 'special individuals' among the ordinary people."
"What are 'special individuals'? Like 'related numbers' and 'irrelevant numbers'?"
"No, the administrator didn't clearly define what 'special individuals' are, so I marked several individuals in the park whose behavior was very different from that of ordinary people."
"So what was Grace doing at the time?"
"She was painting by the river."
(End of chapter)