The People v. Eleanor Warwick

Paperwork. Henderson has always hated it. He’d rather be shot at, but that is life on the bench, staying behind to dot i’s and cross t’s.

As locals crossed through the bullpen, a few would give him a look, wondering why he was left behind. They wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he saw them talking. They knew what someone being chastised looked like. Being the one left behind to do paperwork was the equivalent of standing in a corner.

In the several hours since the team of agents moved out, he’s done little but fume. He thought he would have calmed down by now, but no such luck. Grudges have no place in the field. He learned that a long time ago.

“Bury that hatchet before somebody buries you”, his first C.O. told him and a squad mate with whom he didn’t get along. It was wise council. On the battlefield, petty squabbles could get somebody killed. That squad mate ended up saving Henderson’s life during Desert Storm. Died years later in Afghanistan. Henderson still keeps tabs on his wife and kid.

He isn’t at war anymore, but he’s still in a situation where he must trust his colleagues. Possibly with his life. Yet, Grey is on her way out, and it’s possible he is as well. As such, he has no issue with holding a grudge against her for the rest of his life. His record is spotless, exemplary. Yet, she has gone out of her way to damage his reputation.

Couch manipulated him, no denying that, but handling wizards is tricky. Things rarely go as planned. She came down on him hard, but he could have shrugged that off. It would have hardly been the first time.

It’s the suggestion that he needs to face a hearing for shooting the wizard, not to mention specifically tanking him in her resignation letter, that he can’t let go. He may be out of practice in grudge holding, but he still knows how to do it.

Just then, the swinging double doors that lead into their little corner of the station part and she appears, as if summoned forth by his thoughts. She strides in as confidently as ever, but there’s something in her face that gives him pause. Something has gone wrong. Her agents file in after her. Their disappointment is even easier to spot.

Henderson watches as she walks past him. Without breaking stride, Grey drops an evidence bag unto his desk. Narrowed eyes follow her into her makeshift office. Turning back to the main group, he sees Grey’s new right-hand step up to his desk. The agent lets out a sigh and slides his hands into his pockets.

“What happened?” Henderson asks.

“The committee called us off. Said Warwick wasn’t a priority anymore.”

“After six weeks of surveillance and investigation?”

“Yep,” the agent answers. “She got to them somehow.”

“She said that?”

“No, but the cocky bitch sure implied it.”

Henderson scowls. Damn politicians, he thinks. If he had a nickel for every operation those hacks in DC called off because they don’t have the spine to go through with it…

“So now our orders are to close up shop and head back to Washington,” the agent continues, “and they’ve put you in charge of that.”

Eyebrows arched, Henderson glances toward Grey’s office and then back to his colleague. “Me?”

“Yeah. Grey’s done. Resigned. It’s official.”

Looking once again to the office, he doesn’t see Grey packing her bags. She just sits behind her desk, slowly flipping through her extensive file on Eleanor Warwick.

“What a shame.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Henderson rises. “Make sure we get everything. No files of any kind get left. All locals need to be debriefed and dealt with if necessary.”

“Yes, sir.” With a nod, the agent hustles off.

Picking up the bag, Henderson inspects the glowing stone within. It appears quite humble, but he’s been on the job long enough to know better. The faint blue light flickers with life. Tucking the pouch under his arm, he heads for the evidence room.

5,000 dollars.

Penelope Morneau donated 5,000 dollars to the re-election campaign of Thomas Marshall.

The information is right there in her file, mocking her. How could she have missed it?

Grey can’t decide what she finds more sickening; the fact that such a vital detail escaped her or that five grand is all it takes to buy a Senator these days.

Perhaps she’s jumping to conclusions. It’s possible that Morneau’s unique services have more to do with it than money.

It doesn’t matter which. Neither will make her feel like any less of a failure. Her right-hand had tried to console her on the ride back to the station. It was their decision, he said. Not her fault, he said.

Idiot, she thinks. She’s the lead agent. The entire operation is her responsibility. If Warwick hadn’t been allowed to get away not once, but twice, she would have been in custody before Morneau could call in her favor. It is entirely her fault. Her failure.

Suddenly jumping up from her chair, Grey grasps the thick file with both hands and furiously hurls it across the room. Papers scatter about and hang in the air like letter-sized snowflakes. Falling against the wall, she runs both hands through her hair.

Staring back at the bewildered gathering in the bullpen outside her office, a thought suddenly occurs to her. This is the problem. This is why Marcus wanted to take the kids from her. She resigned. It’s time for her to walk away and return to her kids.

Yet, she isn’t running to the airport to catch the soonest flight to Columbus. Taking whatever terrible seat available or paying whatever price required rather than delay her reunion with her children by even ten minutes.

Instead, she’s thinking about her job. About her legacy. About whether or not her final assignment has been a success.

The realization makes her sick to her stomach.

Quickly gathering up her personal things, she stuffs them into her bag with little regard for organization. Throwing the satchel over her shoulder, Grey throws open the door to the office that is no longer her’s and makes a bee line for the exit.

Her former right-hand steps into her path. “Agent Grey, I just want to tell you that it’s- .”

Grey swerves around him without breaking stride.

He turns to watch her leave, a rejected look on his face. “Been a real pleasure…ma’am.”

Henderson paces toward the bullpen as Grey storms around the corner and into the elevator. If she saw him, she says nothing. As the silver doors close, Henderson scoffs.

“Good riddance.”