<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><div style="text-align: center;">Alexandra Silverman - The Director</div></span><br/><br/>Los Angeles, California<br/>The abandoned warehouse<br/>6:37 p.m.<br/><br/>“You had to go and get yourself killed, didn’t you, old man?”. The young woman who had just said these words was speaking to herself. There was nobody else in the room Mr. Silverman had used as his office for more years than the next Silverman could count. Not yet, at least. She had called for everyone to come, but they shouldn’t be around before seven. <br/><br/>Alexandra had been there since five p.m., alone, pacing back and forth and thinking. Everything just felt <span style="font-style: italic">wrong</span>. Well, that was to be expected in some measure, Alexandra could supposed. Nothing was really meant to feel right once you lost a parent. Even worse when it was a parent like her father - a man who seemed to be immortal in her eyes. And now, he was dead. <br/><br/>And police was trying to convince her that it had been natural death. A heart attack. Sure, her father was not young. He liked his drink, and his cigars. But she would surely know if he had a heart condition, right? Maybe not, of course, but Alexandra felt that she had to tell herself that. And the gut feeling that something was not right was too strong to ignore. Maybe Tommy could help her - or at least help get the idea off her mind. <br/><br/>There was also another reason Alexandra needed to gather everyone in there. It might sound like an unnecessary formality, since Alexandra had already met every other member of the Agency before, but she felt like she had to formally introduce herself as the new Director. That, and she had to make clear for everyone that she didn’t plan on changing the way the Agency was run, and that she was fully aware that she was new to this and had a lot to learn. And yet, there was a sense of pride inside her. Her father had trusted her enough to trust the running of the Agency into her hands. And she needed to make it work.<br/><br/>“I’ll do this for you, old man. But I’ll also do this for <span style="font-style: italic">me</span>”, the young brunette whispered to the hat that was hanging off a coat rack at one corner. Picking it up, she put it on - it was father’s ‘business’ hat - and sat down, waiting. There was work to be done, and she intended on doing it. Finding out who had gotten Silverman was her personal business. The Agency needed to keep on going, as there were people who relied on it for a living. And that was what mattered now.</div>