<div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0f/43/5b/0f435bc7dff288fa2f733123c272384a.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Konstance Hargreeves, Number One<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Umbrella Acadmy building, Reginald's Office<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>All<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Konstance helps herself to Reginald's notes & files<br/><hr/><hr/><br/><div align="center">'<em>Breaking News....renowned eccentric billionaire and adventurer, Sir Reginald Hargreeves, dead.</em>'</div><br/>The news had broken so quickly the media seemed to know before anybody, it had trickled through to interested parties before and before long it was on every new station. Of course it was. Reginald hadn't just been a member of the upper financial elite of the world. He was the man who had given the world 'the Umbrella Academy.' The worlds first, superheroes? In absence of a better way to describe them that's what they had been. The newborns he had adopted and raised to save the world from some tremendous evil he seemed to have a forewarning about but never really felt the need to share the particular details on.  He had never been one for letting people in on his inner thinking.<br/><br/>Konstance didn't know if he was the first to find out. It wasn't impossible. The CIA, if nothing else, had the 'intelligence' thing nailed down and so she had been informed. The details of the autopsy had been sent on as soon as it was available. Everything about it had been underwhelming but perhaps that was for the best. In the end the old man didn't get some dramatic moment to prove he had been right all along. Nothing to vindicate him. He had quietly slipped away while nobody was watching.<br/><br/>Number One may couldn't say for certain if she was the first to get the news but she had certainly been the first to arrive at the house. She had made a beeline of 'fathers' office. All those evenings spent writing those extensive notes. Observations on the her siblings? Inner thoughts and perhaps what passed for his prayers. Whatever they had been they were being laid bare to her now, neatly perched at his desk like she had owned it the young woman scanned through the absolute wealth of writing he had left behind. If Mother or Pogo disapproved of her being so quick to let herself in on what had been his most private sanctuary neither made any form of open protest. Perhaps they hoped on of the other children would arrive and speak up, or maybe they didn't care. Reginald was dead and gone. He could no longer object to the contents of his notes being made known to her. At this point did it even matter?