Chapter 42: The Oppressive Office (Please Keep Reading!)

"Roan, I truly admire you."
Handing Roan a cup of coffee, Lacey walked with him toward the Jacob Federal Building, her face full of peculiar expressions. After hesitating for a long while, she finally asked in a low voice,
"Do you know the specifics about the woman you played games with last night?"
"Of course I do. Lydia Ruth, thirty years old, manager of the Flame Queen bar. Since her late husband passed away, she hasn’t had a boyfriend or any romantic life for two years. Why do you ask?"
Roan tilted his head in confusion. He’d learned most of these basic details last night by employing a few tricks. He then asked,
"I remember you told me last night she didn’t have any particular background."
Lacey nodded. Roan's information was accurate, and indeed, Lydia had no significant background on the surface. Even in the shadows, her connections were limited to a local gang that preferred not to provoke the FBI.
But what Lacey wanted to discuss wasn’t Lydia’s connections, but Lydia herself.
Lydia was a peculiar woman...
She glanced at Roan, who greeted other agents with vigor, and shook her head in resignation.
Forget it. Let Roan experience it for himself in time—it’s nothing serious. She only hoped Roan’s kidneys could withstand it.
"Good afternoon, Agent Roan!"
"Hello."
"Nice work! Agent Roan!"
"Thank you."
Just walking a dozen steps through the first floor of the Jacob Federal Building, three or four agents greeted Roan. He responded with a bright smile, showing eight teeth, and only when he and Lacey entered the elevator did he finally ask in puzzlement,
"Where did all these people learn my name?"
"There are no secrets in this building, Roan."
Lacey, unfazed, sipped her coffee and calmly explained,
"The fact that you killed a criminal with a pen last night spread throughout the building in less than an hour. It’s no wonder they know you."
Roan: "..."
Before he could reply, the elevator arrived at the floor of Investigation Team Five. As the doors opened, a thunderous applause erupted, startling Roan.
"Nice job, Roan!"
Mona led several technical agents in cheering and applauding Roan. Ryder, bear-like in stature, clapped enthusiastically and shouted,
"Roan, you must teach me your pen-throwing technique—I’ll buy you breakfast for a year!"
Roan’s smile at this scene was genuine, not just the usual eight-tooth grin. He hugged each of them in gratitude, saying,
"Thank you all! Last night’s operation couldn’t have succeeded without your support and help. I truly appreciate it!"
"Haha, I knew Roan would say that!"
As Roan spoke, Augustus emerged from behind the group, gave Roan a hearty slap on the shoulder, and looked him up and down with satisfaction,
"Nicely done, kid! You’ve got some of my old skills from when I was young!"
Everyone: "..."
Roan glanced at Augustus’s large belly but kept smiling, saying nothing. As long as Augustus was happy, that was enough.
"Alright, back to work!"
With a sweep of his hand, Augustus sent the agents back to the Investigation Team Five workspace, then led Roan down another corridor.
Roan asked in confusion,
"Where are we going?"
"To Supervisor Verinise’s office—she needs to see you."
Augustus, patting his belly as he walked, answered Roan and flashed a smile at passersby, giving Roan’s shoulder an affectionate tap.
The air was full of that parental pride, showing off his child to outsiders.
"By the way, Roan,"
Halfway down the corridor, Augustus suddenly stopped Roan, motioned for him to lower his head, and whispered in his ear,
"This morning during the meeting, Bronson was appointed as supervisor of the newly formed Investigation Team Fourteen by the Special Agent Director. You can’t imagine how sour Bronson’s expression was!"
Roan: "..."
Roan tilted his head, glimpsed Augustus grinning so wide his molars showed, and was surprised to discover Augustus had a taste for gossip.
They reached the end of the corridor, and Augustus pointed to a nearby door, saying,
"Verinise is waiting for you inside. Mind your words, and when you finish, return to the office. I have something to discuss with you."
"Yes, sir."
Watching Augustus’s departing figure, Roan straightened his suit, checked that everything was in order, then knocked on the office door.
"Come in."
Upon hearing Verinise’s icy voice, Roan raised an eyebrow, calmly pushed open the door and entered.
"Good afternoon, ma’am."
"Sit."
Without looking up, Verinise continued writing something at her desk.
Roan didn’t mind. He sat heavily in the chair in front of her desk and began quietly observing his surroundings.
The office was spacious but simply furnished: a bookshelf crammed with file folders, a desk, a chair, and a water dispenser.
Not even a single plant.
Were it not for the southern-facing windows letting in sunlight, this office would epitomize "oppression."
Roan frowned and turned his gaze to Verinise, noticing her attire was, as usual, a broad-shouldered women’s suit, making her look particularly stern.
Except the pants seemed a bit mismatched.
Click—
Hearing the sound of a pen tossed onto the desk, Roan quickly averted his gaze from Verinise.
She didn’t mind, pulling another file folder from the desk and reading aloud, her voice devoid of emotion,
"Roan Greenwood, born April 1, 1981, at Boston Children’s Hospital. Your father was a professor of accounting at Boston University, murdered in a street shooting when you were four. The killer was never found. Your mother was a doctor at the Children’s Hospital, killed in a street shooting a week after your eighteenth birthday. Again, the perpetrator vanished."
At this, Verinise glanced up at Roan, her expression blank as she asked,
"Did I get anything wrong, Agent Roan?"
Roan’s heart skipped a beat as he frantically searched his predecessor’s memories, but he kept his face impassive and answered, "...No."
Feigning indifference was not a challenge.
"Okay."
Seeing Roan had no objections, Verinise continued reading,
"After your mother’s death, you worked odd jobs while studying hard. Thanks to excellent grades and a recommendation letter from your mother’s colleague, you were admitted to the University of Massachusetts Boston, majoring in accounting.
After graduating, you worked on Wall Street for two years, but for reasons unknown, resigned and applied to the FBI's open recruitment.
After twenty weeks of training at the FBI Academy in Virginia, you passed the final exam and became a new probationary agent, assigned to the New York field office."
Having briefly outlined Roan Greenwood’s life from birth to present, Verinise tossed aside the folder, clasped her hands with a grave expression, and fixed her gaze on Roan, her voice sharp,
"The FBI Academy reports never mentioned your exceptional throwing skills. Tell me—where did you learn them?"
Roan: "..."