Matters of supreme importance were being decided upon beneath the unremarkable façade, but one would’ve never suspected it from the looks of it. Of course that was the intent, but then it also depended on how one looked at it; to the FBI’s agents it was probably simply part of a job, just like preparing tax returns or operating a cash register was for an accountant or a cashier. Only it wasn’t just a job because decisions made inside that building could make or break people’s lives. After checking in with the security desk, Janet was told to wait to be escorted to the upstairs offices. A few minutes later, a woman in her early twenties greeted her. “Janet Maple? I’m Penelope Wice. I work for Mr. Falk.” She was dressed in a black suit with a knee-length skirt; her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her eyes shone brightly with purposefulness. She had junior agent written all over her. “Very nice to meet you, Penelope.” Janet momentarily regretted her loosely hanging hair along with an outfit of jeans and sweatshirt, but then she wasn’t cooped up in an office, toying around with paperwork.
