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𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑰.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ but when ye      come. . . ❜
─── chapter five! ❫

005.  ╱    ❝ and the 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 makes sense
━━  behind a 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖓-𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖐 fence.  ━━
if i could 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊, i would've already 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙. ❞

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﹙ 𝕿UESDAY ━ 𝕱EBRUARY 3RD, 2015 ﹚

     THE NEW YORK SKYLINE STRETCHED OUT BEHIND CARSON CREST, A BREATHTAKING PANORAMA OF STEEL AND GLASS THAT NEVER FAILED TO CAPTIVATE HER. From her office on the 56th floor, she could see the entire city laid out like a glittering chessboard, each building a piece in an endless game of power and strategy. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the urban landscape, painting the city in hues of gold and amber. It was home.

     Much like the woman herself, Carson's office was a study of elegance and efficiency. The room was shaped like an isosceles triangle, with two of its three walls made entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows. The effect was dizzying and exhilarating, giving the impression that one could simply step out into the air above Manhattan. The third wall, painted a cool slate gray, housed an impressive collection of law books and industry awards. A large, modern glass desk dominated the space, its surface neat and organized save for a sleek laptop and a few carefully arranged files.

     At the center of this urban aerie sat Carson, her fingers flying over her laptop keyboard as she pored over the details of her latest case. At thirty-eight, nearly thirty-nine, Carson was already a force to be reckoned with in the world of corporate law. Her sharp features, framed by sleek earth-brown hair, and penetrating green-brown eyes gave her an air of intensity that could unnerve even the most seasoned opponents across a negotiating table. A small, faint cross-shaped scar on her left palm, barely noticeable unless someone knew to look for it, hinted at a past beyond the polished exterior.

     Today, she wore her signature perfectly tailored charcoal suit that accentuated her figure and projected an aura of authority. A delicate silver necklace with a small sun pendant—a gift from her daughter Parker, who had a moon pendant necklace to match—was her only concession to sentimentality in her otherwise businesslike attire. Her manicured nails painted a subtle nude shade, tapped rhythmically while she worked.

     Carson was elbow-deep in research for a high-stakes merger between two tech giants, one of which she represented. The case was complex with potential antitrust issues that required careful navigation. She loved nothing more than sinking her teeth into a challenging legal puzzle, and this one promised to keep her occupied for the next few days, along with her other active cases. Her ability to hyper-focus, to lose herself completely in her work, was both her greatest strength and, at times, her greatest weakness.

     A soft knock at the glass door nearly broke her concentration. "Come in," she called, not looking up from her screen. There was a slight furrow between her plucked brows at the interruption.

     Melanie Wells, Carson's secretary and closest friend, stepped into the office. Melanie was the perfect complement to Carson's intensity—calm, organized, and unflappable. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and her crisp white blouse and red pencil skirt spoke of understated professionalism. At thirty-six, Melanie had already proven herself indispensable to Carson years ago, managing the constant barrage of calls, emails, and schedule changes with effortless efficiency.

     "Ms. Crest," Melanie said, her voice clear and professional, "there's someone here to see you. An F.B.I. agent." A slight raise of her brow and the formal usage of Carson's last name betrayed her curiosity, but she maintained her composed demeanor. Typically, she referred to Carson as 'Carse,' and only used her last name in the presence of higher authority and upper management.

     Carson's head snapped up, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her earthy-brown eyes lit up with an emotion Melanie had seen a handful of times—anticipation.

     Jason, Carson thought. About time he showed up.

     Aloud, she said, "Send them in, please."

     With a nod, Melanie retreated, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

     Pressing 'save' on the document, Carson stood from her black leather chair. The wheels soundlessly rolled across the linoleum floor when she scooted in backward. Standing, she smoothed out her suit and moved to the side of her glass desk, ready to greet her old friend. However, when the door opened again, it wasn't Jason Gideon who walked through.

     The man who entered was tall, with dark hair peppered with grey at the temples and serious, deep-set eyes that took in every detail of the room in an instant. He carried himself with the unmistakable air of law enforcement—alert, observant, and slightly on edge. His suit, while well-made, had the tiniest rumpled look of someone who spent more time in the field and traveling than behind a desk. He held a black briefcase in one hand. Carson's brow almost arched in surprise, and she replaced her anticipation with guarded curiosity.

     SSA Aaron Hotchner took in the office and its occupant in one swift, practiced glance. The extravagance of the space and the various awards and certifications on the walls spoke volumes about Carson Crest's success, but it was the woman herself who captured his attention. Her posture exuded confidence, and there was a sharpness in her stare that reminded him of the most formidable prosecutors and lawyers he'd encountered.

     "Carson Crest?"

     "Yes," Carson replied, her tone cool and controlled. "And you are?" The late afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows cast a somewhat golden glow on her hair.

     Hotch reached into his blazer pocket, producing his F.B.I. credentials. The movement caused his suit to shift, revealing a glimpse of his holstered weapon. "Hi, it's nice to meet you. I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner," he tucked away his badge, "the Unit Chief at the F.B.I.'s Behavioral Analysis Unit." He extended his hand and she shook it firmly. He noted her strong grip and direct eye contact. The calluses on her fingers were similar to his. They spoke of someone who spent long hours writing or typing.

     As they shook hands, Hotch's profiling instincts kicked in. Within seconds, he observed the meticulous organization of her desk, the strategic placement of her awards on the bookshelves, the order in which she framed her certifications and degrees, and the way she positioned herself—slightly angled, ready to counter any argument. Everything about Carson Crest spoke of a woman accustomed to control and power, yet something in her eyes—a hint of vulnerability quickly masked—stood out.

     Meanwhile, Carson's mind began to race. A flicker of recognition passed over her, but she didn't let on. She knew exactly who Aaron Hotchner was; Jason had mentioned him numerous times over the years. But why was he here instead of Jason?

     "What can I do for you, Agent Hotchner?" Carson asked with a tinge of familiarity that caught his attention. Something in her manner suggested she knew more about him than she let on.

     "Please, call me Hotch," he said, offering a hint of warmth that softened his serious demeanor. "Everyone does."

     Carson nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "And you can call me Carson." She paused, then added with a touch of dry humor, "At least while we're discussing matters outside of my professional capacity."

     Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, appreciating her attempt at levity. "Fair enough, Carson. May I sit?" he asked, gesturing to one of the sleek leather chairs in front of her desk.

     The response was immediate. "Of course," Carson said, indicating the chair with a graceful wave of her hand. She leaned back against her desk, arms folded loosely across her chest—a power pose if Hotch had ever seen one.

     As he sat, Hotch couldn't help but wonder about the connection between this successful, polished corporate lawyer and Jason Gideon. Over all the years he'd known the man, Gideon never once mentioned the name Carson Crest. The photographs in his pocket suddenly felt a little heavier.

     Nonetheless, he pulled out the two photographs from the inner pocket of his blazer. "This is you, correct?" he asked, handing them to Carson. His stare never left her face, waiting for a reaction.

     Carson glanced at the images and separated them. Her features softened almost unnoticeably. One was of herself as a child, either eleven or twelve, all gangly limbs and unruly curls at the park. She was hanging upside down on the monkey bars with a happy smile and her arms dangling above the ground. She wore her school uniform and luckily, her shirt was tucked into her khaki pants. It was bright and sunny outside with not a cloud in sight. In the bottom left corner of the image was a tan blur—Jason's finger had accidentally slipped and gotten in the shot.

     The other image was from her NYU graduation. She was standing proudly next to Jason in her violet satin robe with a black satin cap on her head, both made of Gabardine fabric. In her hands, she held her three bachelor's degrees with a proud smile. Jason's arm was thrown over her shoulder and he sported a matching grin. He wore a violet button-down with black pants to match her robe and had sunglasses perched on his nose. He was several years younger than he was now—this was taken in 1999 by her mom, Olivia Hart. They stood in front of the NYU Stern School of Business.

     Her fingers traced the edge of the graduation photo gently. When she spoke, her voice was steady, but there was a warmth that hadn't been there before. "Yes, it is." There was a short pause. "You worked with Jason Gideon."

     At the statement, Hotch's brows lifted. The way she spoke Gideon's name piqued his curiosity further. "Yes, I did. Last week, my team and I discovered a note at his cabin. In it, he requested I find you and give you this." He reached down and picked his briefcase off the floor. Placing it in his lap, he snapped it open and reached inside. He pulled out a thick envelope and passed it to her, watching Carson's manicured fingers close around it.

     Carson looked from the envelope to Hotch, her lawyer's mask slipping for a moment to reveal a flash of concern. The sunlight caught the small scar on her palm, she could see it in her peripheral vision. A sense of unease grew in her stomach.

     Why was he delivering this instead of Jason?

     Hotch noted the subtle shift in her body language—a slight tensing of her shoulders, a barely perceptible narrowing of her eyes.

     "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Jason hasn't spoken to anyone at the Bureau in years. Why were you..." Her voice trailed off when realization dawned. No. She stood up straight, her body rigid.

     Bracing himself for what he had to say next, Hotch monitored her reactions closely. "Jason was found dead in his cabin on the twenty-eighth of last month," he said quietly. "He was murdered by an apparent home intruder."

     The office fell silent, the bustling city beyond the windows fading away.

     For Carson, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. She swallowed harshly and blinked once, pushing away the tears blurring her vision. The silver necklace around her neck glinted in the fading light.

     Hotch witnessed Carson fighting to maintain her composure. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and her jaw was set in determination. Part of him was impressed by her amount of self-control; however, it wasn't unusual for lawyers to be masters of regulating their emotions.

     "I don't know how close the two of you were or the nature of your relationship, but I'm sorry for your loss," he added gently.

     Carson cleared her throat, steeling herself. "Do you know who did it?" In a clear surprise, Hotch tilted his head. "Last I spoke to him, he was road-tripping along the East Coast. He mentioned a woman was found dead in a shallow grave in Roanoke, and how it reminded him of an UnSub's M.O. from a case in 1978. Is that who killed him—the UnSub from that case?"

     Further surprise flashed across Hotch's face at Carson's knowledge of F.B.I. terminology and case details. He leaned back slightly, reassessing the woman before him. "Yes, it was," he confirmed, studying her response closely. When he made the trip to New York to deliver the news and letter, he hadn't expected to be so taken aback. "His name was Donnie Mallick. He was killed in the field."

     Nodding, her fingers absentmindedly ran over the envelope. The edges were beginning to crease. "Has Stephen been notified?" The question was spoken with an undercurrent of concern.

     "Yes, he has," he replied, silently acknowledging the personal nature of her questions. Somehow, she also knew Gideon's son.

     A pang of hurt struck her in the chest and she couldn't help but wonder why Stephen hadn't reached out. The shrill ring of her office phone cut through the heavy silence. Carson glanced at the caller ID to see it was one of the paralegals down the hall. With quick and practiced movement, she declined the call.

     "Do you need to get that?" Hotch asked, prepared to leave if need be.

     "No, it's not pertinent," she replied, her professional mask slipping back into place. She straightened her suit jacket, a nervous habit she thought she'd long since overcome. "I appreciate you taking the time to come here and deliver this." She held up the envelope and gave him a polite smile. "I'm sorry for your loss as well. Jason always had nothing but good things to say about you and your team."

     That was a nonverbal cue that this conversation had come to an end. So Hotch snapped his briefcase shut and stood up, smoothing down his tie as he did so. "Of course. If you need anything, here's my card." He passed a small white rectangle to Carson, who took it with a nod, her eyes briefly meeting his.

     "Thank you," she said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, "May I ask you something?" At his nod, she continued, "Has David Rossi been notified?"

     "Yes, he has. He works with me at the BAU," Hotch replied, his curiosity piqued once again. "Do the two of you know each other?"

     "Loosely," Carson said, not elaborating. She stood tall and rolled her shoulders back, signaling the end of the conversation. "Again, I appreciate you taking the time to come here, Hotch. It was nice meeting you, despite the circumstances." The professionalism had fully returned but her use of his nickname added a touch of personal warmth.

     "Yes, likewise, Carson," Hotch responded, sensing another shift. "Thank you for your time."

     They exchanged small, somber smiles before Hotch left. The glass door closed behind him with a soft thud, leaving Carson alone. The last rays of sunlight painted the office in dreamy hues, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere that lingered in the wake of the fresh grief.

     Carson stood motionless for a moment, her line of sight fixed on the door through which Hotch had just exited. The weight of the news he'd delivered suddenly pressed down on her shoulders. Tears clouded her vision again. With a deep, shaky breath, she moved back to her desk and sank into her leather chair.

     A slow, controlled breath left her mouth and she wet her lips. Staring down at the envelope in her hands, she felt a lump in her throat. Then, she looked at the two framed photographs in the right corner of her desk. One of them was the same graduation photo with Jason, and the latter was of her and her daughter Parker at the top of the Empire State Building.

     The urge to throw herself into work, to bury her emotions under research, antitrust issues with the merger approaching, and a mountain of legal briefs and case files, was strong. But one last glance at the second photo on her desk made her pause.

     Moving almost robotically, Carson reached for her phone and dialed Parker's number without a second thought.

     After two rings, a bright and cheerful voice answered, "Mom! Hey! What's up?"

     Carson felt some of the tension leave her body at the sound of her daughter's voice. "Hey, stinker. How would you feel about spending some of the night at the firm with me? We could order sushi from Nobu."

     "Really?" Parker gasped excitedly, and Carson could vividly picture her grinning and dancing in place. A smile appeared on her face, and she chuckled. "That sounds great! Is everything okay, though?"

     "I'm still working on that merger agreement and thought having some company, i.e. you, would help make a mundane task not so mundane," she replied, brushing her hair over her shoulders. As of right now, she didn't want to worry Parker or spike her anxiety. Later that night, she would tell her the news.

     "Okay, cool! I'll let Jimmy know when he picks me up from tennis practice. He can bring me straight to your office," Parker said, referring to their driver.

     Carson grinned. "Perfect. I'll see you soon, lovie. I love you."

     "I love you, Mom!"

     After the call ended, a wave of emotions washed over her. Insurmountable grief for Jason, budding concern about the circumstances of his death, mild curiosity for what was in the thick envelope, and gratitude for the normalcy and joy Parker brought to her life. It came at her from all angles.

     Turning to her computer, determined to get through as much work as possible before her daughter arrived, Carson faltered. The envelope sat on the desk, waiting to be opened. A bigger lump formed, but she pushed it away. There would be time for grief later. For now, she had work to do.

     And outside the office windows, the New York skyline continued its silent vigil—a reminder that the world kept turning, regardless of personal tragedy.

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

⁰² 𝕽𝖀𝕴𝕹. . . RUIN !
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written by CARDIIAC © 2024.
破滅 . ݃♱ .

     WELCOME TO VOLUME TWO, EVERYONE!!!!!!

     sooooo... first chapter and right out the gate, carson and hotch have met, and gideon is dead! this book will never fail to get straight to it.

     i am so excited (take a shot every time i say that, only if you're of drinking age tho lmao) for this portion of the story. things are going to get messy, complicated, and confusing real quick, so hold on.

     the writing style of this book changes with each volume. volume one was more horror and mystery-based while this volume is more professional, formal, and mystery-based. so if it seems off, that is intentional!

     also, what happened the last 31 years will be revealed and discussed. please be patient! we're building up to it :)

     i hope you enjoyed chapter five! and i hope you have a beautiful day!

     thank you for reading <3

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
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electronic or mechanical methods,
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except in the case of brief quotations
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by copyright law. ❞

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