[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar Gonzalez[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://www.trbimg.com/img-54da3b87/turbine/sf-danny-trejo-shock-pop-comiccon-lauderdale-20150210[/img][/center][sub][color=orangered][i]His childhood bedroom. Caesar sometimes comes back here to think.[/i][/color][/sub][hr][b] [color=orangered]Location:[/color][/b] La Hacienda 
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A [hr][hr][/center]

	[i]...meanwhile, back upstairs...[/i]

	Benicio could only look on as his daughter went through the full range of emotions, dealing with the digital, coded hell that Alicia has left for her. The elder Gonzalez did what he could to keep little Liam quiet in spite of the swearing and spitting of their girl, affectionately referred to as "Angel" among close friends and family (though there were suspicions that the nickname did not come from her serene, pleasant demeanor). She was his little girl, his very own M'hija, and she had her own way of doing things. Unfortunately, that was was a little too close to his brother's way - or what Caesar's way was a couple of decades ago. 

	Thalia, meanwhile, had pulled her Glock back out and set it on the desk next to her keyboard. The safety was still on, naturally. With a baby in the room one cannot be too safe, yes? Certainly. But the weapon was at the ready to blow her computer into tiny pieces of plastic and silicon if that damnedable Laughing Taco decided to make things more interesting for her. Well, lucky for her, the computer, [i]and[/i] the Laughing Taco, the password prompt accepted Thalia's first educated guess. She did know her Prima. Breathing a sigh of relief, Thalia created an isolated folder to copy the file into, disconnected from the 'net, and assigned a delete macro to the new folder and any contents. Carefully, she removed the original flash drive and opened her copy. 

[center] File # SGJFE-1432 Wentworth Security, Black Sunday, Aug. 12, 1983 [/center]

	"You know, this might be the kind of thing we should tell Tio Caesar about, huh Papi?" suggested Thalia, glancing back at her father the Father. She was told very directly by the man to suspend any investigation into the case for the evening, anyway. Respect for Alicia and all that. But was this not showing respect for her cousin? Looking into and following up on the very piece of information that she provided miraculously upon the day of her viewing sounded an [i]awful lot[/i] like she was respecting the hell out of Alicia. Especially as she damn near burned out Thalia's system from beyond the grave. Touche, Taco Belle. Touche indeed. 

	Screw this, Thalia was taking a look. 

	[i]...down below...[/i]

	Caesar took a long pull from his bottle of mescal and immediately wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Classy, of course. His beloved daughter was laying on a shrine-like table covered in semitransparent cloth, surrounded by hundreds of candles. People from many walks of life came to pay their respects, the only factor in common being a tie to La Familia Gonzalez. Gifts were piled upon tables, and in the center of the area was a series of low benches and cushions upon the floor that people may use to rest and commune with one another, plus any errant spirits that might be in the room. 

	From one of the side rooms, doors burst open to reveal a small army of abuelitas, each carrying a covered dish or pushing  cart full of yummy, traditional foodstuffs made from scratch and with love, or if not love, whatever these people substituted for it. No, it was love. Love of family and the grim determination of a people that gave homage to the anthropomorphized representation of Death. But if Our Lady of Death visited another member of the Familia that evening, it would not be because of the food, barring a horrible choking accident. They were excellent at their craft, as excellent as the family patriarch was as handling sharp implements in defense or retribution. 

	Caesar was not really in the mood for a meal at the time. Lots of thoughts to mull over, lots of emotions to suppress in hopes of using them later to fuel his nigh boundless rage. He did stand and stride over to one of the offering tables, securing a couple pieces of fruit for himself. Maybe a little something would serve to prime his appetite for some of that lovely roasted pork or chicken mole. For the moment, it was a grapefruit with ruby red flesh, followed by a rich, brown skinned mamey. And more mescal. 




[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=b8860b]J. Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]http://fightstate1.devise.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/Mariusz-Pudzianowski-train-lift.jpg[/img]
[sub][color=b8860b][i]"Because 'Training' means two things, y'see."[/i][/color][/sub][hr][b][color=b8860b]Location:[/color][/b] Queensguard R&D Industrial Complex 
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] Leadership, Security Protocol
[hr][hr][/center]

	There were reports coming in over his earpiece, of course. And silent alerts over his company phone, likely files and images on some of the more noteworthy of these people. They were all worthy of note in one way or another, but the information on them seemed to be coming out of a publicist's office: Only the overt stuff one might find from a light background check or from accessible public sources. Either his tech people weren't up to snuff, which Keystone doubted, or these people were great at covering their tracks from anything but the most developed, serious searches. The kind of searches that could not be performed in a couple of minutes from a security hub by a group of well fed but tired Seattleites, anyway. Ones that would require dedicated attention and a minor miracle. 

	Keystone's mind flashed back to that man, Wentworth. Other than his involvement in a similar industry, he thought that the name was familiar. Like it had come up in briefings with El Jefe, or like he had seen it written down somewhere in a file or chain of reasoning, pending investigation. Come to think of it, why was here here with a meeting of Juno members? He was male, after all. Word was that this was a group of wealthy and/or influential women, with the "Y Chromosome" crowd strictly in an assisting or subordinate role. Just seemed odd, was all. 

	Alicia was talented in the same area of expertise as this guy. Maybe that was the connection. Now with her gone, they would need someone up to the task of dealing with other aspects of their security. Suspicion flashed over Keystone's face with that thought. Was he involved? He would have to find an excuse to speak with the man, if just to rattle him a bit and gauge his reactions.