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[b][i]New York City, The Next Day
In Transit 
8:15 A.M[/i][/b]

[indent][indent]The car arrived the next morning promptly at eight. It was one of those new electric models that only existed in a strange transitory space that was restricted to advertisements and the five hundred dollar a month VIP spaces in parking garages. As the chauffeur, a fifty something year old Asian man with a bald head and stoic expression, open the door for her, Jessica recalled that Chadha was championing a big “green art” initiative as of late, and she found herself cynically wondering if the car was just for the optics.

According to the late-night wikipediaing Jessica had performed after her rendezvous with Kim, optics seemed to be something that Mohsin Chadha was intimately aware of. Chadha before entering politics had been one of the biggest private consultants in the interior design world. His clientele was the BlackRock don type who had enough money to fund their own private military, but who instead chose to exert their soft power through the purchasing of extremely expensive furniture handpicked by the likes of Chadha. It appeared to Jessica that Chadha was able to translate the soft power experience successfully into the political scene. Cultural Affairs wasn’t supposed to be a politically heavy position in city government compared to posts like the Comptroller, but ever since his appointment Chadha had been pushing back against that preconception. While he didn’t ultimately have a lot of individual power, Chadha did have a lot of ability to champion causes like his “green art” initiative to shift public perception and policy. This ability to do a lot with a relatively small amount of political gravity is why Jessica figures that the establishment finds somebody like Chadha so enticing. 

[i]“He’s enticing enough for them to hire me to try and pull him out of the fire…”[/i] Jessica contemplated as she regarded her reflection in the car window. 

To her credit, Jessica had listened to Kim’s advise and cleaned herself up. She had properly brushed her hair for the first time in a week, and she had managed to scrounge up an outfit that didn’t reek of alcohol. Though she did keep her jacket, she found it in a box of her birth father’s old things after she woke up from her coma and for some reason was compelled to take it with her. For the longest time, it simply hung in her closet almost like an ornament, but after the incident Jessica had started wearing it. It was dumb, but it was a kind of comfort that Jessica desperately craved, a comfort that she reached for as she adjusted the collar through the reflection.

  The women that looked back at Jessica appeared even more tired than she felt. She had hoped that the added financial security would’ve helped her combat her lack of sleep, but it ended up doing the exact opposite. Throughout the night, Jessica found herself returning to where she had stashed the money. Like many people, Jessica lived paycheck to paycheck. She had inherited some money from her parent’s life insurance policies, but most of that money went straight to paying off the hospital bills that built up during her extended coma. That and Jessica’s typical clients were just as likely to pay her in fresh bread as they were cash. If she had wanted to, she could have charged more, but most of the people that came to Alias did so because they didn’t have any other options. Besides, Jessica wasn’t in the work for the money, or even for some sense of a greater “civic duty”, Jessica did what she did because she was good at it.

And yet, as she sat in a private car heading across the Williamsburg bridge, Jessica couldn’t help but feel a little bit like she was a trespasser, the proverbial Adam taking a bite from the apple. To her new employers, five thousand dollars wasn’t a life changing amount, five thousand dollars was a little bit of sweetener they used for a deal. If Jessica had wanted to do the grunt work for rich assholes she might as well of just become a real cop and not a P.I. The simple fact of the matter though was that she was desperate, desperate enough to ignore every inch of her that knew she was going to regret this. Her mounting anxieties hadn’t left her by the time the car had snaked its way up to the Cloisters.  

The Cloisters were so far up town that they might as well of been in another city from the rest of New York. This distancing effect was only enhanced by the fact that very buildings themselves looked completely alien to the rest of the city, the four cloisters that made up the museum having been dissembled in Europe and rebuilt in America during the Great Depression. It was a project that in many ways seemed doomed to fail, like much of the American experiment during that time. Yet the likes of Rockefeller, Stark, and J.P Morgan made sure that it didn’t. So, when the Cloisters were done and finished it was only fitting that it was designated to hold medieval art - a token to those kings of industry who now preceded over a booming post-war American empire.

A woman was waiting for them when the car came to a stop. Jessica pegged her for recently out of college based on her clothing choices, and probably still inexperienced given the amount of pep that she carried with her. She introduced herself as Claire A. Wilson, paying interest to stress the A. Ms. Wilson informed Jessica that she was Chadha’s personal assistant and that they were on a very busy schedule so if she could “please follow her that would be just great.” Jessica did so without complaint walking slightly behind her watching with mild interest as her chestnut colored French bob bounced in time with the clack of her shoes.

“Officially, the Cloisters don’t open for another hour, so you will be able to have your discussion with assured privacy.” Wilson explained as they entered the museum properly. She had begun typing on a tablet and in the silence, Jessica could hear the soft vibrations that came with each touch of the keypad.

“You do that often,” Jessica asked immediately lowering her voice as it began to echo along the empty walkway. “rent out museums for business meetings I mean.”

“Sometimes. Only when they are important.” 

They halted outside of the doorway of what Jessica recalled must have been the tapestry room. Jessica looked at Wilson who gestured towards the doorway with a nod. Jessica took a deep breath and entered.

The first thing Jessica noted was that Mohsin Chadha was much taller than the press photos made him out to be. As Jessica entered the room, the Commissioner’s back was turned to her. He wore a white turtleneck paired with a light grey suit and his hands were clasped together in a pensive tent. His attention was directed towards a tapestry on the wall, the last in a sequence, that showed a Unicorn held in a paddock. Jessica wordlessly came up to his side and they regarded the tapestry in silence.

[center][hider=The Unicorn in Captivity][img]https://collectionapi.metmuseum.org/api/collection/v1/iiif/467642/940931/main-image[/img][/hider][/center]

“Do you have any children Ms. Jones?” Chadha asked finally breaking the silence. His voice was smooth and clean like a pair of skis sliding over fresh snow.

“No.”

“I always thought parents were the lucky ones,” Chadha mused. “but perhaps I was wrong.”

“When was the last time you saw your daughter Mister Chadha?” Jessica asked having already pulled out her notebook and pen.

Chadha produced his phone from a pants pocket unlocking it with a press of his thumb. He quickly swiped over to his picture app and brought up a picture of he and Sahiba standing together proudly at what Jessica guessed was a coffee shop. The two of them looked happy.

“Two days before she disappeared,” said Chadha with a sad smile. “Sahiba had just found out that she got into Berkley’s PhD program, we were celebrating.”  

[i]“Family life seems okay…. probably didn’t run away.”[/i] Jessica thought to herself as her brain already began to do the cold calculus that detective work required. Jessica had gotten extremely proficient at breaking down people and conversations into their elementary particles over the years. It was a skill that she had picked up when she went back to school after the car crash. The social aspect of school was harder than it used to be. People have begun to ostracize her for reasons that she herself couldn’t quite comprehend. Old friends that she used to have begun to pretend not to know her or would actively join in with the clique of girls that had decided to make her life a living hell. After that, Jessica started to consciously self-evaluate conversations as they happened, as she tried to figure out if whoever she was talking to was going to betray her in some way. Her chosen line of work had only managed to increase that secondary sense overtime to the point where it was sharpened to a fine intuition.

“Would anyone want to hurt you Mister Chadha? By going after your daughter?” asked Jessica.

“I have political rivals Ms. Jones like any in my position might have, but none that would commit such a heinous act.” There was a conviction in Chadha’s voice that only politicians seemed to possess. A blind faith trust in the institutions of government.

“Do you have anything idea at all where Sahiba might be, even if it’s just a hunch?” 

“I have only this.” He swiped to another app on his phone which when pressed brought up a map of Manhattan and a single red dot. That dot was fixated on West 113th street right near Morningside park.

“We use a GPS tracker to know each other’s location. My security advisor recommended that we do so after my mayoral ambitions became clear.”

Mohsin sighed as he turned off the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

“She went to the park every afternoon to go on a run. It seemed as if she was having a normal day and then she just vanished. We had people scour the area, we asked the nearby churches if they had seen anything and there was nothing. My daughter appears to have disappeared off the face of the planet.”

The formal posture that Chadha presented himself with began to crumble. His broad shoulders drew together in a hunch and the tall man appeared extremely small. The hand that put the phone away clenched at the fabric of his pants as tears began to drip slowly down his face. Ever the politician, Mohsin Chadha did not sob or fall into hysterics, the tears remained aesthetically resonant as if a photoshoot was bound to happen at any moment.

Wordlessly, Jessica pulled out a small travel container of tissues that she kept in her jacket and offered one over. There was a pause before Chadha took one, his face showing gratitude even if  his words couldn’t. 

“Is there anything else Mister Chadha?”

“…Yes.”

On cue, Claire A. Wilson walked into the room, her heels clattering loudly in the silence. She was carrying a duffel bag in her hands that she offered over to Jessica. She peered into the bag revealing its contents to be a laptop with its charger and several notebooks. 

“Ms. Sahiba’s personal effects,” Wilson continued letting Chadha recompose himself. “our crisis team recovered them from her dorm soon after she disappeared. We’ve cracked open the computer, but we couldn’t find anything of interest. You might though.”

Quickly, Jessica began to reevaluate her initial impressions of the young woman. The pep that she presented before had all but vanished, it was replaced with a curt bluntness that only came with experience. Wilson seemed to be all too aware of the mental math taking place in Jessica’s head, her eyes twinkled with a subtle mischievousness.

“Thanks,” muttered Jessica unsure of what to do with the duffle, before deciding on placing it on the floor at her feet. “if that’s everything I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait!” implored Chadha his voice cracking with emotion.

Jessica turned to face him but did not say anything.

“Is it true? That you are different then people like me?” Chadha asked. 

“I ain’t no Superwoman if that’s what your asking.” 

“But… you are stronger yes? Stronger than any of us could ever imagine?” 

“What are you trying to get at Mister Chadha?”

Chadha took a deep breath as he readjusted his posture. The hand holding the tissue clenched into a fist, the moistened material easily shredding under the added pressure.  

“Can you hurt them? Whoever did this?”

Jessica reached down and picked up the duffle. 

[i]”Is this why Kim was able to convince them? Daddy wanted the woman who can throw men through walls to do his vigilante justice for him?” [/i]  

Jessica knew that people like Chadha only accepted people like her when they were useful, and they conformed to a specific ideal. You only had to look at folks like Wonder Woman or Captain America to see that was true, the moment they stepped out of line the “heroes of the world” became pariahs. The simple fact of the matter was that the moment they threatened to preestablished hierarchy, the same extraordinary abilities that made people call them gods, were the same things used to justify their damnation.

 “Respectfully Mister Chadha” began Jessica. “I’m a detective not a hired thug.”  

The disappointment that spread across the commissioner’s face was palpable. He looked like he was about to argue with her, but then thought better of it.

“I’ll be in touch Mister Chadha.”[/indent][/indent]