steps further into the room, arms crossed So if none of us called this meeting...

slams his envelope onto the table Then who the hell did? And why drag us all the way out to this shithole?

moves to the window, parting the dusty curtain to peer outside Feels like a trap.

remains by the door, hand resting near his sidearm We should sweep the building. Check for wires, listening devices.

shakes his head slowly Already done. Clean.

picks up the envelope, turning it over in her hands The paper stock. The handwriting. It's... familiar.

Familiar how? Spit it out, Park.

looks up, her expression unreadable It's almost identical to the way Bell used to write.