Finch From Person Of Interest Novels & Stories

Finch said, holding me firm. I didn’t have the patience for that. Plus I was desperate to see the look on their faces. Brought down by Grover’s stupid and incapable daughter. Well, certainly with a lot of help from dad. I still had no idea the depth of what Finch had found at the apartment, but it was enough to get an arrest warrant signed in less than a few hours apparently.

“I’m genuinely worried about you, Finch. I’m afraid you’ll have a breakdown of some kind.” “I’d been planning this for a long time,” he claims. “I kept looking for you but never found you. Now I know why. You were hidden in a place that was impossible for us to reach. A few weeks ago, I got very close to finding you but something happened to the woman who was our informant. She was killed.” I frown. “What? What informant?”

"Ms. Morgan, my name is John Finch. I'm with the FBI. You placed a call to my office earlier today." I blinked, disoriented. The Hayes couldn't possibly know about that... but was it a risk I was willing to take? They could be lying, trying to lure me out into the open to take me down. I looked at Roberto. He was pale, his skin almost ghostly under the weak light. He needed a doctor. Now. I took a leap of faith. "I have an injured man here. He's been shot." "We're coming to you." Finch hesitated, then added with a touch of something like amusement, "Please try to resist shooting any of my men."

"That was the name she kept coming back to. She said she was working for a journalist writing a profile, but the questions were too specific. Too personal. A journalist wouldn't know to ask what she was asking." I kept my face completely smooth. "Mr. Finch," I said carefully. "What exactly do you know about Elena Hamilton?" He looked at me with something that was almost an apology in his expression. "Only that the name appeared once in a document I wasn't supposed to see," he said. "And that when I saw it, one of the senior partners took the document directly out of my hands and told me that name didn't exist." The room was quiet. "That's all I know," he said. "I promise you. I came here bec

A few days later, an interruption broke the stifling silence of the Sanchez mansion. A distinguished-looking man wearing a finely tailored suit and carrying a battered leather briefcase stepped out of a sleek black car that had pulled up the winding driveway. This was Mr. Alistair Finch, a well-known corporate attorney who was known for his discretion and unmatched legal knowledge. His unexpected arrival, which Aaron oddly foresaw, suggested that the already shaky foundations of their world would soon be rocked by another earthquake.

Next to it was a police sketch that noticed the words: “Person of Interest.” I read the write up twice, then for the third time. Pink is three years old and was taken from Central Park at about 7:30 p.m. She had been with Ms Adrian Martinez, her former nanny and now, Darcy’s girlfriend. Adrian came back to the penthouse hours later and said someone had kidnapped Pink. But the police said her story didn’t add up. She was the main person of interest. "A typical example of from grace to grass." I said, laughing...

At least it’s beneficial that they broke up early. Once she finished ranting, I took a deep breath. Kenzie and I are doing a background check on Murphy and Jasper. I don’t understand why Sariel is still so close to them. "Kuya, I have devastating news: I've discovered something about Finn. Finn Dixon has ties to these unscrupulous individuals, with Murphy's father serving as his sole ally. Finn is confident that these individuals are involved in criminal activities, even though records exist. They’re involved in money laundering, drug trafficking, fraud, corruption, crime syndicates, and human trafficking." This individual, Finn, defies redemption and has even enlisted the help of others. Wh

We do this on paws too early and we spook the whole nest. “Finch?” I ask Becky, breath even. “Give me a ghost.” “South by Crane Street,” she answers, keys clicking. “Your boy just pinged a private mesh with a device that shouldn’t have a heartbeat. He’s scared.” “Good,” I say, and jog.

The most important thing he'd ever written. His phone buzzed. A message from his source handler — a person he knew only as Finch, whose real identity he had deliberately chosen never to investigate, because some operational security was built on mutual ignorance. You have movement. Someone is asking about you in Prague. Level unclear — possibly agency, possibly private. Assume the latter until proven otherwise. Recommend acceleration of your timeline. Elian read the message twice, then deleted it. "Right," he said, and his voice was very steady, which he was proud of. "Accelerate the timeline."