Harold Finch Novels & Stories

He gripped his phone tightly. “How do you still have the audacity to show up here?” A luxury car stopped behind Forrest. Harold got down from the car in a neat suit and walked toward Forrest while buttoning up. Forrest looked back and watched Harold expressionlessly. After eyeing Forrest, Harold sighed resignedly all of a sudden. “Mr. Lynch, you’ve caused Jessica great trouble. Because of you, her restraint and effort all these years have gone to waste.” “What are you trying to say?” Forrest’s gaze turned cold.

taking out five dollars in ones I reach out to hand them to him only for him to shack his head no. "What's your name" he asks catching me off guard, here I thought this Adonis of a man was just going to ignore me while we waited. "Harper, Harper Lewis" I hate my name with a passion, I still to this day have no idea why my mom named me Harper. I reach my hand out for him to shake and ask him what his name is. "Nixon Marsh" he shakes my hand and I feel sparks as if he was electrically charged and I pull my hand away quickly.

Can’t talk. Not Dann. Dann paid $50K. Gone. Not Walker. Walker’s in prison. Different one. Old. 70s. Maybe 80s. Coat. Cheap. Holding something. Envelope. Not thick. Thin. “Mr. Knight?” Man said. Voice shaky. Not threat. Tired. “Yeah,” Adrian said. Not moving. Body blocking door. “Who are you.” _Thump._ “Name’s Harold,” Man said. “Harold Calhoun.”

I pointed at my own chest, hoping I wasn’t over selling any of this bullshit. “I haven’t seen you around here before.” He gave me a once over, noting my expensive suit and build. “Who are you?” His eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion, my scent blocker probably wearing off by now. “Harold Gibbons; art and antiquaries. I’ve done lots of business with Leon and have become quite fast friends with him; but you best not wait around here too long, they’ll be having me bring down the girl in less than an hour; plenty of time to go have some fun beforehand.” I nudged him in the side, praying that the bastard would leave. If he didn’t, I’d have to kill him and hide his body; something I did not want

He took in long, deep breath and out, causing the smoke to make his voice not too visible. “No, it's not that,” Harold said and faked a smile. “The room is okay the way it is.” “Sure?” “Yes, I am sure,” Harold responded. “And my name is Harold. Harold Girard. I am a…” Before the last word he had to say escaped his mouth, there was a loud ding on his phone. “Excuse me,” he muttered as he brought his phone out. He had a text from Wilkes. ‘You're taking ages. Everything all right?’

“Yes, Brian will return to the position of bank president in the near future. When I say this, you already know what my mission is. My task is to observe Brian, from his work style to his behavior with employees.” It turns out that this is the reason Harold chose AD company as his residence during the past time. This camera named Harold is really good. But it seems that his grandfather trusted the wrong person. “Mr. Harold, you know Mr. David from before, right? And that day you went to the party as a guest, you didn't go with the city president, did you?” I chuckled, looking him straight in the eye. “Why do you ask that?” I laughed and revealed to Harold that I had accidentally seen the con

Instead, there was silence, clean handling, quiet authority, like a hunter. “A sly fox,” Harold murmured. “You never open business abroad without first owning the ground under it.” That was Stone’s reputation. He never moved without profit, never played without advantage, never gambled…. yet the world still called him lucky. Luck? No. Maybe something else. Harold sighed deeply and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Fine. You won this round. But giving up? That was never an option. He walked to his desk again and opened the drawer slowly. Inside was a thin black folder. He pulled it out, laid it flat on the glass, and opened it. Inside were photographs, profiles, and connection strings that tied

Harold. The man clearly didn’t understand the meaning of rejection. He had tried everything; subtle pressure, strategic alliances, social manipulation, to force his daughter, Michelle, into my life. When that failed, he’d escalated. And now, even after my marriage, he was still pulling strings from behind the scenes, convinced that power could bend anyone to his will. I looked back at Derek. “What do we know about Mr. Harold’s recent movements?” “There’s an international business conference in New York in a few days,” Derek replied. “He’s hosting it.”

Just when I was about to toss my phone aside, it buzzed again. ‘You have something that belongs to me.’ My brows pulled together. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I typed back immediately. ‘What are you talking about?’ No reply. I waited. ‘It’s about Sandra.’ I asked, ‘What about her?’ Nothing. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, gripping my phone tighter than I should have. Harold had always been like this—cryptic, annoying, always acting like he was ten steps ahead. And right now, it was getting under my skin more than usual.

Dustin Fox… Was this not the person they were going to Rivenesco to find? “Well, well… Dustin Fox.” Harold sneered, but his voice held a trace of admiration for this person.