Chapter 80: Meeting Continuation, Decisions, And Fulfilling The Contract.

Rindo's sharp eyes flickered across the file Beckman had handed her, taking in every detail with an intensity that belied her outward calm. Each page peeled back layers of a story she had long feared to confront, but never dared to abandon hope for. 

Her fingers lingered on a photograph of Guldrin, his young face radiating youth and mischief, with a smile that seemed to echo something faintly familiar. It tugged at her, a blend of longing and disbelief tempered by the icy walls she had built over the years. The tension in her hand as it tightened on the file betrayed her composure, though her voice remained steady.

"So, let me get this straight," she began, her words measured but edged with a subtle sharpness. "My brother has been living as a Toretto, oblivious to his true identity, while the government conveniently took its sweet time to figure this all out. How long, exactly, have you been sitting on this information?"

Beckman met her gaze squarely, her military bearing unshaken. "We acted as soon as we confirmed his identity. Reaching out to you and your family proved... complicated. Your reclusiveness made it nearly impossible. We only discovered his amnesia recently, during an unrelated operation where his medical records came into play. It wasn't negligence, I assure you. Circumstances were, let's say… less than ideal."

Rindo tapped her nails against the file rhythmically, her mind racing. Years of searching, of following dead-end leads and shattered hopes, had led to this moment. The culmination of everything she and her mother had worked toward was now laid bare before her in a dossier. Yet the reality was far messier, far more entangled than the simple reunion she'd envisioned.

"And you're certain he's happy? That he's safe?" Her voice softened slightly, the words teetering on the edge of vulnerability as she glanced again at the photo, this time one of Guldrin holding what looked like a glowing sword, smoke curling from its edge as if he'd just been part of an experiment that failed successfully. The mischievous grin on his face was infectious, even on paper.

Beckman's reply came without hesitation. "He is. His adoptive family, unconventional as they may be, has provided him with stability and love. He's deeply cared for. Despite their... colorful history, they've done their best to shield him from their less than savory dealings."

Rindo's brows knit together, her skepticism plain. "The Toretto name is hardly synonymous with law and order. We may be reclusive, but we're not blind. They're criminals. Good-hearted, maybe, but still criminals. And don't even get me started on Jakob Toretto. He killed his own father on orders from Mr. Nobody. I assume that's another one of your government spooks, right? And now, you're telling me Guldrin has been living in the middle of all that?"

Her eyes glowed faintly for a brief moment, a subtle but unmistakable sign of the emotions she usually kept locked away. The glow faded as quickly as it came, and she took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "Is he truly safe? Is he happy? Does he want for anything?"

"All of that is true," Beckman answered with steady reassurance. "They've kept him out of harm's way. He's thriving, even excelling in ways we didn't expect. He's brilliant, Rindo, a mind like a young Stark. The kind of intellect that changes the world. As for Jakob, he has been removed from the family according to our investigation, anything else, I am sorry to say is classified."

Rindo let out a soft laugh, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "And I suppose that's what piqued your interest? A boy who can build things you can't even dream of?"

Beckman's expression remained neutral. "Our interest is in his safety, and yes, his potential. But not in the way you're implying. He's under our watch because he's extraordinary, and extraordinary people need protection. If he fell into the wrong hands, I could only dread the day such an event came to pass."

Leaning back in her chair, Rindo crossed her legs and rested her steepled fingers against her lips, her eyes narrowing as she considered Beckman's words. 

She hated how much sense they made, hated even more that the pieces of this story seemed to fit together too neatly. She wasn't ready to trust Beckman, the government, or anyone. Yet the image of Guldrin, laughing with that stubborn tilt to his jaw, was etched into her mind.

"You've given me a lot to think about," she said finally, her voice laced with cautious finality. "But let me make one thing clear: my brother is not a pawn for you to move around on your chessboard. If I find out the government's involvement in his life extends beyond ensuring his safety, I'll make sure you regret it."

Beckman held her composure, her sharp military demeanor unwavering despite the subtle venom laced in Rindo's words. "I expected no less from you, Chef Rindo. You're fiercely protective of your family, and that's commendable. Let me be clear: we're not trying to control him, manipulate him, or, heaven forbid, exploit him. Our sole focus is his safety and well-being. And, in the spirit of full disclosure, I have a personal contract with him, a unique arrangement, but one that ensures his autonomy."

Rindo tilted her head, her smirk widening into something almost playful. "A personal contract, you say? Sounds awfully cozy for a government deal. I suppose next you'll tell me he calls you Aunt Beckman and you bake him cookies on Sundays."

Beckman allowed a faint smile to break through her otherwise stoic expression. "Not quite. But let's just say he has a knack for making allies in the most unexpected ways. His… charm is hard to resist." Her tone carried a wry humor that made Rindo's eyebrow arch in interest.

"That so?" Rindo leaned back, her fingers drumming against the armrest of her chair. She wasn't entirely convinced, but the general's sincerity was difficult to ignore. Still, years of navigating the cutthroat world of underground politics and her own family's labyrinth of secrets had made her naturally suspicious. "Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. You can understand why I'd be cautious when my brother is involved. He's not some chess piece in your little espionage games."

Beckman nodded, conceding the point. "Of course. But I can assure you, if there's a game here, he's writing the rules. The Toretto family, criminals though they may be, treat him like one of their own. They've given him a stable home, and a sense of belonging. And from what I've observed, he's excelling under their care."

Rindo paused, her gaze flickering to the photo of Guldrin on the desk. He was grinning broadly, a mixture of mischief and pride shining in his eyes. His hair was tousled, and he held what appeared to be the smoldering remnants of another failed experiment. The scene was both endearing and frustratingly familiar. That stubborn determination, that spark of ingenuity, it was like staring into a mirror of their childhood. Her chest tightened, a flood of bittersweet memories threatening to overwhelm her carefully constructed facade.

"And yet," she murmured, more to herself than to Beckman, "he doesn't remember me. Doesn't remember us."

Beckman's expression softened, a rare glimpse of humanity slipping through her professional veneer. "No, he doesn't. But memories or not, his essence, his spirit, is unmistakable. He's every bit the person you remember, just… with a new family and a different set of experiences."

Beckman isn't too good at this comforting act, but if this is what it takes to connect with the reclusive Goldbloods, or what is left of them; then she would do it to the best of her ability.

Rindo inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "You've given me a lot to think about, General. But don't mistake my hesitation for indecision. My brother is not a pawn, and I won't allow anyone, not even you, to use him."

Beckman's lips twitched into a faint smile. "I wouldn't dare. But know this: whether you choose to reconnect with him or not, he has a support system that won't waver. And while I'm sure you'll be making your own arrangements, I hope you'll trust that my intentions are genuine."

Rindo's eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already spinning with plans. "Trust, General, is a rare commodity in my world. I'll be keeping a very close eye on this situation. And rest assured, if I sense even a hint of trouble, you'll be the first to hear about it."

Without waiting for a response, Rindo pulled out her phone and began tapping out a series of rapid-fire messages. The glow of the screen illuminated her face, her features sharp with determination. Beckman watched silently, sensing the storm brewing in the younger woman's mind but opting not to press further.

The room fell into a tense quiet, the faint sound of Rindo's nails tapping against the screen the only noise. She wasn't planning on a dramatic reunion, not yet. Her mother needed to be involved, and their family's unique dynamics made impulsive decisions a dangerous game. 

But she wasn't about to sit idly by, either. If Guldrin was happy, if he truly felt safe with the Toretto family, she wouldn't disrupt that. Not until she understood the full picture.

Her phone buzzed with replies almost immediately. Allies she hadn't spoken to in months responded with eagerness, ready to act on her behalf. Surveillance, background checks, and subtle inquiries, all without drawing attention. If Beckman thought her watchful gaze was enough, she had no idea what Rindo's network was capable of.

Rindo glanced up, her expression cool but not unkind. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, General. But don't think for a second that I'll take your word at face value. I'll be verifying everything, and I mean everything."

Beckman rose from her seat, her posture straight and unyielding. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Chef Rindo. I only ask that you keep an open mind. Guldrin deserves that much, at least."

For a moment, the two women regarded each other, a silent battle of wills playing out in the charged space between them. Then, with a curt nod, Beckman turned and strode toward the door, leaving Rindo alone with her thoughts.

As the door clicked shut, Rindo let out a long, slow breath. She leaned back in her chair, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. Her gaze drifted once more to the photo of Guldrin, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the frame. He looked happy, truly happy. And despite her reservations, that was all she had ever wanted for him.

A faint smile tugged at her lips, the first genuine one she'd allowed herself since Beckman had arrived. "You've always been full of surprises, little brother," she murmured. "Let's see just how much you've grown."

Her phone buzzed again, another flurry of messages lighting up the screen. She glanced down, scanning the updates from her network. Every detail, every scrap of information would be scrutinized. She couldn't afford to leave anything to chance. Not when it came to him. And yet, beneath the layers of caution and strategy, a flicker of hope burned bright. 

Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something she had long thought impossible. A chance to bring her family back together, to reclaim what they had lost. But for now, she would watch, she would wait, and she would ensure that her brother's happiness remained untouched. 

Everything relies on what her mother wants to be done, but for now, she can only think of one person to call, someone who has been a big sister to her since childhood.

"Revy... Yeah, bitch, it's me," Rindo spat into her phone, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. Her free hand clutched the edge of her apron, as though it might somehow anchor her to sanity. "No, I don't want to go drinking. What?! No, I don't want, ugh, shut up! Listen to me for five seconds!"

She groaned, tugging at her hair as Revy's distinctively chaotic cackle buzzed through the receiver. Her eyes flicked to the ceiling in a futile plea for patience. "I found him. No, I am not joking, he is alive. But he doesn't remember anything. Do you hear me? Anything." Rindo paused, narrowing her eyes as Revy's reply came through loud and clear: a mix of manic glee, incredulity, and... was that gunfire?

"You're what?! Coming here?!?!" The line went dead. Rindo stared at her phone, completely bewildered. "She's just as insane as always. And was that gunfire? Of course, it was," she muttered, shaking her head. "Classic Revy."

She tossed her phone onto the counter and rubbed her temples, muttering about the general absurdity of her life. It was all too much, a whirlwind of revelations, old friends who hadn't changed a bit, and the nagging realization that she was knee-deep in something far more complicated than she'd anticipated.

—

–

-

After a while, Beckman returned, her presence as calm and authoritative as ever. "I trust you've had time to process this information?" she asked, closing the door softly behind her.

The air in the room shifted, heavier now with unspoken challenges. Rindo leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed, but there was a tension in her stance that Beckman didn't miss. The general's own posture remained composed, though she could sense the undercurrent of resistance. 

This was a game of wills, and Beckman wasn't about to blink first.

Rindo finally broke the silence, her voice edged with dry amusement. "You really know how to drop a bombshell, General. It's not every day someone tells you your long-lost brother is alive, kicking, and apparently practicing martial arts in an abandoned lot." She held up a photo of Guldrin practicing in a lot with Shiro next to him.

Beckman allowed herself a faint smile, a rare softness breaking through her usually composed demeanor. "I understand it's a lot to take in," she said, her voice steady but warm. "But you should know, he's in good hands. Should you decide to meet him," she added, her tone shifting just enough to feel like an open door rather than a demand, "we can arrange a private introduction. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and him. He's... quite independent, but predictable in his habits. He frequents an abandoned lot to practice martial arts. Occasionally, his girlfriend joins him. And when he's not there," she continued, a hint of amusement in her voice, "he's usually at home crafting some new gadget or working in the garage. Quite the multitasker."

Rindo blinked, the word "girlfriend" hitting her like a splash of cold water. "Girlfriend?" she echoed, her eyebrow arching high enough to practically reach her hairline. "He's fifteen! He has no business with romance!"

Beckman's expression barely shifted, but there was the faintest twitch of a smile threatening to break through her calm exterior. "Very precocious," she replied evenly, her lips quirking just enough to betray her own amusement.

Rindo let out a laugh, half exasperated, half sounding fond, that filled the room with unexpected warmth. "Sounds like him, all right. Always ahead of the curve." Her voice softened, though her words still carried an edge of disbelief. "Fifteen, with a girlfriend, and tinkering with gadgets like he's already running a startup. Writing a book, and helping with the leading MMORPG… What's next? A secret lab in the basement?" Beckman's eye twitched; how could she tell her that is exactly what he had in the basement?

The absurdity of it all had Rindo shaking her head, but there was a glimmer in her eyes, a bittersweet mix of pride and longing that she couldn't quite mask. She pushed off the counter with a fluid motion, her steps deliberate and measured as she adjusted her chef's uniform. 

Her hands moved with a practiced precision, smoothing out invisible wrinkles and straightening her collar. It was the kind of ritual she performed before stepping into the kitchen, a small but necessary preparation for the challenges ahead.

Beckman watched her closely, noting the shift in Rindo's demeanor. The lighthearted banter had eased the tension, but the undercurrent of emotion was still there, swirling just beneath the surface. "Take your time," Beckman said, her voice softer now, almost reassuring. "He's not going anywhere."

Rindo nodded, her mind already whirring with possibilities. "For now, I'll stick to my word about the culinary contract. Call it a gesture of gratitude for this... enlightening conversation." She turned to face Beckman fully, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Pick a theme, and I'll show you what I can do. But don't expect anything less than perfection and absurdity."

Beckman's stoicism cracked, just a little. "I'd expect nothing less from the second-seat graduate of Totsuki."

Beckman studied Rindo carefully, as though weighing her options with the precision of a strategist assessing the battlefield. She finally spoke, her tone crisp but laced with curiosity. "Surprise me. Let's see something bold, exotic, and, dare I say, unexpected. Something only you could create."

Rindo's grin widened into a full-blown smirk, her sharp canines catching the light like a wolf scenting prey. "Exotic and unexpected, huh? You're speaking my language, General. Buckle up; I'm about to blow your mind."

She clapped her hands together, her golden eyes glittering with excitement as she dove headfirst into her culinary arsenal. "Time to raid the pantry and see what we've got. If it's boring, it's out. If it's weird, it's in. Let's get chaotic. Good thing I brought quite the haul from my excursion for rare and exotic ingredients."

Her energy was infectious, and even Beckman couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation as she watched the chef spring into action. 

Rindo was a whirlwind, darting around the kitchen with the grace of a dancer and the focus of a surgeon. Knives gleamed as she expertly diced, sliced, and julienned ingredients, her movements so fluid it seemed almost impossible she was working alone.

"Let's start with something that'll keep you guessing," Rindo muttered to herself, pulling out a strange assortment of items: kumquats, fresh wasabi root, a jar of fermented black garlic, and what looked suspiciously like dried insects. She cackled softly. "Oh yeah, this is going to be weird."

Beckman raised an eyebrow as Rindo placed the items on the counter with dramatic flair. "Is that...?"

"Crickets," Rindo confirmed, flashing a mischievous grin. "Don't knock it till you try it. They're packed with protein and surprisingly tasty when roasted with a little chili and lime."

She set to work preparing the crickets, tossing them in a spice blend that smelled intoxicatingly rich and smoky. While those roasted in a small pan, she tackled her next element: a vibrant kumquat and wasabi gastrique. The sharp tang of citrus mingled with the fiery heat of freshly grated wasabi, creating a sauce that was as bold as it was complex.

Meanwhile, she began assembling her pièce de résistance: a perfectly seared African black duck breast. The skin crackled as it hit the hot skillet, the fat rendering down into a golden, crispy layer of pure indulgence. Rindo basted the duck with a glaze made from African honey and fermented black garlic, the rich umami aroma filling the room.

"You're going to love this," Rindo said with a grin, flipping the duck with practiced ease. "Or hate it. Either way, you'll never forget it." Beckman paled, what had she gotten herself into? But was she, a four-star General, going to back down? No, she was not.

As the duck rested, she plated the dish with an artist's eye for detail. The kumquat gastrique formed a vivid pool of orange and slight hints of green on the plate, a burst of color that contrasted beautifully with the deep mahogany of the duck. She added a sprinkle of roasted crickets for crunch, their glossy coating catching the light like tiny jewels. Finally, she garnished the dish with microgreens and a delicate dusting of citrus zest.

Beckman's expression was inscrutable as she took a seat at the table. Rindo placed the dish before her with a flourish, the faintest hint of nervousness flickering behind her confident exterior. This was a challenge, and she wanted to win.

Rindo stepped back with a wicked grin, her golden eyes sparkling like a predator admiring its prey. She threw her arms wide, as if presenting a dish, and a spectacle, her voice carrying the confidence of a lioness on the hunt.

"Behold! Citrus-glazed African black duck, kissed by the flames of perfection, paired with a daring kumquat-wasabi gastrique that punches your taste buds awake. And let's not forget the pièce de résistance, roasted chili-lime crickets. Crunchy, spicy, and tangy enough to make your palate do a backflip. This is an adventure on a plate. Exotic, fearless, and unapologetically Chef Rindo!"

Her words lingered in the air like the tantalizing aroma of her dish, daring anyone to challenge the audacity of her culinary artistry.

The general picked up her fork and knife, cutting into the duck with precise, measured movements. The first bite was a symphony of flavors: the rich, tender duck paired with the bright acidity of the gastrique and the unexpected crunch of the crickets. It was bold. It was complex. It was, in a word, extraordinary.

Beckman set down her utensils and regarded Rindo with an appraising look. "It's... remarkable."

"Remarkable?" Rindo echoed, her grin returning full force. "I'll take it."

The general's lips twitched into what might have been a smile. "You've outdone yourself, Chef Rindo. This… it is… Yes, it's an experience."

"That's the goal," Rindo said, leaning casually against the counter. "Food should surprise you. It should make you feel something, joy, curiosity, or maybe even a little fear. That's what I'm all about."

Beckman nodded, her respect for the chef solidifying with every bite. "You've more than proven your point."

Rindo's eyes sparkled with aggressive triumph, but there was a softness in her voice when she replied. "Good. Because I don't do anything halfway, not cooking, not family, and definitely not challenges."

The two women shared a moment of unspoken understanding, the earlier tension melting away like butter on a hot skillet. For all their differences, military precision versus culinary flamboyance, they were cut from the same cloth: fiercely protective, unyieldingly determined, and driven to leave their mark in their respective worlds. 

It was a strange but undeniable camaraderie, born of mutual respect.

Rindo spun around gracefully, tossing her damp towel onto the counter with the casual flair of someone who knew she had already won. Her humming filled the air, light and melodic, a stark contrast to the intensity she had exuded moments before. She moved through her kitchen like a dancer on stage, each step deliberate, each motion fluid. Her hands seemed to fly as she cleaned, reset her workstation, and mentally prepared for the next act.

"So, General," she began, throwing a glance over her shoulder, her signature smirk firmly in place, "what's next? Want me to blow your mind with dessert? Or do we skip straight to plotting this mysterious family reunion of mine? Spoiler alert: I don't do sentimental tearjerkers, so if you're hoping for a heartfelt sob-fest, you'll be sorely disappointed."

Beckman, who had spent her life navigating high-stakes negotiations and battles of will, found herself chuckling, something she rarely indulged in. Rindo's irreverence was disarming, her energy infectious. "Dessert sounds like an excellent idea," she admitted, folding her hands neatly on the table. "Besides, I'd be a fool to turn down another taste of what you can do in this kitchen."

Rindo clapped her hands together with a mock bow, her grin widening. "Smart woman! All right, General, brace yourself for a sweet course that'll knock those regulation socks right off your feet."

Rindo spun around, her grin so mischievous it was practically criminal. She stretched her arms dramatically before cracking her knuckles with flair. "All right, General, prepare yourself. Dessert here is... let's just say unlike anything you've ever tasted. I brought back some absolute treasures from Africa, and tonight, they're about to shine."

She sauntered over to her counter, surveying her ingredients with the same intensity a lioness might eye her prey. Her hands moved instinctively, pulling out jars and parcels wrapped in rough paper. "Let's see... baobab fruit pulp, tangy as a slap to the face? Check. Rooibos tea leaves for a smoky undertone? Check. Marula fruit liqueur, liquid sunshine in a bottle? Oh, absolutely check. And for a crunch factor, mopane worms. Roasted and spiced to perfection. You're not ready for this."

Beckman blinked. "Mopane... worms?"

Rindo tossed a wink over her shoulder. "Oh, don't give me that look! They're a delicacy. High in protein, low in guilt, and they'll add the kind of texture that dessert dreams are made of." She plucked a handful from a small bag, holding them up like a game show hostess unveiling a prize. "Crispy, nutty, and just a little earthy. Trust me, General, you're in good hands."

Without missing a beat, Rindo set to work, her movements a symphony of controlled chaos. A mortar and pestle flew across the counter as she ground rooibos leaves into a fine powder, mixing it with a hint of baobab pulp and fresh lime zest. 

The mixture went straight into a fluffy semifreddo base, its pale orange hue as inviting as a sunset over the savannah. "This is gonna be creamy, tangy, and smoky, like a campfire at dusk, but in your mouth."

Next came the pièce de résistance: the marula fruit glaze. She reduced the liqueur with a touch of honey and chili flakes, the kitchen filling with a tantalizing aroma that practically begged to be bottled. "Sweet, spicy, and just a little wild," Rindo mused, drizzling the glaze with the flourish of an artist signing her masterpiece.

And then, the mopane worms. Rindo arranged them delicately atop the semifreddo, each one a crunchy crown jewel. "Gotta love a good garnish," she quipped, stepping back to admire her work. "This, my dear General, is baobab-rooibos semifreddo with marula-chili glaze and spiced mopane crunch. It's bold. It's weird. It's unapologetically me."

Beckman stared at the dish, equal parts hesitant and intrigued. "I can honestly say I've never seen anything like this before." That was the kindest thing she could say,

"Of course you haven't," Rindo shot back, her grin feral. "You think anyone else has the guts, or the taste buds, to pull this off? Nah, this is pure Chef Rindo chaos, and you're lucky to be here for it."

Beckman took a cautious bite, her expression shifting from cautious skepticism to wide-eyed amazement. "This is... astonishing," she murmured, the words almost reverent. "The balance of flavors, the textures, it shouldn't work, but it does."

Allowing Beckman to eat for a bit, she spoke up, "So, about this reunion," she said, her tone light but probing. "You're telling me my mom's been dodging you? Shocking~" 

She grinned, it was always fun when her mother dodged someone important only for them to complain to her. "She's never been one for polite chit-chat, but I'd have thought even the government would warrant more than her trademark icy silence."

Beckman sighed, a hint of weariness creeping into her otherwise composed demeanor. "We've exhausted all official channels, and every attempt to reach her has been met with... resistance. She's a formidable woman."

"That's putting it mildly," Rindo quipped, her laugh warm and genuine. "She could scare a pack of wolves into submission with just a glare. But don't worry, I'll handle her. Let's just say I've got my own ways of getting through."

Beckman tilted her head, studying Rindo as she worked. "You're remarkably unfazed by all this. Most people would be overwhelmed by everything you've learned today."

"Most people aren't me," Rindo replied, her eyes never leaving her phone as she continued making arrangements. "I'm not saying I'm not freaked out. I mean, come on, long-lost brother? Government involvement? A precocious kid with a girlfriend? It's a lot. But freaking out isn't my style. I process things better when I'm moving, cooking, doing something. This", she gestured to the dish, "is my way of saying, 'Bring it on.'"

(Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)