Chapter Text
Reese cursed silently under his breath as he removed the ginsu knives from the tastefully wrapped package. It was down there with the Clapper, the apartment with too many windows, and the Chia pet housewarming present. Not to mention the infamous cushion.
For a billionaire who allegedly knew everything about him, Finch sure had lousy taste in gifts.
Still, looking at Harold’s beaming face, John figured it was the thought that counts. And at least this one might actually be useful.