A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter, folks. The update schedule will be a bit rough for a while, but bear with me and I'll see you through to the end of the story.

Things went more smoothly than Danny had been expecting.

Fu Dog had released the cage long enough for him to pull the first ghost—Shackles Jack, at Jake's request, given that he would probably have a better chance at evading them if he saw how it worked with Solitary Sam—out of its range before it snapped back on. The ghost had been working at loosening his bonds, and the guy had actually made a break for it.

Gramps, however, was a lot faster than he looked, and he'd transformed and blocked Shackles Jack's path. Fu and Jazz had their respective weapons trained on him. They knew it wouldn't be very effective to fire at an overshadowing ghost, but Shackles Jack didn't, and he acted accordingly. But Jake, also in dragon form, was blocking the other exit.

Danny had anticipated the next move, too. When Shackles Jack dove for the controller that kept the cage in place, he swung the Fenton Ghost Catcher into the ghost's path. The burly man barely made it through, but make it he did. It was only then, when poor Mr. Morton was lying unconscious on the floor, that Danny got his first good look at Shackles Jack.

And then he shot him with an ectoblast.

And then, well, things had devolved from there. Shackles Jack was fast—and strong for a ghost that didn't seem to have more than the basic ghost abilities. He seemed to be permanently intangible to ordinary objects unless he wanted to interact with them, like Danny had understood him to be, but he still got nailed every time he got in the way of a blast from a Fenton invention. That being said, there were still quite a number of broken things in the back and singed walls, but Danny managed to cut him off whenever he tried to just go through a wall, and it wasn't too long before Jazz managed to suck him into the thermos.

She'd even been able to miss him, which was impressive, for her. He remembered every single time he'd been sucked inside a Fenton Thermos courtesy of his big sister.

Still, Shackles Jack's defeat was enough to silence the jeering from Solitary Sam and the ghosts in the FentonWorks cage. He hadn't really wanted to suck those ghosts into Spud's thermos on the off chance that it wasn't nearly as durable as the ones his parents invented. He'd been happy to get three ghosts in there the first time and hadn't cared to push his luck.

Until now, it hadn't been the greatest.

But Solitary Sam, unlike Shackles Jack, hadn't been loosening his bonds. Comparatively, it was easy to get him through the Fenton Ghost Catcher. Danny just had to toss him through the ring. Like before, Jazz was ready with the thermos and he was well in the clear.

Jake caught his father and laid him carefully on the floor. Both dragons returned to human form as Jazz transferred the four ghosts from the Collapsible Cage to the Fenton Thermos. With practiced ease, she dismantled the cage and set it aside. Danny landed next to her. "Give me the thermos," he said. "I'll keep it and sneak it into the Assault Vehicle later." He glanced at Jake and added in a quieter voice, "Maybe…talk to them. Reassure them. Do what you normally do."

Jazz smiled. "I've got it covered," she assured him.

Danny smiled as he took the thermos from her. "Thanks, Jazz." For all that he sometimes dearly wished he was an only child, he was glad to have her as his big sister. And the smile that remained on Jazz's face told him that she knew it and that she loved him, too.

Fu didn't sneak off immediately after all the fun was over. But once Jazz Fenton had started explaining to Jake and the old man about the nature of overshadowing, he'd ducked into the front of the shop. Since Jake had mentioned his suspicions about Danny, Fu couldn't help but wonder if he might be right. He hadn't met Danny Fenton, but he trusted Jake's judgement.

Besides, for all that he was well aware that they knew very little about phantoms, he'd thought they would've known more than they did.

"Hey, Marty," Fu said when his old friend answered his call. "Fu here. I need to call in a favour." He went on to explain the situation, and as he'd expected, Marty was curious.

He would be. The guy was the Grim Reaper, after all. Things like this were part of his territory.

"Swing by any time you get a free moment," Fu added. "I'll be here."

When he sidled back into the back room, things weren't too much different. From the sounds of it, it had been decided that Danny was going to take Mr. Morton home. "Because if Brad's still there," Danny said when the others looked ready to argue, "I'm the only one who can get in and out undetected." Jake would take his father home, and once he was satisfied that Jonathan didn't remember anything, he'd head back to the shop.

School, for today, was out of the question. Jake was probably eternally grateful that he didn't have to deal with Rotwood. Not that Fu thought the man would be turning up to work today anyway, even if it was just for the afternoon. For all that he'd seemed all right after stopping by the shop, he'd still looked pretty beaten up. Everyone deserved a day off once in a while.

Besides, Fu knew as well as Gramps did what Rotwood had been after, and they'd both spent a few very enjoyable moments ensuring that he wouldn't get it.

When Jake and Danny had left with their respective charges, Jazz Fenton glanced at her watch. "Is there somewhere nearby where I could get some lunch?" she asked. "I skipped breakfast."

"There's a great noodle place down the street," Fu said. "Or you can—" He broke off as his phone started to ring. He dug it out of the fold he'd stuffed it into (it was excess fur, not rolls of fat, thank you very much), glanced at it, frowned, and said, "I'd better take this. Get the old man to take you somewhere." Gramps, having overheard, led Jazz out the door. Fu hoped they'd remember to get him some lunch, too, or at least bring him the leftovers. Ordinarily, he'd join them in a heartbeat, but this time….

Flipping the phone open, Fu asked, "Hello? Marty?" What would he want, unless it was to say he couldn't find what he was looking for?

"You near a television set?"

"I could be," Fu said, heading over to the nearest one which worked. The street out front was, as usual, devoid of people, so it wouldn't do any harm to turn on the TV by the front desk. The control for that one walked off less frequently than the one in the back, since Jake used it as often as he did but rarely put the control back where he'd found it. "Why?"

"I'm not sure if you've got trouble with that phantom of yours," Marty continued as Fu started flipping through the channels, "but you might not want to antagonize him yet."

Fu switched to a news channel and, for once, was speechless as he stared at the TV screen. EVIDENCE OF THE SUPERNATURAL ran along the bottom of the screen. Below that, in smaller letters: Professor Hans Rotwood, principal of Millard Fillmore Middle School, catches ghosts on film and hints that this might be only a glimpse of Manhattan's secrets.

"I gotta tell the old man."

"You do that. You still want me to drop by today?"

For a split second, Fu was torn. This was important. They needed to stop this right now. They should've stopped it before it got this far. But Jake was right; while they'd been completely open with him, Danny Phantom had refused to tell his secrets, and that could get them into trouble, too. If Jake was right. Which Fu was thinking he might be.

"Yeah," he said. "It won't take you long?"

"Shouldn't, but I don't want to make any guarantees. This isn't exactly something I've run into before, and it wasn't in the job description."

"And we're clear that the pranks are on hold until this is sorted out?"

"I don't joke about the job, Fu."

Sure he did. He did it all the time. But Fu didn't argue with Marty because he knew what he meant: when something was serious—important, dire serious—he didn't fool around. When Haley had been in danger, he hadn't thought twice before helping them save her, doing as much as he could within the restraints of his job. And that compass had really helped them out. They might not have found her in time without it.

"See ya later, Marty. I'll owe you one." And before Fu had even finished putting his phone away, he was out and moving, heading after Gramps and Jazz. He'd let them know before Jake, just to give the kid a bit more time with his father. It was too late to stop Rotwood now anyway, and a few more minutes couldn't do much more harm.

Just as they got over one hurdle, another had to crop up….

Typical. But then again, that was the company he kept, and he really wouldn't trade it for the world.

The news of a ghost sighting in New York spread quickly through the people setting up for the Paranormal Studies Convention. Some who had seen the grainy feed denounced it instantly as a hoax while others were immediately convinced that this was the proof they'd been looking for. Maddie Fenton, on the other hand, fell into the third camp: the cautious, wait-and-see, don't-jump-to-conclusions-yet one.

To be fair, this was primarily because of her past experience with Rotwood. He'd seemed quite convinced that he'd happened upon a ghost, and initially, she'd had no reason to doubt him. But the ghost he'd described to her had not matched, as far as she could tell, any of the ghosts on the video. And he'd told her about one ghost, not a group of them. He might have found more; he might have fabricated the footage after the press conference fiasco. If this wasn't the first time he'd claimed something, she couldn't bring herself to trust his so-called evidence wholeheartedly without at least meeting him in person.

Jack had no such trouble, and it was all she could do to restrain him and insist that they finish setting up for tomorrow before he raided her carefully organized display for ghost hunting weapons.

"We can't just go off," Maddie pointed out calmly. "The kids won't know where to find us." And while they'd reserved a hotel room for the next few nights, it was still too early to check in. Jack insisted that the kids had their cell phones, that Maddie had the one the kids had insisted they'd get, and that it consequently would be fine.

Were it Amity Park, Maddie would have had no trouble rushing off to investigate. But this wasn't Amity Park, and the ghost sighting had clearly taken place last night at the earliest. The ghosts, if they were smart, would already be long gone.

But Jack had a mind of his own, and he was so insistent that she finally relented. She would stay here and wait for the kids and he would go off and investigate, taking some Fenton Phones with him so they could keep in touch. Personally, she'd be just as happy investigating from here when there was no recent ghost activity in the area. She had Rotwood's home number; if she simply called him, she might be able to get the story straight.

And she might be able to figure out whether he was a fraud or simply being painted with that brush.

Jake wasn't sure what he was going to tell his dad when he woke up. The man had overlooked magical moments before, but while Jake was rather glad that he wouldn't remember what had happened while being possessed, he wasn't sure how to explain the time lapse. He knew his mom was on the way back from work—Gramps had phoned her, so she'd taken an early lunch even though she hadn't intended on taking a break at all—but she wasn't here yet.

Trouble was, most of Jake's reasons involved things like suspiciously non-existent bumps on the head to explain what he couldn't really explain.

Before he got the chance to come up with anything, though, his phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hey, kid. You sitting down?"

Jake's heart sank at the sound of Fu's voice. There was no hint of a joke in it. At least the first words out of Fu's mouth hadn't been telling him that there was a dragon emergency, but he had the distinct feeling he shouldn't get his hopes up. "What's wrong now?"

"Rotwood filmed the ghosts and sent in the footage to the media."

"He what?" No. No way. "But I thought you guys destroyed his stuff!"

"We must've missed one. We need to do damage control and fast. Get back to the shop."

"Aw, man," Jake groaned. He hung the phone up and buried his face in his hands. He just couldn't catch a break.

His dad would probably be on his back about skipping school after this, too.

Unfortunately, he couldn't ignore his responsibility as the American Dragon. And the exposure of the magical world…. He'd worked too hard to protect it, to keep it secret, to have Rotwood blow it now.

He made it to the shop in record time. Fu was there, with Gramps and Jazz Fenton, who looked like they'd just started lunch when they'd heard the news, judging by the boxes of take-out they held. He'd hardly landed and transformed before Danny Phantom returned. From the look on his face, Jake guessed that someone—likely Jazz, since Fu had been on the phone with him—had called.

"We've gotta get Rotwood to retract it," Jake said, "but there's no way he's gonna do that."

"There's an easier way," Jazz pointed out. "Just discredit him."

"We can't really discredit him any more than he has himself," Jake returned. "I mean, the guy just tried to hold a press conference to expose ghosts on Tuesday. If he hadn't actually had the ghosts on tape, they would never have listened to him."

"Exactly," Jazz said. "It's on tape. We just need to prove that it's falsified."

"But it's not. Right?" Jake looked at Fu. "It's the stuff from the park, isn't it? When he let Shackles Jack and everyone else out of the Mugwomp Cup?"

Fu nodded. "That's right," he confirmed.

"But people aren't going to give him the benefit of the doubt if he's cried wolf before," Jazz retorted. "Phantom, back me up on this."

"She should know," Danny put in. "She studies people's behaviours way too much for her own good."

Right. Budding psychologist, Danny had told them. Jake glanced at Gramps, who caught his look and said, "We cannot hope for something we cannot guarantee now. The situation is dire, and we have no way of influencing the experts that will be called upon to analyze the footage."

"Sure you do," Jazz said softly, glancing at Danny. "You just finished sorting out some trouble with overshadowing ghosts."

"But we don't even know who they're going to get!" Jake protested. He'd give her this much; it was a good idea. It probably would have even worked. "We'd be better off having Danny overshadow Rotwood and pulling out. You can't tell me that's not the easiest thing to do."

"But that would just be temporary," Jazz argued, "and you might end up lending credence to it if someone thinks he backed out because someone else was putting pressure on him. Besides," she added, "with the Paranormal Studies Convention and all the experts in town, there's no question who they'll get if they do their research."

"Oh, crud," Danny moaned. "You're right."

Jake raised his eyebrows, and Jazz explained, "My parents. They're leaders in the field."

"Even when it comes to analyzing film?" Jake asked sceptically.

"Mom's a woman of many talents," Jazz explained. "I'm sure she could do it if she had to. But if we can just convince them that those weren't ghosts on the tape, that it was something else, something fake, then Rotwood won't be able to use that clip—or anything else on that tape, for that matter—to prove his case. It'll be worthless to him."

"But how do you know that they'll get your parents to do this?"

Jazz looked at Danny to answer this question, and he sighed. "The best ghost hunters in the country came to Amity Park a while back when someone put a million dollar bounty on my head, and the one who caught me was Jack Fenton."

"You got caught by a ghost hunter and you're still around?"

"What can I say? Sometimes I do get lucky." Danny shrugged. "But Jazz is right. She usually is. I'll probably have to overshadow Jack."

"What about Maddie?" Jake asked, having heard enough about the Fentons to think that she was the main threat.

"She usually follows Dad's lead," Jazz confided. "And if she doesn't, then it means she already has doubts. Dad's the one who would be out looking for the ghosts right now if he'd heard about it."

Danny's eyes widened. "Oh, crud, that's right. I've gotta go!" Without another word, he turned intangible and flew out of the building.

Jake looked at Jazz, knowing his face was asking her what the heck had just happened. Jazz pursed her lips. "Phantom's betting the news already got to them," she explained. "If he hung around here, you'd probably be meeting Jack Fenton in person again. The Assault Vehicle's equipped with a tracker. He'd pick up on the spike in ectoplasmic energy."

Jake frowned. "But can't he do that camouflage trick of his, then? That's how he hid from them at the convention."

Jazz bit her lip. "I expect so," she admitted after a moment, "but I don't think he wants to take any chances." She got to her feet and tucked the stool she'd been sitting on back behind the counter. "Come on, Jake. Let's head back to the convention grounds. It'll be the quickest way to nip this in the bud. Trust me."

"But what about Danny?"

"I'll call Phantom if we need him," Jazz said, "but he has an uncanny ability of turning up where he's needed. It shouldn't be a problem." She picked up the Ghost Catcher and left the shop, clearly expecting Jake to follow.

Jake, for his part, looked at Gramps and Fu. "Go on, young dragon," Gramps urged. "The seed will not grow if it is never sown."

"We'll do what we can from here," Fu added, "but it sounds like Jazz has this all planned out. It's our best bet."

It was, and Jake knew it, but he couldn't stop himself from wondering if what he'd figured out about Danny Phantom would make this any more difficult.

But that was, as Trixie had told him hardly three days ago, just borrowing trouble. He didn't know anything for sure and wouldn't until Marty dropped by. Until then, he'd pretend things were still normal.

He didn't have any other choice.

Professor Hans Rotwood delighted in the attention he was receiving—until he caught wind of the first rumours that the video he had produced might have been falsified. Rumours which apparently had been whispered all the while he'd been relishing what he'd thought had been success. "That's absolutely ridiculous!" he'd spluttered when it had first been brought to his attention. "I have offered you solid proof. Do you doubt your own eyes?"

The reply that came back was always along the same lines: "I don't doubt my eyes if I see something for myself, but I do have faith in what can be done with a computer these days."

It was just as well he had not yet released the clip that featured the dragon. It was considerably lower quality, with poor lighting, a portion of the screen blocked by a leaf, and smudges and scratches on the lens. In all likelihood, no one would have even given him the time of day. But he feared that if he did not prove that the footage was real, that he had not falsified a single frame, he would never be able to show anyone else what he had captured.

At this rate, they'd likely have the gall to say that it was all too unclear to be proof of anything.

Unfortunately, fellow mythobiologists would slight him if he kept insisting that what they presumed to be fraudulent footage was unaltered. He would be forced to capture more footage. Clearer footage. What he had now would be no more useful than the blurred picture he'd taken of Mr. Long when he'd first realized there were dragons living in the city, right under his nose.

Perhaps it was just as well that he'd begun sending the film out to the media and had not jumped immediately to sending it to all his contacts or exposing it to the world at large via the internet.

When he was informed that experts would be studying the video, he didn't argue. He offered to give them the original tape, and that was the point that he'd realized that they did not necessarily doubt the authenticity of the film itself but rather its contents. With the way some of them treated him as he began probing deeper, trying to sort things out and prove that he was most certainly not a fraud, it became clear that they thought he had done little better than have a few people dress up in sheets and dash in front of the camera.

When he learned the name of the experts, though, he couldn't help but smile. With the Paranormal Studies Convention in town, most specialists from across the country were in attendance and therefore accessible. That one particular couple from a town a few states away was available was good fortune for the media and, in all likelihood, for him.

Madeline and Jack Fenton had quite a reputation amongst their peers. Anyone not in the business of paranormal studies would not have heard of them or would probably have scoffed if they had, but for those who knew the value of their knowledge, well…. There was no question. They were the top of their field.

However, the Paranormal Studies Convention had not yet officially begun, and therefore he was to wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow, the Fentons would be asked to look at the footage. Tomorrow, they would confirm that it was real. Tomorrow, his name would once again be cleared. Tomorrow, he would finally accomplish his goal.

But tomorrow was not yet here, and he might be able to ensure things went his way if he spoke with the Fentons first. He'd intended to see them later on the weekend, and they were expecting him then, but an earlier little chat could lean the odds in his favour. While he didn't doubt that they'd see the truth of the matter, he didn't want to leave anything to chance. He'd rather play every card he had now before he lost the chance.

With that in mind, Rotwood decided to swing by the convention grounds in hopes that the Fentons would be there. It was easy enough for him to get in—some people recognized him from the broadcast and others were fellow mythobiologists whom he had encountered before—and little trouble to track down the Fentons, who were mercifully already there.

To his relief, the FentonWorks booth was being set up by a woman—presumably, Maddie Fenton—and she was alone. The man with whom he'd spoken over the phone the second time he'd tried their number was blessedly gone. It was much simpler to carry on a civil conversation with someone who could contain their excitement about the topic (or at least keep it down to a reasonable level, which he did).

"Excuse me," Rotwood said, "but are you Maddie Fenton?"

The woman turned, smiled, and nodded. "I am," she confirmed. After a slight hesitation, she asked, "Am I right in assuming that you are Professor Hans Rotwood?"

Rotwood, too, smiled. "You are. If you don't mind, I'd like to take a few moments of your time."

"The ghosts in the park?" Maddie guessed. At Rotwood's nod, she gestured to a chair. "Please, have a seat. I was just telling my son that I'd like to hear your side of the story."

"Your son?" Rotwood repeated, hesitant to sit down now. "If you're busy…."

Maddie shook her head. "He went off to find his sister. They've just come back from lunch, but apparently she got caught up talking with someone about the thesis she's writing on ghost envy." The smile on Maddie's face was a knowing one as she added, "My daughter is more like her father than she'd like to admit, I daresay. Jack is often detained when he begins talking to people about things he is passionate about."

At Maddie's continued insistence, Rotwood sat down. He started telling her his side of the story, the bits he hadn't disclosed to the media or which the media had refused to air. He told her as much as he could without disclosing anything to do with Jake Long and the rest of the magical world. He knew she accepted ghosts; he did not know how she viewed everything else, and he wasn't willing to risk compromising her view of him.

By the end of their conversation, he was certain that she would confirm to the world that he had indeed encountered ghosts in New York City.