Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Manning & Wells: Julian's Office

Julian wasn't sure whether it was the copious amounts of coffee he knew his reporter consumed in the morning or the topic he'd asked her to look into, but Maxie Jones was…jittery as she waited for him to take a seat to start their editorial meeting. Her eyes darted around the room, her fingers tapped against her portfolio in her lap.

"Everything all right?" he asked as he set his coffee down and took his seat behind the desk. "I heard your custody hearing went well yesterday."

"It did, but—" Maxie looked down at her hands. "I was speaking with Dante and Nathan after the hearing — we did, like, an impromptu celebration or something with friends and family. And I asked them about Franco."

"Did you get them to comment on record?" Julian arched his brows. "The PCPD rarely comments on ongoing cases—"

"Not exactly, but I had offered a bit of background of my own hoping they'd confirm or deny, you know?" She bit her lip. "Or maybe I thought Dante would just pat my head and tell me Lucy Coe is crazy, they've known for ages Franco is dead."

"But they didn't." Julian grimaced. A crazy psychopath was exactly what Port Charles needed with this Cassadine nonsense happening. One lunatic at a time—was that so much to ask?

"I told them that it turned out Franco's official bio was wrong—though I guess I'm not surprised. It says he grew up in Burlington, Vermont. I still thought that was true even though he's actually a Quartermaine. I mean, why lie about where you grew up? What's the point?"

"So he's not from Vermont." He leaned forward. "What's the panic?"

"They're looking for aliases he might be using and…" Maxie pursed her lips. "I went looking for his birth certificate. I called Vermont, nothing. I called New Hampshire and Massachusetts, because maybe he only shaded the truth. But this morning, I had a message from New York State. They had one Robert Frank on record. He was born in 1978 in New York City—"

"So there you go—"

"But I asked Spinelli how someone might use an alias and still remain under the radar. Like, identity theft or something, and he said the easiest way to do that was to get a social security number from someone who was born and died the same year and hadn't used it. So I looked for death certificates in 1978—"

"Robert Frank doesn't exist." Julian's hands dropped to the desk. "So he might have a first identity, an original legal one that he can use."

"If he changes his appearance, uses another name—" Maxie twisted her fingers together. "I called Nathan. I told him what I found. He didn't—he didn't confirm it, because he can't. But he just told me to be careful."

"I'm not going to tell you to stop looking into this," Julian said after a moment. "But I have to agree with him. Tread lightly, Maxie. No story is worth your life."

Coffee House: Jason's Office

Jason had been expecting this visit since his discussion with Elizabeth the night before. He'd never really worked with Luke Spencer before—not since the early days of his partnership with Sonny had there been a reason to have contact with him, particularly after Luke had broken the partnership in the wake of Lucky Spencer's supposed death.

But when Jason found out Luke was going to be involved with taking on Victor Cassadine, Jason knew what the man was going to say. And he knew he'd have to agree.

So when Tommy announced Luke's arrival, Jason set aside the financial paperwork he was sorting and waited.

Luke Spencer ambled in with his customary I-don't-give-a-shit expression and all but sprawled into the chair set in front of Jason's desk. "So. Natasha tells me you've got a Cassadine breathing down your neck."

"I do," Jason said blandly. "And you're here to tell me you and Robert are going to take over."

"You're quick. I've always known that about you." Luke straightened, some of the devil may care fading from his features. "And it eats at you that you know we're right. That you can't take on Victor personally."

"Luke—"

"Hey, listen, I know." Luke pressed a hand to his chest. "I get it. I got one thing in this world that matters to me. I got my kids. I got my sister. I got my family. That's it. When there's a threat against them, I want to take apart the people responsible. So the fact that you walked away from Cassadine Island without shoving Victor in all that water speaks highly of you. Because you know that Cassadines rarely work alone."

Jason exhaled slowly. "I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck," he muttered. "But I didn't know what he had planned. Who he might have in Port Charles."

"Exactly. I made that mistake once. I forgot about Helena Cassadine, and I walked away from that business with Mikkos thinking me and Laura could go on with our lives. We got married, but she came and she took my Laura. Put her on that island, married her off to Stavros like she was some treat she could give him—" Luke tilted his head. "I know what's like to have the Cassadines rip out your heart and hold it in front of you, taunting you. They did it to me with Lucky, and then again last year with Lulu."

"I get it, Luke. You know the territory, and I don't." But Jason couldn't explain that he hated handing over the reigns. He knew it had to be this way. That Luke and Robert had the experience, the contacts, the knowledge—it didn't seem to matter.

He wanted to be one who personally destroyed Victor Cassadine.

Luke nodded. He leaned back in the chair and studied Jason for a moment, making him feel as though he was an ant under a microscope. "We go back a long ways, Morgan."

"You gave me my first job," Jason said after a moment. "Parking cars."

"And look at you now." Luke spread his hands out. "You've been the brains behind Corinthos almost from the beginning. You've made millions of dollars. You've got a woman standing behind you who doesn't scare easily and is as loyal as they come—Elizabeth is like Laura that way. Once they decide to stick, you practically have to use dynamite to get them to stop. You've got Jake and I'm sure the other boys love you. You've got a family, Jason. You've got a job you're good at. People who know you, like you. People who don't know you, respect you. Maybe even fear you."

"What's your point?"

"How much more do you gotta do before you stop proving to everyone you're not damaged?" Luke asked.

Jason stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head, looking away. "That's not what this is—"

"It's not?" Luke arched his brows. "For the better part of a decade, you took down any foe Sonny had coming at him. Moreno. Alcazar. Manny Ruiz. Ric Lansing. Faith Roscoe. You neutralized the Zaccharas. You kept my niece from self-destructing. You—"

"Luke—"

"The point is, Morgan, that you don't have to keep proving you're capable of being normal. That you're not the damaged waste Tony Jones predicted you might be. You're not—what did Taggart like to call you? Anger Boy?" Luke kept his eyes on him. "If you don't save the world from Victor Cassadine, it doesn't change who you are. And it doesn't make you less."

Some of the tightness in Jason's chest dissipated at that pronouncement. "I know that, Luke. And I'm grateful that you and Robert are going to—that we can count on you. Elizabeth is relieved. She's seen you go up against the Cassadines enough to know we've got a better shot at this—"

"Me and Scorpio are forming a sort of coalition, if you will," Luke told him. "We're calling in some of our old WSB cohorts, pulling in all the schemers we know. But we're going to need you here. You need to deal with this twin brother. Natasha said you were following a lead with crazy Heather?"

"We want to know why she told Sam this guy Franco was my brother," Jason told him. "So Elizabeth and I are going tomorrow to take care of it. She's going to give Heather a letter from Steven, and she thinks that contact might get us some of the answers. Preston is still out there. I don't want him coming back and screwing with my family."

"Exactly. You take care of him. Leave the Cassadines to me." Luke rose to his feet. "We got a blood feud that goes back a bit, and I guess I'm going to have to eradicate every last one of them. Save Natasha, of course." He grimaced. "And I guess the Dark Prince and the kid are all right. But the rest of them have to go. I'm getting too old for this shit."

Metro Court Hotel: Anna's Suite

"Wait." Anna held up a hand and blinked at her ex-husband. "Just wait. Are you telling me that Robin is tangled up with some Cassadine-DVX nonsense?"

"The DVX part is just supposition," Robert offered with a half-grin. But his eyes were dark and cold. "Based on Victor Cassadine's mentor being Faison."

"Oh, God…" Anna sank on to her sofa, pressing a hand to her mouth. "And you learned this from Luke Spencer?"

"The bits and bones of it. I called him to help me track down Robin. He said he had to come to Port Charles because Alexis Davis wanted his help with some Cassadine intrigue. He was going to hear her out for old time's sake, and then we were going to meet up." Robert glanced at his watch. "I'm meeting him later."

"How did Alexis learn—" Anna shook her head. "I don't understand. How did Robin—did he force her? Did he threaten her?" Then she stopped and lunged to her feet. "He used Jason. Robin is the one that brought Jason Morgan out of this coma."

"I've always loved your quick mind," Robert murmured. "Victor Cassadine kidnapped Jason and put a plant in place to play him for five years—"

"Five—" Anna pressed her lips together. "Five years," she repeated quietly. "That's quite the long-term commitment."

"You're not kidding. Now, Victor apparently is passing off this plant as Jason's twin brother, but we both know DVX is skilled at replacement agents," Robert told her. "Remember Grant Putnam?"

"Vividly," Anna murmured. "But…Heather Webber claimed that Jason Morgan had a twin once. She sold him at birth—Franco, the crazy serial killer artist? That's why Franco came to Port Charles, to track down his brother, but—" She shook her head.

"So Victor knows there is a twin. Maybe he's using it to muddle things. I don't know. Luke is going to make sure Morgan focuses on that angle while he and I deal with Victor."

"I'll have to see if Mayor Richardson will allow me a leave of absence," Anna said. "Perhaps Mac would be—" When he shook her head, she narrowed her eyes. "You'll not be keeping me out of this. She's my daughter, Robert—"

"And I need you here. You and Morgan have to keep Port Charles out the line of fire," he said. "Morgan needs the freedom to do what Victor instructed him to do until we can make our move. Until Robin is out of the line of fire, we can't have Victor thinking Morgan isn't playing by his rules."

"So I have to let Jason break the law—that's what you're telling me," Anna said, folding her arms. "All right, but there's no reason I can't tell Mac to do the same—"

"Anna, if you take a leave of absence now, it will send up red flags. When we get closer, of course we can revisit this—but for now, everything has to operate as it has been. Morgan stays in charge, you stay at work, and Luke and I are going to get intel."

Anna pursed her lips. "Patrick knows something. He must have known all along that Robin was with Victor Cassadine. And I imagine Elizabeth Webber confirmed. She must be in on it as well. How could this have happened under my nose?"

"It doesn't matter how we got here." Robert put his hands on Anna's shoulders. "What matters is that we start working together. When we move against the Cassadines this time, Anna, it'll be for the last time. We're going to finish this. Once and for all."

Ava's Apartment: Living Room

Ava strode out of her bedroom, fastening a bracelet at her wrist. She was going to the gallery, she was going to get some work done. She was going to get herself back.

So what if her grand scheme to become the grand dame of the mafia in Port Charles had sputtered to an end? So what she was facing murder charges, and a ruthless and crazy Russian villain was plotting her demise?

And so what if her daughter refused to return her phone calls?

Ava Jerome wasn't going to take this sitting down. She was still someone to contend with, someone to be feared. And she would prove it, just as soon as—

She came short, a startled, shrill shriek ripped from her lungs as a familiar face turned from her mantel, a portrait of Lauren in his hands.

"Hello, Ava." Franco ginned, his eyes twinkling with humor. "It's nice to see you."

They'd been young the first time their paths had crossed—he'd been the misunderstood artist and she was the gallery assistant who'd championed him. His success had catapulted her own career and their brief torrid affair had been a defining moment of her life.

Until he'd shown her a portrait a blood-soaked woman that looked like her. Even Ava Jerome knew when to run.

"What are you doing here?" she managed. Damn the cops for not returning that gun, and damn her for not replacing it. "How did you get in?"

"I remember when I found out about Lauren." Franco set the photo back and turned to her, looking eerily similar to how he'd been at the age of eighteen when they'd met. "How old was she then? That day I stopped by the gallery and she introduced herself to me?"

He picked up another photograph, this one of a grinning redhead with two front teeth. "This age? Maybe. Lauren Frank." He looked to Ava. "If you wanted to keep her from me, giving her my last name wasn't smart." He set the photo down. "But you weren't thinking about me, were you?"

"You need to go before I call the police," Ava managed. Did he know the truth? How could he?

"You're not going to call the police." Franco approached her and flicked at a piece of her blonde hair. "It wasn't until a few years ago, when I learned the truth that I realized why you picked the name Frank instead of Ryan."

"Franco—" Her words froze in her throat as the tip of his finger trailed across the back of her shoulders as he completed his circle around her.

"Such lovely red hair she has. Does it run in the family?" he asked. "A grandmother, a great-grandmother…"

"What do you want from me?" she demanded. She stepped back, stepped away from him. He had to go. He knew too much. He'd put the pieces together.

"That's the beauty of it, Ava…" Franco ambled towards the door and looked back at her. "You have nothing that I want." He flashed her another smile—one that might seem charming if his eyes weren't so cold. "I'll be in touch."

And then he was gone.

Ava took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and waited a moment. She looked at her cell phone, sitting on the coffee table. She couldn't call anyone, couldn't ask for help. Julian didn't know the worst of her crimes, and any further hint of weakness would bring her fragile house of cards tumbling down.

She'd have to handle Franco on her own.

Michael's Apartment: Living Room

Michael flipped through a stack of papers, making sure they were sorted correctly. He had a meeting with Kelly Lee and the new medical consultant first, so that went first. He had a budget proposal meeting with Laura after, so the contacts for Ward House came next, then the budget approval conference with Tracy and Ned, so he needed his notes from the accounting department…

The front door opened and Starr stepped in, her overnight bag in her hand. He flashed her a smile. "Hey. How was the hotel last night? Did you and Langston have fun?" He was happy Starr's best friend had found time to visit her in Port Charles. He was looking forward to getting to know the rest of Starr's friends and family.

"Um…" Starr responded with a hesitant smile. "Sure. Michael—"

He set the papers down, focusing on the troubled look in her eye. "Hey. What's wrong? Did you guys have a—" He stopped, because he noticed that her left ring finger was bare. He rose to his feet. "Starr."

She set the bag down next to the sofa and opened a zipper pocket, pulling out the small velvet box. "I'm sorry," she murmured, holding it out. "I just—I can't."

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly too tight to force through words. He held out it his hand and she dropped the box into it.

"I don't—" He stopped, because that's not what he wanted to say. What did he want to say? What could he say? "I'm working too much," he said. "I know. I'm sorry. There's been a lot going on with my family—"

"Oh, no—" Starr shook her head. "No, Michael, it's not. I mean, yeah, you've been working a lot, but I know it's because you're trying so hard to make your family proud and—" She stopped and bit her lip. "It's not you."

"Don't—don't say that." The retort was sharper than he'd intended, and Starr flinched, looking away. He wanted to take it back, to find the words that would change was going on.

"I'm just—Port Charles isn't home for me." Her voice was coming from somewhere far away, and all he could think was somehow, he'd screwed this up. She was leaving him.

"You have…you have the club." Michael shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. He had to focus. "You worked so hard to reopen it."

"I know. And it's not…" Starr perched on the arm of the sofa. "I've tried so hard to make Port Charles work for me. With the club, my classes, it's just…it's not the right fit. I can feel it. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss Llanview."

"I—" Michael exhaled, because he could see her point of view. He could. But he couldn't see a way around it. Llanview wasn't ten minutes away, an hour away—it was a seven hour drive. It was a lifetime away.

"I love you, Michael," Starr said. "But I can't…I can't be happy here."

He was quiet for a moment. He flipped the box open and looked at the diamond ring he'd painstakingly picked out after searching through several jewelry stores. She'd only said yes because he'd proposed in front of a crowd. Had she been planning to leave him for some time? Waiting for his life to calm down to make it better?

"And I know you can't go," Starr continued when he had said nothing. "Llanview isn't your home either."

He raised his eyes at her and closed the box. "I'm going into the office," he said finally. "I'll spend the night at my grandmother's. You can—" Michael stood and tossed his pile of work into his briefcase. "You can…you can take as much time as you need."

Starr bit her lip as he passed her, rising to her feet. "You don't want to talk about it?"

He turned back to her, taking in this last sight of the woman he'd planned to spend his life with. "Is talking going to change anything?" he asked dully. "You can't stay. I can't go."

"I—" Starr exhaled slowly. "I love you, Michael. You believe that, don't you?"

"Sure." He pulled open the door and left. Not that it mattered.

Ward House: Backyard

Laura grimaced as she and a contractor traversed the broken path ways in the back yard of Ward House. Where Mary Mae's prize-winning roses, orchids, and tulips had once reigned supreme, the yard was little more than a collection of cracked paving stones and overgrown weeds. The more she tore apart the records of the foundation and toured the home, the more she wondered if she had made a mistake.

If she had dragged Michael and the ELQ foundation into a disaster.

"You'll need a landscaper to give you a good estimate back here," the contractor drawled in a surprisingly smooth southern accent. Louisiana, she thought, but she couldn't be sure. "But I can give you a good quote on the house in a few days."

"I know it's going to be a high one," Laura said as they approached the old toolshed that she hoped to one day refashion into a greenhouse to grow flowers and vegetables. Maybe the house could be self-sufficient in a lot of ways. "But we're prepared for it."

"You might want to consider just blowing up the current house and starting over, but I can see the attraction of this house." He turned and shaded his eyes, taking in the large, gabled home. "She's got good bones."

"There was a fire about twenty years ago," Laura murmured. "The house survived that, I hope it can survive the neglect." She turned back and gestured at the tool shed. "We don't intend to use this for much more than storage for a while, but I was hoping it was sound enough to leave standing."

The contractor grimaced as he approached the building. "I doubt it. It looks like hasn't been touched since they built it back in the fifties." He reached for handle, surprised when it opened without a fuss. He peered inside, digging a flashlight from his tool belt. "No lighting in here—"

He stopped and hastily stepped back. "Call your son-in-law, Mrs. Spencer."

Laura frowned and leaned into the shed. "I don't—"

And then the contractor flashed the light into the corner where a teenaged girl was sprawled across the cement floor, her eyes open wide, and her dark hair spilling out from beneath her.

Despite the dried blood at her mouth, despite the three weeks she'd lay here in a hot shed in the early heat of a New York summer, Laura recognized that face.

It had been plastered in newspapers, online, and on television. Dante and Nathan had showed it to her only days earlier.

Holly Oliver had once been a beautiful girl, and even death couldn't erase that.

Her hand shaking, Laura stepped back, took a deep breath, and reached for her cell phone.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

PCPD: Conference Room

Dante and Nathan were unsurprised to find the mayor and district attorney in the conference room when they joined Anna, Parisa, and Sly for the morning meeting. They'd been up all night—Dante with the coroner and Nathan dealing with the crime investigation. They had split the notifications—

And as a new father, delivering news to the hopeful Carol Oliver the night before had been worse than any other notification. Nathan had been shaken—the Hamiltons had also been devastated because there'd been no sign of Ian, and to find Holly dead—

"All right, Dante, Nathan. Tell us where we are," Anna said.

"Laura Spencer was touring the grounds of Ward House, located at 424 South Hawthorne Drive," Dante began. "She and the contractor were examining the toolshed at the back of the property to assess its condition for future repairs and use—"

"They didn't tour the grounds before the ELQ Foundation bought the premises?" Gia interrupted. "That seems like an oversight."

"I asked her about that," Dante admitted, "but by then Tracy Quartermaine had swooped in. While initially cooperative, Laura and the foundation won't be answering any questions without lawyers."

"Damage control," Leah Richardson murmured. "They're concerned about liability. But she's your mother-in-law, Dante. Any ideas why the grounds weren't inspected before the purchase?"

"Based on the way Laura has described the house and the foundation," Dante said, glancing at Nathan who nodded in agreement, "she knew it was a complete mess before they made the offer. They bought the house dirt cheap. She knew there were going to be massive renovations required before the state would certify them. I think she just wanted to get the sale through and didn't want an inspection to hold it up. The foundation's lawyers will have to deal with that."

"Is there any concern you might have a conflict of interest, Detective Falconieri?" Leah asked. "The new director is your mother-in-law, your brother works at ELQ—"

Anna leaned forward. "ELQ came into the equation after Holly Oliver went missing," she said before Dante could protest. "As long as Nathan or another detective handles any interview with Laura Spencer or ELQ, I think we'll be in the clear. What do you have from the coroner, Dante?"

"Holly Oliver…" Dante flipped open the folder and passed around the autopsy folders. "Aged sixteen. Shot in the left shoulder from the back. Coroner can't pin the time of death, but thinks the body—" He took a deep breath. "At least three weeks, meaning she was likely killed the night she disappeared."

"According to the crime scene unit," Nathan continued, "she was shot in the toolshed. There's a blood stain, no drag marks. The inside of the shed was pretty clean — a small cot had been set up. There was some food, a few books."

"And Holly was found without a shirt or bra. While the examiner found no signs of sexual assault, he can't rule it out. Ian Hamilton's fingerprints were found, along with Holly's, all over the toolshed."

"So do we think he killed her and fled?" Sly asked, as he looked impassively at the photo of the crime scene. "If they were both dead, why take his body?"

"It's the primary focus at the moment," Dante replied, "but I don't want to get bogged down in it. The fact is that Ian and Holly were meeting at this toolshed for months, probably even before the program shut down. We don't know their responsibilities at Ward House just yet, but their friends and family didn't notice anything different about their behavior."

"So why keep their relationship a secret?" Parisa asked. "Is it possible that might have been a reason for concern?"

"Spinelli got into Holly's computer yesterday, and Anna managed to get the warrants executed for social media. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram—anywhere we could find an account is sending their files. Holly's computer also has a private blog that functions as a diary. We're going to have to go through that."

"There's quite a bit of work to go around," Leah said. "Which leads me to the reason I've dropped in this morning. Though your commissioner has argued with me on this account, I think it's time to take the Falconieri murder off the active status list."

Dante sat straight up, as if the only thing keeping him in his seat was the fact this was the mayor. "You can't—"

"I know it's personal, Dante," Anna murmured. "But nothing has surfaced that we can use in the last month. While I'm not…thrilled to stop looking at it, the mayor feels that all eyes are going to be on us during this investigation."

"A young girl has been murdered, the possible murderer remains on the loose." Leah nodded. "We have to put our resources where they can be the most useful."

"But—" Dante began.

"Sly and Parisa will take on the ELQ and Foundation parts of the investigation," Anna interrupted. "Take it apart. Get the records. Find out about the old resident director. Dante and Nathan, focus on the diary, on Ian Hamilton, and their friends." She arched her brows. "You can go, get to work."

Her squad filed out, followed by their district attorney leaving Anna and Leah alone in the room.

"I know you're angry that I've pulled rank on this, Anna," the mayor began.

"You're not wrong," Anna replied. She opened a folder and pulled out a birth certificate. "No matter how much we connect Ava Jerome to possible wrongdoings twenty years ago, we're no closer to prosecuting her for Connie Falconieri's murder. It's just difficult to admit it."

"You're not going to tell Detective West what you've discovered about his sister?" Leah asked, tapping the certificate.

"To what end?" Anna said softly. "I've seen the paperwork. Silas Clay signed an adoption agreement surrendering his and his wife's rights to their daughter on the day she was born. Ava Jerome legally adopted her, according to what my sources found."

"It seems odd to hide it so well," Leah said, taking the certificate from her. "How sure are you that the documents weren't forged?"

"Not my jurisdiction." Anna rose to her feet. "I don't know this Dr. Clay—"

"It doesn't strike you as odd that he would give his mistress the daughter he had in wedlock with his wife…and then walk as far away as possible?" Leah arched a brow, also getting to his feet. She handed the certificate back. "I suggested the case be made inactive, Anna, I didn't forbid you to work it."

Anna sighed. She had so much on her mind—her worries about Robin, about Robert, and this business with the Cassadines. But if Robert was right—Ava Jerome was mixed up in this. Perhaps this was the secret she'd killed Connie to protect.

"Maybe I'll make a few calls," Anna told the mayor. "But Holly Oliver is my first priority."

She parted from the mayor outside the conference room and moved down the hallway to her office. As she touched the door knob, an officer rushed up to her. "Commissioner, we got a hit on those fingerprints."

He handed her the report. Anna skimmed it, then raised stunned eyes to meet his. "Have we confirmed this?"

"We ran them twice, Commissioner. We're calling Rhode Island as we speak to get more information." He hesitated. "I don't know how it leaked—"

"Leaked?" Anna demanded. "Who else knows?"

"The first report—before we requested a second check—Maxie Jones from the Sun—"

"God damn it, I'll call her father and reign her in. This can't get out. Not until we know the whole story—" Anna looked back at the report. "Damn it."

ELQ: Tracy's Office

"Michael? Are you even listening to us?"

Michael blinked and focused on his aunt and cousin. At Laura and Ric. God. How long had he tuned out? Why couldn't he focus?

A girl was dead. On ELQ property. And it was his fault. He'd brought this on the family.

"I'm sorry." Michael straightened. "I just—"

"I know, Michael," Ned said quietly, offering him a glance of sympathy that only twisted the pit in Michael's abdomen. "Let's just get through this, okay?"

"Why can't we just tell the PCPD why we didn't do an inspection?" Laura demanded. "Ric—"

"I'm drawing up a statement to explain our position to the police as well as the police," Ric told them. "But as you might imagine, the fact that a young girl's body lay in a toolshed while the foundation bought the place uninspected isn't helping public image. When did you start looking at the house, Laura?"

"Just before Memorial Day—"

"But we didn't contact the previous foundation board until the first week of June," Tracy cut in. "According to Michael's notes, Laura didn't even present the proposal until June 4. The girl was already dead."

"Mother," Ned muttered. "Compassion—"

"I'm sorry for her mother's loss," Tracy retorted. "I am. And we'll cooperate. But we have to protect the company. We've gone through too much turmoil the last two years. We need to worry about damage control. Let the PCPD worry about the girl."

"I'm sorry," Michael said, drawing their attention. "I should have insisted on an inspection. We should have done every step by the book. It was the foundation's first major purchase. There's no excuse—"

"Don't beat yourself up, Michael," Ned said, almost too kindly. "Mother and I agreed with Laura's assessment that any renovations were likely to be extensive and we could negotiate a better price if we moved fast. At the time you were discussing Ward House, its connection to these missing kids wasn't even known yet."

"Still—" Michael protested.

"I'm the director of the foundation, Michael. This is on me," Laura said, her eyes devastated. "That girl lay dead on that property for nearly three weeks. I've been at the home several times—every day since we took possession on Sunday. I should have personally inspected every building, every nook and cranny."

"We're getting nowhere with the blame game," Ric said. "Our best chance to get in front of any damaging press to release a full statement and to get the foundation's files in order. Laura—"

"I'm hiring every temp I can get my hands on to sort the files and get it in order," she pledged. "I want the police to know everything about the home when these kids worked there. I'm just sick over this. I couldn't sleep last night."

"We'll make this go away, Tracy," Ric promised. "The fallout will be minimal."

"That's what you're paid for." Once Ric and Laura had left, Tracy looked at Michael. "I know that your girlfriend broke up with you—"

"Ah, Mother—"

"—but I need your head in the game," she continued, ignoring Ned's protest. "I don't blame you. Ned and I are looking over your shoulder, and I still don't think we were wrong. This is a shitty thing to happen, but life is full of this kind of thing. Suck it up and move on."

"I hear you, Aunt Tracy." Michael closed his portfolio and rose to his feet. "I'm going to go make sure Laura has all the funding she needs to hire the temps to sort through the files."

He wasn't going to mess up again. He couldn't afford to. ELQ was all he had left.

New York City: Fifth Avenue Penthouse

Victor Cassadine handed a flute of champagne to one of his oldest and dearest friends. "I understand your concern, Madeline, but I don't think we need to panic quite yet—"

Madeline Reeves's knuckles were bone white as her slim, elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass. "I cannot imagine how you remain so calm when everything we've worked for is hanging in the balance—"

"Now, now…." Victor lifted a shoulder. "Anna Devane may have Lauren Jerome's birth certificate, but she has no proof that the documents I allowed her source to locate aren't forgeries."

"Silas is asking questions," Madeline hissed. "He isn't sure the timeline of Lauren's birth fits his affair with Ava. If he digs into it, he may—"

"We can deal with Dr. Clay, my dear Magda." Victor sipped his drink, the delicate fizz sliding pleasantly down his throat. "All in good time. He isn't going to rock the boat. He knows Lauren is his daughter, that should do for now."

"But Ava—"

"Ava is a loose end I've been meaning to snip," Victor cut in. "I believe you made a mistake when you recommended her to me. I don't blame you for it. We had every indication she could handle this. Her family history, her ability to raise Lauren without once asking for more money—"

"I should think not after the regular payments I've made over the last two decades."

"I mean that she isn't greedy. Others may have bled you dry by now, but Ava was cunning. Smart. Willing to play the long game." Victor sighed. "Ah, well, you have to allow for mistakes, and Ava has worked relatively well as a place holder until now. I've already put plans in motion to discredit her and eliminate her—"

"Why discredit? Why wait?" Madeline retorted. "If Lauren finds out what happened, if Silas ever learns what I did—I could lose everything—"

"Discrediting is necessary," Victor assured her. "If the truth comes to light after elimination, you'll want people to laugh it off. Because once we bury Ava Jerome, all her secrets go with her."

"She's already told some of them." Madeline tossed her head back, her light blue eyes lit with the brief touch of insanity Victor knew ran in the Westbourne line. Her sister Liesl had Magda's delicate relationship with reality. They hid it well, these women he'd known since childhood. As long as events went their way, they were normal. Even rational.

But the slightest challenge to their routine, to their chosen life—and they slid over that thin line between reality and delusion.

"You can't tell me you're not worried that Luke Spencer and Robert Scorpio have arrived in Port Charles." Madeline crossed to the large bank of windows that overlooked Central Park. "You know Ava has told her brother. That Julian has likely told Alexis."

"As long as I have Robin Scorpio in my grasp, they're going to be very careful how they come at me. And Jason Morgan? I have no worries on that front."

"How can you be so sure he won't cooperate with Scorpio and Spencer?"

"Because he knows how dangerous I can be." Victor offered her a reassuring smile. "After all, I plucked him out of his life for five years and not one person was the wiser. What stops me from taking away his precious family? He won't cross me. I'll take away those he cares about. One by one."

Madeline pursed her lips. "I want Ava gone by the end of the summer. I want to close this dreadful chapter of our lives and move on."

"And so we shall, Magda. But we must be careful, we must be precise. We've come so far. We can't allow ourselves to be impatient." Victor sipped the last of his champagne. "That's what did in my brothers. Cesar. Liesl. They took their eyes off the prize, and now we must finish what they started."

Haunted Star: Bar

When Maxie arrived at the club that afternoon, she was in full-fledged panic mode. She had worked hard to cultivate a source at the PCPD that wasn't connected to Dante or Nathan, and boy had it paid off this morning.

But now she needed to be talked down.

"You are not going to believe what I found out!" she announced, dropping her back on the table where Lulu and Dillon were talking. As she unzipped her bag, she noticed Lulu's frustration. "Lu, hey, what'd I miss?"

"Starr broke up with Michael," the blonde replied. "Now she wants me to buy her out. So in addition to finding seventy thousand dollars—"

"This place is worth twice that much?" Maxie asked, casting her eyes around the club. Where? Were there diamonds in the walls?

"—I have to hire a new general manager because there's no way I can work Starr's hours. I have Nico—this was the agreement—" Lulu huffed. "She's so damn inconsiderate."

"Poor Michael," Maxie murmured. She was an adult now, she could find the space to squeeze in some empathy for the friend they'd just adopted into their circle. "Can we come back to that? Because seriously—"

She scowled when she saw Dillon look at his phone, a number flashing across the screen. "Dude, really?"

"I'm putting it away," he told her, hitting ignore and shoving it back in the pocket of his khakis. "You look upset, Maxie—"

"Remember when I told Dante and Nathan on Monday that I found out Franco lied about being from Vermont?" She pulled out a thick folder. "They didn't want to let on that they knew more than I did, but I found out today what they might have been hiding." She shoved the fingerprint report at them. "This came to the PCPD this morning. I got a copy about ten minutes later from a source."

Dillon skimmed it, then raised confused eyes to her. "I don't understand this. Who's Evan Reynolds? This says that the fingerprints the PCPD submitted come back to a five-year-old kindergarten student missing since 1983. In…" He squinted. "Providence, Rhode Island."

"They lifted Franco's prints from one of the paintings they had in evidence," Maxie said. She sat down. "They found out what I did—that Robert Frank's social security number belonged to a boy who died with his mother in car accident in 1978. At the age of three months."

"1978?" Dillon frowned. "That doesn't make sense. None of this does. Franco wouldn't have been five in 1983. That's too young—"

"He was fingerprinted as part of a program in his school. I contacted the school for comment, hoping to get more information on Evan Reynolds. The only thing they'd give me is what's publicly available—I was emailed a copy of the database record." Maxie shoved that piece of paper at them. "Do you see what this says?"

"I don't understand. Franco isn't Franco? He's not Jason's twin brother?" Lulu frowned. She looked at the paper. "Wait, wait. This says that Evan disappeared after his mother was reported to Social Services, leaving his older brother behind to be made a ward of the state….Maxie…"

"Yeah, I got his records from the database, too, though they were stingier with it because you know, they know where he is. Or at least where he was. Preston Reynolds, age seven, was made a ward of the state in 1983. In 1994, at the age of eighteen, he was released. And disappeared. There's no record of him anywhere, not even his fingerprints."

"Weird. So Franco had a brother." Lulu rolled his shoulders. "I wonder what happened to him. Wait—"

"If he was seven in 1983," Dillon said slowly, "then that puts his birth year 1976."

"Exactly. Here's Preston Reynolds, a second grader at Thomas Sharpe Elementary in Providence, Rhode Island. I called the school and sweet talked the secretary into sending me some class photos, claiming it was for my older sister's birthday." She slapped down the last photo. "I recognize someone's face."

"I don't…" Lulu squinted at the row of smiling children. "Kids all look the same to me—some brown-haired kids, some blond—"

"The blond boy, middle row, center." Maxie tapped it. "Dillon—"

"Yeah, ah…" Dillon cleared his throat, his face pale. "Yeah, it's, um, Monica has this photo album. She doesn't pull it out much anymore, I think it's too painful, but Emily showed it to me—" He took the photo. "If that's Preston Reynolds—if you're sure, Maxie—"

"I am. I have the yearbook from that year."

"He's…a dead ringer for Jason Quartermaine, age seven." Dillon set it down. "I don't—I don't understand. Who the hell is Franco? Is he this kid Evan? Is he Preston? What the hell is going on?"

"That's what Anna is going to have to tell me. I called the PCPD for a comment." Maxie took out her phone, which revealed a list of missed calls from Anna and her father. "I don't care if they try to shut me up. I want answers. Franco is a goddamn psychopath who only knows how to destroy people. I have Georgie now. There's no way he's going to get away with this. I'm going to protect my daughter."

"You should—" Dillon took a long moment to gather himself. "You should call Spinelli. Get Jason involved. Anything with Franco—he's going to want to know. He's the one that got rid of Franco, after all."

"I already sent him the same reports." Maxie looked at her friends. "I'm scared," she said softly. "I have so much to lose, and there's no one on this Earth that terrifies me more than Franco."

Shadybrooke: Visiting Room

Jason slowly put down his phone and looked at Elizabeth. "That was Spinelli—"

"I gathered as much," Elizabeth said, wincing as she heard how sharp her tone was. "I'm sorry. I'm just—I'm nervous about this. I want it over with, and they've been making us wait for ten minutes—"

He covered her hand with his. "I know. But Spinelli found—well, Maxie found something and passed it on to him. I think she found our connection."

Elizabeth frowned. "How could Maxie—"

"Julian must have asked her to look into Franco after the Nurse's Ball. She figured out, along with some hints from the police, that Robert Frank wasn't his real name. And someone at the PCPD leaked a fingerprint report to her. The man using the name Robert Frank? His fingerprints trace back to a missing child from Rhode Island. His mother was reported to social services for abusing her older son, and she left. The older boy was left with the state, but she took the younger one."

"And changed his name to Robert Frank," Elizabeth murmured. "But—" She shoved back from the table, lunging to her feet. "The older boy."

"According to Spinelli, Maxie contacted the elementary school and dug up some class photos. The little boy—the older brother—he was seven years old in 1983. His name was Preston Reynolds—"

"Oh, my God—" Elizabeth pressed her hands to the mouth. "Oh, my God."

"And he's identical to what I looked like at the age of seven, according to Dillon. He's seen the photos Monica kept of us." Jason got to his feet. "Elizabeth—"

"I don't understand. I don't understand how this is happening. He can't be Franco's brother. It's simply not possible." Her hands were trembling as she lowered them to her side. "Heather must have known. Why else would she lie?"

The door opened then, and the woman in question entered. She looked older than Elizabeth had last seen, her blonde hair limply hanging around her shoulders. Her eyes found Jason's, and what color there was in her cheeks vanished.

"No. No, I did everything just as you said—you said you wouldn't come back—"

"Is there a problem?" the guard asked, flicking back and forth. "Ms. Webber?"

"Heather," Elizabeth said quickly. She held up the letter, and in her other hand, a bag. "I brought you lunch from Kelly's. And a letter from Steven."

"Steven Lars?" Heather looked her, focusing. "He wrote to me? You're not lying?"

"No, and I'd like to read it to you." She set the bag and letter on the table. "Please, Heather."

"I'm fine," Heather told the guard. "This is my stepdaughter."

Elizabeth tensed at the characterization, but it served their purpose. "Heather," she said, once they were seated. "I want to be upfront with you because it's important that we trust each other."

Heather pursed her lips. "That would be a change," she sniffed.

Jason rolled his eyes, but Elizabeth continued. "I know you recognized Jason. You think he's someone else. That he's the man sent to Port Charles to pose as Jason."

Heather hesitated, flicked her distrustful gaze to Jason. "You're not him?"

"No," Jason said. "I'm not. But that's why we're here. Elizabeth brought you a message from Steven and lunch. I'm hoping we can trade."

"I'm listening." Heather leaned back. "What does my son have to say?"

"He's writing from Memphis. You know he's serving five years there," Elizabeth said, unfolding the white piece of paper. "He's two years into the sentence and he's hoping to be released in another year for good behavior."

"Oh, good. I'm so glad. I wish he hadn't taken that deal. I never meant for him to pay for my crime," Heather said. "I love my son."

"I know." A pit formed in her stomach as she continued, because she knew Steven had invited Heather back into his life because she'd asked him to. He could be so amazing when he wanted to be. "He hopes you're doing well, and he's had a lot of time to think since he arrived in Memphis. He's given you his address, so maybe you could write to one another."

Elizabeth slid the paper across the table.

"Steven? My Steven Lars wants to write to me?" Heather's eyes filled with tears as she examined the scribbled address. "Oh, what a good boy."

"Heather, I need you to tell me why you lied about Franco being Jason's twin brother," Elizabeth said softly. "I'm worried for my boys. For Steven's nephews." She swallowed the bile at the thought of using her boys, but God, she had to discover the truth. "He loves them so much, and they might be in danger."

"I had to lie," Heather said, her tone as simple as a first grader admitting a mistake. "Before Sam came to see me, he came. He told me that if I didn't tell her the story he gave me, he'd hurt my Steven." She leaned forward. "I couldn't take the chance. You know how dangerous he is."

"It was Preston's idea to tell Sam about Franco, because he knew how it would destroy her," Jason murmured. "He planned it."

"How does Preston know Franco?" Elizabeth asked. "Did they grow up together?"

"At first," Heather admitted. "I should start from the beginning. Steven should know that I didn't have a choice. That I did what I did because I thought it was the right thing to do."

"What did you do?" Jason asked.

"It wasn't my idea to sell the baby—to sell either of you," Heather said to Jason, her eyes imploring him to believe her. "But when Alexandria threatened Susan—your mother—I had to protect her. She said that she would have her friends hurt her—"

"Alexandria?" Something triggered in Elizabeth's memory. "Alexandria Quartermaine?"

"She wanted to preserve the Quartermaine money for herself," Heather replied. "And Susan wanted to go after Alan for everything he had. She wanted to a piece of ELQ. Alex wanted to stop her. So she had to get rid of the baby. The first baby, I gave to Alex and she got rid of him. Then, when Alex was gone—the second baby came. I should have told Alex, but then I thought maybe I'd keep you for myself."

Elizabeth glanced at Jason at this, but his expression was blank, as always. "But you didn't."

"Alex was so angry that I tricked her, but by then it was too late. Alan knew about you, and he'd given Susan a settlement. He lied to her, said he was going to leave Monica. He was stringing her along," Heather said, with a sneer. "Keeping her from going after the money. Why sue for a piece of the pie when a bit of patience would get her a key to the whole kingdom?"

Jason rubbed a hand over his face. "And the baby? The one Alexandria gave away?"

"He went to live with a woman Alex knew. Samantha Reynolds. She wanted a boy." Heather sighed. "And then the boy grew up, and he came to me. He wanted me to keep his secret. To tell Sam that Franco was the twin, not him. He thought it was so funny that Sam would fear the wrong brother. That she wouldn't see the truth."

"Did he tell you who Franco was to him?" Elizabeth asked. "Did he explain why that was who should be the brother?"

"He wouldn't say," Heather admitted. "And I wasn't going to ask. You don't ask a man like that to explain himself."

She took her lunch with her when she left, leaving Jason and Elizabeth alone in the visiting room. "Alexandria Quartermaine," Elizabeth said slowly. "That's how Victor knew about Preston. His brother was involved with her." She hesitated. "Jason, if Preston wanted Sam to think Franco was the twin, then I think that means—"

"Yeah," Jason sighed. "Yeah, I think you're right. And I think that means everything just got a little bit worse." He emitted a brief, harsh chuckle. "I didn't think that was possible."

Vista Point

Preston St. James—also known as Preston Reynolds—and occasionally as Jason Morgan among other aliases—stood at the railing, looking out over the Port Charles skyline as the sun faded into the horizon and the stars lit the night sky.

"They don't even know what's about to hit them."

He looked to his right, and grinned. "About damn time you got here, little brother." He stepped forward and embraced the younger man.

The world might see him as Franco, but to Preston, he'd always be Evan, the little brother who had tagged behind him for the first five years. He'd been the older brother, he'd been responsible for him.

Until Mama had left Preston behind.

Evan never talked about those years with their mother, but Preston would never forgive himself for leaving his baby brother alone with her.

"You ready to have some fun?" Preston asked.

"Just like old times," Franco replied, with a grin. "Let's do some damage."

That's the end of Season 2! Apologies for taking so long to post the entire story here at the site . I've decided to post Season 3 as a "new story" so please follow me for new story alerts! Season 3 will be posted in February 2019!