Dillon was a bit shaken up after the confrontation in the park. He made his way several blocks across town to a parking garage where a steel blue Lexus awaited his arrival. He thought things over as he took the long route home, listening to the latest tracks from The White Keys.

Dillon didn't like or approve of violence of any kind, but it struck him as an especially heinous way to settle a petty social dispute. Damian had won the fight, but in Dillon's view no one had emerged victorious. Logan and Maxie had ended up miserable, and Damian had disappeared. He had received no victory celebration- no one had even patted him on the back. Dillon wondered why people would push for a violent solution to a problem when all of the outcomes were so ugly. He hoped that Damian was all right. He felt a twinge of guilt that no one had even checked to see if he was hurt.

He remembered how distraught LuLu had appeared as she anxiously watched the brawl, and then did her best to end it and help Logan. He could tell that she felt the same way that he did, and afterward he had wanted so badly to find some way to offer her comfort. To his frustration, all the words he wanted to say had stuck in his throat. He didn't think that she had even really noticed him at all.

It was later than he intended when he finally pulled the Lexus into the eight car garage adjoining the riverside mansion that was the home of the Quartermaine family. He turned off the motor but sat for several more minutes letting the music wash over him. Finally he removed the keys from the ignition, and after taking a deep breath, he grabbed a clipboard from the passenger seat, exited the car and made his way into the mansion.

Dillon hoped to get up to his room without being noticed by his family, but those hopes vanished as he crossed the foyer. His grandfather, Edward Quartermaine, called out to him from the living room. Dillon's footsteps muted as he stepped from the custom mahogany hardwood to rich carpeting. Thankfully, the old man was alone, sitting in his favorite chair with an open newspaper in his hands. "Evening Grandfather," Dillon greeted him with a deferential nod.

"Hello there my boy!" Edward answered warmly. "I haven't seen you for a few days, and you're getting home rather late. I trust all is well?"

Dillon smiled affectionately at the aged master of the family. "Sure, I guess. I've been working, and I like driving around the city."

"Don't try to pull the wool over these old eyes young man," Edward said with a chuckle. "I'm betting you're spending time with that cute little girlfriend you told me about- what was her name again? Something nice and old fashioned wasn't it?"

Dillon ducked his head and blushed. "LuLu... LuLu Spencer," he murmured. "I, uh... I may have exaggerated a bit. She's not my girlfriend. I don't even think she likes me very much."

"Nonsense!" Edward sounded offended. "You are handsome, intelligent, and you're a Quartermaine! Any young woman would be fortunate to have your attention."

Dillon sighed. "I doubt that she sees it that way. Besides, Grandfather, at the Shop 'n Save they don't know that I'm a Quartermaine, remember?"

Edward nodded, but his smile faltered and concern crept in at the edges. His eyes fell on the clipboard full of copy paper. "Mercy! Is your mother still asking you to do that wretched work for her?"

Dillon glanced down at the clipboard and shrugged. "Yeah, she is." He shifted uncomfortably. "But I don't want to do it anymore. It's dirty and underhanded. The people there trust me to do a job, and I turn around and betray them. It isn't right!"

Edward made a "tsking" sound and shook his head regretfully. "It so seldom is when competition is involved. Your mother is obsessed with making Quartermania the next big national chain. All fine and well, but you don't have to be involved in this nonsense! You should be focused solely on your upcoming studies; your future!"

"This is about his future," a hard-edged female voice interrupted as Tracy Quartermaine swept into the room.

Dillon turned and favored her with a reluctant smile. "Hello mother."

Tracy Quartermaine was thin and elegant and held herself with poise and grace, while somehow simultaneously projecting the same menacing potential as a sledgehammer. She wore only the best clothes, but in an understated style. She was spare, angular, sharp and efficient- like an ice pick in designer office attire. And like an ice pick, she was all business.

Tracy acknowledged her son with an imperious raise of her chin. "Dillon." She eyed the clipboard stacked with papers in Dillon's grip. "I trust that contains copies of all of the relevant upcoming sales and price changes for that neighborhood eyesore of Sonny's?"

Dillon nodded sadly. "When have I ever done anything other than what you tell me to, mother? It's all here."

"You've been doing a fine job," Tracy said with a predatory smile. "Thanks to your efforts, Quartermania will continue to undercut the Shop 'n' Save's every effort to lure back customers. We'll steal Sonny's thunder, and that imbecile will have no idea what's happening!"

Edward shifted in his chair and shuffled his paper indignantly. "For crying out loud Tracy! It's dirty pool! The boy doesn't want any part of it!"

The scornful arch of Tracy's brow almost inched it's way to her hairline. "As I recall, neither did I at his age. That never stopped you from forcing me to learn the game. Your little attack of conscience reeks of a forgery and is several decades too late, daddy." She stepped over next to Dillon and placed her hands on her hips. She fixed Edward with an icy glare. "Now if you absolutely insist on being of no use whatsoever to me in this matter, you can excuse yourself and allow me and my son a few minutes of privacy." The glare became withering. "Please!" she added when Edward showed no signs of moving.

With an exasperated huff, Edward folded his paper and levered himself from his chair. On his way out of the room, Edward patted Dillon on the shoulder. "You have access to your trust fund. You can be your own man. Your mother's machinations aren't your responsibility. Don't be afraid to do what you feel is right!" With a disapproving sidelong glance at his daughter, Edward left the room.

Tracy rolled her eyes and then turned her full attention to her son and reluctant co-conspirator.

"Dillon, please tell me that you aren't so naive as to buy any of the nonsense emanating from that old reptile!"

Dillon shrugged and wouldn't meet his mother's gaze. "He understands where I'm coming from. Stealing confidential business information from my employer can't be legal, and it's certainly unethical." His tone turned pleading. "Mother, this isn't right!"

"The only 'right' that we bother with in this house is what is right for this family!" Tracy fumed. "If you only ever listen to one thing I tell you, then listen to this- everything that happens here, every plan, every stratagem that the Quartermaines employ is engineered or approved by your dear old grandfather. He's lying to you. He wants you to believe that he's on your side, and he leaves me to be the heavy. He knows that I'll convince you to do what needs to be done regardless!"

Dillon covered the clipboard with both hands protectively. "But why? Why would he do that?"

Tracy shook her head, and a wry, thin-lipped grin tugged at one corner of her mouth. "You see, this is why I want you involved. You have so much to learn! He did it Dillon, because at the end of the day he wants you to love him more than you love me."

Dillon recoiled from the idea. He turned away from Tracy and began to pace around the living room. His expression was troubled as he tried to process things that he had no real desire to understand. "That's sick. Love isn't a game. I love you both; you're my family. That isn't something to exploit!"

Tracy sighed. Some of the hardness in her posture yielded as she watched her son with growing concern. "Edward knows that soldiers will always fight harder for a general that they love. In this family we are constantly battling something or someone, because the only thing harder than establishing the kind of power that we enjoy is holding on to it without being destroyed. Everyone is a potential enemy!"

Dillon spun and looked at her with anguish. "Not family."

Tracy began to raise her arms toward him but then brought her clenched hands back to her sides. "Especially family. For us it is survival. It's second nature. It's Quartermaine."

Dillon shook his head in denial. "It's seriously screwed up."

Without realizing it, Tracy leaned toward her son, but she wouldn't cross the space that separated them. "Dillon you are in our world, like it or not, and it's part of my job to make sure that you are equipped to survive and even thrive in it. If you are soft and sentimental, eventually men like your grandfather will eat you alive."

"Jason and A.J. got out," Dillon challenged, referring to his two male cousins.

"They are casualties," Tracy said with a tinge of sadness. "They didn't make the cut and were chewed up and spat out. Jason is a pathetic cripple, and A.J. is a shadow of what he once was- just an echo of what he could have been. I want better for you. I need you to start thinking like a Quartermaine. That's why I included you in this project. I thought we could achieve this small victory together."

Dillon clutched the clipboard closer to his chest. "What's the point? We have more money than god. What victory is there in destroying one local business?"

"We've been through this before. Sonny's Shop 'n Save is one tiny puzzle piece, but it's a piece that is in the way." Tracy's tone was urgent and lecturing at the same time. She was beginning to feel annoyed, like a teacher confronted with a particularly dense pupil. "You've seen the neighborhood, Dillon. It's best days are behind it. Once we own everything, we can rebuild it into a better place. We'll control the leasing, the development rights, all of the major properties. With a wise hand to guide it, the area can grow into a bright new future. But in order to force this rebirth, to realize this greater good, we need control!"

"Why not leave the people alone to realize their own future?" Dillon asked desperately.

"Who, idiots like Sonny Corinthos?" Tracy asked with disdain. "What kind of name is Corinthos anyway? Everyone knows his father's name was Corbin! Sonny and his ilk have no future. The Shop 'n Save is going down. You aren't destroying it with this minor espionage, you're just helping to bring the end a little more quickly and mercifully."

Dillon swayed back on his heels, still clutching the clipboard and its contents close to his heart. His eyes were downcast, and his voice sounded weary now. "Mother, I think I have made friends there. Maybe I'm weak and a terrible disappointment, but all I really want is to have some real friends. How can I do this and look them in the eye?"

Tracy gritted her teeth, her eyes were two lifeless stones set in her angular countenance. "Friends like that girl you mentioned? Dillon, you're going to learn that these people come and go. They might believe that they are your friends at this moment, but all they can see is what's right in front of them at this second. Their loyalties turn on the slightest whim. They have no vision. You must have an agenda with a much wider scope." Her rough-edged voice was hard- ruthless. "They are really quite small, powerless things. None of them can really effect anything that is going to happen. Use them for whatever you want, but don't forget that they are for all intents and purposes... disposable. In ten years they will probably all be working for corporations that you own, and they'll be better off for it."

Dillon took a step toward Tracy and stopped. His young features were lined with anxiety; his shoulders slumped.

"Son," Tracy continued, and her voice filled with pride," the one thing the sheep in this world are sure to respect is a winner, and you are going to be a winner your whole life. You'll have your pick of the companionship of beautiful women, and so many people will vie for your friendship that they will sicken you." Tracy sighed and the hard line of her shoulders sagged. Suddenly she looked older, vulnerable and weary. "It's your choice, but I want to know... need to know that I can rely on you. The hardest truth in the world is that no love is unconditional."

Tracy held out her empty hands. Dillon looked at his mother and felt his heart swell even as he choked back sadness. "That isn't true," he thought.

"Who needs friendship when you can have greed, envy and fear?" he asked bitterly. He crossed the space between them and delivered the clipboard into Tracy's waiting embrace.