Summary

Daniel is a respected lawyer in Amity, but when Mrs. Manson wants to sue Phantom, his alter ego, for the alleged 'kidnapping' of her daughter, Danny's career is no longer the only thing in danger. In order to save his life, he must accept Vlad as his father... Pre-PP. No slash. Slightly AU.

Alternate Summary

Twenty-one year-old Danny Fenton is a high profile lawyer in Amityville, but his career as the most prestigious lawyer in the city isn't the only thing at risk when one of the richest citizens in the community, Mrs. Manson, wants him to help her sue none other than Phantom. Eventual DxS. TxV.

Hey all! I know it's been...forever...but I had to post this once I thought of it :) I'm not really sure if I'll continue posting- depends on what you guys think...this is just the prologue though; that's why it's quite short :D

It's kinda AU- Danny, Tuck and Val all know each other- Sam's out of the picture for the moment.

Anyways, I haven't much else to say- except enjoy and comment!

-Crystal


I pulled on my blazer and grabbed my briefcase before dashing out my front door. I could hear my heart beating as I checked my watch for the fifteenth time.

Stupid Plasmius! I thought to myself. Because of his ridiculous urge to pillage the town in the middle of the night, I'd only gotten about three hours of sleep the previous night. Being a lawyer by day and Phantom by night is really getting in the way of my me time… I thought, annoyed. I brushed my hair in the elevator's mirror and took a last bite of the sandwich I'd managed to put together before leaving the house. I ran out to the parking lot and, almost spilling my coffee on my white shirt, I pulled my car keys out of my pocket and stuck them into my car's ignition. Pressing on the pedal, I drove borderline speed limit all the way to the courthouse.

I parked my car in front of the courthouse and hurried into the building before the media could catch a glimpse of me. Those cameramen were insane; they were like the paparazzi of law. I met my client, Mrs. Valley inside. We headed to the courtroom, where I spent the next two hours of my day fighting for Mrs. Valley, the state senator's mother, in a case concerning breaking and entering and armed robbery, and successfully proved to the judge that the other party was guilty. At the end, I walked my client out, and we were both swarmed with questions by the media who'd been waiting for us outside. The cameras were flashing lights every which way and microphones were being shoved at my face. I answered with my standard reply, "Information concerning the case will be released by the court when they see fit, and until then, I'm sworn to secrecy." I walked Mrs. Valley to her car and then headed towards my own, dodging questions such as, "How does it feel to be defending the elite of our nation?" and "To what do you owe your continuous winning streak in court?"

I got in my car and maneuvered my way out of the parking lot, trying not to hit any of the media guys on the way out, although I must admit, it might've been kind of satisfying to do so. I drove to my office, a few miles away from the courthouse. I parked outside and walked in, greeted Karen, my secretary, and then headed into my office. I hung up my coat and no sooner had I sat down then had Karen walked in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Fenton?" she popped her head in my office. "Mrs. Manson is here to see you."

"Let her in, please," I said, nodding in consent.

I stood up to greet my client, a middle-aged woman who looked like she'd undergone almost twenty different cosmetic surgeries throughout her life. She wore a deep shade of red lipstick and her blonde hair was tied in a tight bun. I reached out my arm to shake her hand but she hardly acknowledged it; she nodded stiffly as if to acknowledge my general existence and sat down promptly in her seat. Slightly disconcerted, I put down my arm and sat back down in my seat. I opened my mouth to speak, but was saved the trouble of having do so.

"Mr. Fenton," she said, looking deeply in my eyes, "I desperately need your help."

Bit of an odd way to start off an appointment, but okay, I thought. "Well, Mrs. Manson, just let me know what the problem is and I'll see what I can do," I said, clasping my hands together on the desk.

"My house has been pillaged, vandalized and absolutely ruined by an absolutely despicable creature and I need your help."

Frowning, I replied, "I'm very sorry to hear that Mrs. Manson, but don't you think that's more of a police matter? I'd be happy to direct you to Seargent Patters-,"

Her eyes blazed. "Mr. Fenton, you need to hear me out. My house was completely destroyed and my daughter was kidnapped. I've already spoken to a private detective and he's compiled all the clues," she said as she pulled out a file from her large Louis Vuitton purse. "Here's what he's gathered. He referenced me to you, and I need you to help me. We believe we've found the perpetrator but we still need your help to bring him to justice. My husband is extremely broken up about this…if you could help us…" Her eyes were now pleading.

"I'll see what I can do," I said as I took the dossier from her hands. I kind of didn't have the choice but to help her out. I had never met her, but I'd had a run-in previously in the year with her husband. He'd helped me recover a serious wound I'd acquired during a ghost fight. He was a doctor at the hospital, but he agreed to make a house-call and stayed practically all night until I felt better. I definitely owed him one.

I opened the file and flipped through the notes the detective had written. They were basic notes; notes about the state of the house. I un-paper clipped an envelope and pulled out the contents. I spread out several close-up photos on my desk. The images depicted fingerprints and of some sort of pink gooey substance. The surroundings in the pictures seemed familiar to me for some reason.

"Dreadful, isn't it?" she lamented, before changing to a more business-like tone, "But I think I can help make your job easier. After all the information that's been compiled, the clues all points to one criminal."

"And whose that?" I asked, as I flipped to the next page of the dossier.

My eyes widened and my heart skipped a beat when she answered the question.

"Phantom."