Austin, TX. Friday afternoon. June 25, 2004.

At lunch with Shannon Hunter, her fiancé Jake, and her father Lawson, Neal enjoyed the bustling Tex-Mex restaurant and the light-hearted stories. It had been a pleasant surprise to learn that Shannon remembered this was Neal's favorite restaurant in Austin, and the food was as fantastic as he remembered. But always in the back of his mind was the reason for his visit, which he broached after the waitress took their orders for sopapillas and fried ice cream.

He took an indirect route, addressing Jake. "I hope you haven't been bored by all our stories about Henry. Have you ever met him?"

"Not yet, but Shannon's hoping he'll come to the wedding. People talk like he's one of the family, and the stories are fascinating, but –"

"Please, Jake," Shannon interrupted.

"I'm just sayin' it's weird that someone who's supposed to be like family doesn't respond to the wedding invitation. Would it kill him to pick up the phone and call you?"

"You haven't heard from him recently?" Neal asked.

"Not a peep," said Shannon.

"Is he in some kind of trouble?" Lawson asked. He always was the most perceptive one in the Hunter family.

"Yeah," said Neal, "he is. I was kind of hoping you could give me a lead on where he's gone. Honestly, I've got mixed feelings. It would be a huge relief if you could tell me you've heard from him in the last month. But on the other hand, if he's in danger the last thing I want is for the expectant mom here to get involved." He watched Jake's reaction, and saw what he expected. Jake was determined to keep Shannon out of harm's way, and that made him amenable to Neal's suggestion. "Will you let me know if you hear from him?"

"Absolutely," said Jake.

"Do you really think he's in danger?" Shannon asked.

Neal nodded. "Someone blew up his car a few months ago."

Shannon gasped. "Do you know who did it?"

"His dad." Neal paused as Shannon took that in. "We always talked about Robert as merely being a jerk. Annoying, but wanting the best for Henry. Well, we were wrong. Henry was just a means to an end, and when Henry got in his way, we saw Robert's true colors. He's tried to kill both of us this year, went into hiding when we figured out he was the one behind the attempts, and now Henry's disappeared, too. He's got a plan to lure Robert after him."

"You're sure of that?" Lawson asked.

"Positive. He's completely dropped out of contact with family to keep us safe. No calls, no texts, no emails. We get occasional postcards to let us know he's still alive, but he's staying away to protect us. The thing is, he can't carry this off alone. He needs someone to track the results of his plan and keep him informed. Preferably someone Robert isn't aware of, and therefore wouldn't be watching."

"That's why Henry didn't turn to you for help," Shannon said.

"Right, but I need to get in contact with him. He's not thinking straight about this. He's still thinking of me as a little brother, but I'm in the best position to handle things. I've got a plan that will work better than what he has in mind. Besides that, I have resources now." Neal pulled out his FBI consultant's badge. "I can help him, if I can find him."

"Impressive," said Shannon. "I wish I could do something."

"Shannon," said her fiancé in concerned tones.

"I get it," she assured him. "I don't want to get in the middle of this but I promise you, Neal, I'll tell you right away if I hear from Henry."

Neal wasn't surprised at the end of the meal when Lawson insisted that Neal come to his office. The attorney was the type to hold information close, especially if that information might distress his family. If Henry had been in touch, he wouldn't admit it in front of Shannon.

Lawson kept the conversation on trivial matters like the weather while he navigated downtown Austin traffic, allowing Neal's mind to wander. He had visited the Hunters occasionally, always with Henry, and considered them casual friends. Henry, on the other hand, had an intense trust in Lawson. Until recently, Neal had been mystified by the relationship, but he thought he understood now. Lawson was Henry's Peter. He was the father figure who outshone his real father, for whom he tried to be his best self. If Shawn Legend was Henry's bad boy persona, then Shawn Hunter was Henry in Boy Scout mode.

What Neal wasn't sure of, was whether Lawson was worthy of Henry's trust. And if Lawson really had been like Peter at the start, he wondered if that father figure relationship could last all of these years.

Was it a fair comparison? Peter had seen the good in Neal and tried to bring it to the surface, but hadn't tried to rename or remake him. Did Lawson care about the real Henry, or did he simply want to fit Henry into an image of what his son might have been?

When they arrived at his office, the attorney closed the door, gestured for Neal to sit down, and then said, "We need to talk."

Neal nodded. Finally he was going to get some answers.

"I know you aren't really Henry's half-brother," Lawson said. "I did some research, learned Henry was an only child, but his mother's sister had a son named Neal. From what I could tell, that kid went into WITSEC."

Neal crossed his arms and stared at Lawson.

Lawson didn't push him. "You know, I met Robert Winslow. He came here to see me."

"When?" Neal asked. "Did he give any indication where he was staying?"

"Slow down, now. This was in 2001. He found out about Henry's hospital stay, and how I told the staff he was my son."

"So Robert knows that Henry uses Shawn Hunter as an alias?"

"That's right. I called Henry and told him about it the next day." Lawson had been sitting in his desk chair, but now he came around and leaned against his desk.

"So I was wrong about you being off Robert's radar. He'd be checking to see if Henry contacted you."

"Right again. And a couple months ago, I got a message from Henry warning me that Robert was going on a rampage. I upgraded the security system at my house, and installed security at Jake's as an early wedding present."

"Good idea. What about Miranda?"

"She already had a state-of-the-art system. But as far as I could tell, Robert wasn't aware of her role in Henry's life. I told him I didn't know where Henry went in the months after he got out of the hospital, and I think he believed me."

Neal thought over these revelations, including what he knew about the people involved. "Robert threatened you."

"Thought he could get me disbarred for my role in falsifying records when Henry was in the hospital."

"Why didn't he go through with it?" Neal asked.

"I flat-out told him everything that would happen if he tried. My father was a former Texas Attorney General. One of my grandfathers was Lieutenant Governor, and the other was an infamous oil baron. Someone trying to get me disbarred would make the news, with lots of interviews where I'd explain why I'd lied and told the hospital that their John Doe was my son. I'd tell the reporters how this kid, not even drinking age, cringed when I asked if he wanted me to call his dad to let him know he was in the hospital." Lawson continued his story, making it clear that he knew some of the reasons why Henry dropped out of sight and hid from Robert for several years.

Yeah, Robert would have backed off rather than risk that information coming to light. Neal was impressed and relieved. Clearly Lawson was not influenced or controlled by Robert. And it was reassuring to hear that Lawson was aware of Henry's imperfections and still wanted to help him. It gave Neal hope that he could salvage a relationship with Peter in a form that wouldn't jeopardize the agent's position in the FBI. "Will you tell me if you hear from Henry or get a lead on his location?"

"You're not planning to arrest him?" Lawson asked.

Neal shook his head. "I'd quit the FBI first. I swear, all I want is to help him. I'm concerned he isn't thinking straight, and he's going to run head first into trouble." He handed Lawson a business card with his FBI contact information. "Please let me know if you get any information about Henry or Robert."

After Lawson promised to pass on anything he learned, Neal walked a few blocks down the street to a branch of a national bank and opened an account in the name of Neal Legend.

As Neal put away his temporary checks, new ATM card, and Neal Legend driver's license, he thought back to his first lessons in forging IDs.

St. Louis, ten years ago

As a fifteen-year-old high school sophomore, Neal had been taking art lessons from Professor Clarence Strasser for six years. But now, instead of attending weekend classes for children, Neal was actually enrolled in one of the professor's classes at the University of Missouri in St. Louis. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he left high school early to join an undergraduate class that started at 3pm.

Although a love of art was his main reason for attending, he did have an ulterior motive. He listened as the underage college freshmen talked about acquiring fake IDs, and he convinced them to show him those IDs. Then he asked the owners of the most impressive fakes where they'd gotten them. Finally he tracked down the best forger in town to get an ID that said he was eighteen. It wasn't for drinking – there was too much alcohol sitting around the house for the taking. As his mother's alcoholism made her less and less dependable, he wanted to be able to deal with institutions like the bank and the utilities on her behalf. But they wouldn't talk to a fifteen-year-old. With his new ID, he finally felt a measure of control in his life. It was so much easier to deal with this stuff himself rather than depend on nagging his mother to get it done.

He'd watched the process of making the ID and asked intelligent questions. The forger appreciated Neal's interest and grasp of the art, and offered a discount if Neal wanted to work for him.

The thought of earning his own money was tantalizing. He'd be able to make sure the bills were paid when his mom was short on funds, and could even start to save up for a car. He accepted the offer and became an apprentice forger. In the back of his mind, he realized this was not an ideal situation for someone who wanted to become a cop. But at least he was learning how to spot a fake ID, and he told himself that once he was inside the system he'd find a way to help people who were forced into illegal choices in order to get by.

The only downside was that his aunt Ellen was going to ask how he managed to buy a car once he saved up enough money. But the fake ID brought a solution to that dilemma.

It started with an embarrassing encounter in the spring semester, shortly before his sixteenth birthday. He'd arrived at the art class early and was drawing Theresa. He had a crush on her, but prided himself on keeping it hidden. That day, while he was absorbed in a drawing of Theresa as she'd passed through a ray of light, the object of his affection peered over his shoulder and said, "That's good. How do you get that sense of motion?"

"I... umm..." He turned to a fresh page, eager to hide his romantic rendering of her, and started drawing a more generic human form walking. Once he had recovered the ability to speak he said, "Drawing it is the easy part. But how do you do it? I mean, you move like you're dancing."

He expected her to say she took ballet or something like that, and her answer surprised him. "Waitressing. If you can balance a tray of drinks across a crowded room where people are constantly in motion, it does wonders for your coordination." She named an upscale restaurant downtown, not far from where his mother worked. He'd heard that watching the wait staff navigate the room was considered part of the entertainment there. The room was purposefully filled with obstacles so that only the most graceful people could survive as servers. The staff had been described as having the agility of professional dancers. Or of cat burglars, given their all-black attire.

"Do you think they'd hire me?" he blurted out. It seemed like the perfect solution – a legitimate source of income to explain the money he was making from his other job, and a chance to be around Theresa. And he wouldn't mind learning how to move like that. He wasn't really into sports, other than track, but a job like this would keep him in shape, mentally and physically. That would be important when he was old enough to apply to the Police Academy.

"Maybe. You move well."

He tried not to blush at the comment that meant she'd actually paid attention to him. "Fencing lessons," he said.

"Interesting. You have to be eighteen, though."

And he had an ID proclaiming that was his age. She knew he was in high school, but not what grade he was in. "My birthday's right around the corner," he said, implying he was about to turn the magic age.

"I'm there Wednesday and Friday nights," she said. "If you show up during my shift sometime, I'll introduce you to the manager."

He'd taken her up on it, and talked the boss into hiring him. He'd never gotten up the nerve to ask Theresa out or to admit to his crush, but working at the restaurant had been a great experience. He did learn to move like a cat burglar, he earned more than he'd expected in tips, and he'd received an education about wine. Although it wasn't until he went to Europe that he'd gained his current level of expertise on that topic.