Image is Jack

It was a fact proven by time through the ages. A fact learned by hours spent poring through every family history book in his father's study with Syeda, as a child. Back then she'd told him to be proud of the family whose expectations he'd felt suffocated by.

She'd reminded him to be proud. Sometimes when he looked at her now, or in intervals while he was listening to her speak, he remembered the times her childhood, seldom-smiling figure had repeatedly told his insecure self to be proud. Proud of his family, most of whom  he'd now left so completely behind him. Abandoned by his brother, he only knew how to abandon. 

He'd find Alexis. With Syeda's help.

He'd deserted his family, yes. But for a valid reason; he'd been afraid. A soldier, a warrior, a man used to victory, but still afraid! He could be pretty pathetic sometimes.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Angel's demanding voice.

"Give your Nyfe to my cousin. We'll fight this out. Me and him."

Before Jack could answer, Frank retaliated swiftly.

"Angel... I'm not lifting a finger against anyone. Not until I know exactly why you lured me here. What you have against me."

Angel smirked, unkindly. "You mean you really don't know?"

Frank and Jack had both vaguely noticed the presence of the pink-haired girl from school, wearing a white top and pink bootcut jeans, who was standing silently, close behind them. She'd been watching their every move with a scythe-like blade extended. Jack hurriedly removed and extended his own Nyfe, to full, sharp length, but Angel and the girl didn't bat an eyelid. As if they'd expected it.

"Francis Montpelier... My mother thinks the world of you, did you know that?"

Frank's jaw tightened. Was that what this was about? Favouritism?

"She'd be talking about you, all day long, how you so dutifully look after your siblings, what a godsent blessing you are to the world, why every kid on earth should be exactly like you."

Jack and Frank shared a look; this guy was loony. And Frank had no idea what he was talking about. He'd never heard this before today.

"She gives your mum money, you know. A lot. Enough for you guys to live comfortably like the rest of the family. Probably better. But no, your family is so humble, you'd rather live in rags and a crumbling shack of a home with a full bank account, rather than use our money to buy a proper house like normal people. You guys enjoy the pity, don't you? Being the paupers of the family." Angel looked disgusted as he continued. "Being a ready and desperate donation pot for the rest of us. You know all four of our uncles and aunts, on both sides, have 'helped' your mother over the years. It all adds up to over three million pounds. The money you leached off us. By being the family bottom feeders."

Jack observed his friend from the edge of his vision, alarmedly, worried about how the news would affect him. He could see the confusion, laced with shock, working its way on Frank's features.

Frank's brain froze for a few moments.

His mother always said they didn't have enough money. They barely ever had enough. And all this talk of over three million...

Somehow, his stepfather's words rung in his head: 'You took from me'.

It couldn't have been his stepfather who'd done what appeared to be money laundering (he was too simple and honest for that, Frank knew).

Then... What had his mother been doing during these years?

"We all guessed it served us right. We should've remembered the golden rule; never trust a damned De Alba."

'De Alba?' Frank thought frantically. Wasn't that a taboo Upper family?. Newspapers weren't allowed to publish about them because they'd be shut down and made bankrupt by the family if they did. Neither were photos allowed to be taken, or even their names mentioned in the public eye, so strict were the family in their absence from any media surrounding them.

He only knew they existed because he'd gone through a registry of every Upper family in history, when he was seven years old. Foolishly hoping to see his own Montpelier surname.

Jack's eyes had steeled and he was looking at Angel with a slight expression that Frank had never seen on him before: contempt.

Jack glanced from the corner of his eyes at Francis, trying to see if his new friend suspected anything at all.

'Isn't that name, the same as what he called Jack earlier?' Frank thought, speeding through the facts in his head, nit-picking everything to find an answer.

"What's the matter, Frodo? Something got your tongue? Speak!" Angel prodded with his childhood nickname for Frank, looking a little impatient.

Frank could see he was waiting for a reaction to savour. Summer was watching him too from behind, albeit pityingly. Her astra-scythe had lowered a little.

"De Alba... What on earth do De Albas have to do with my mother?" Frank ask, almost accusingly.

Angel laughed, a long, positively euphoric cackle. It was deep, dark and ominous.

"Frank... You told me many things once. How you vow to always oppose Uppers, who are the 'real' thieves. The most corrupt and morally bankrupt of people. The vile, malicious, captors, imprisoners, and torturers of the innocent under 'made up' laws. You made us into such film-worthy villains."

Angel walked closer to Frank, expression like a Cheshire cat, aware of the huge news he was about to break.

"Ever cared to look at your own family first? Your own-"

"I don't want to hear any more of your slander." Frank interrupted.

"Trust me, you'd kill me later for not telling you now."