SECRETS OF THE PAST
Chapter Thirteen

At least fifteen years had passed. The cards for the company had gone really well. Everything had come out like Jack had expected it to. Now, he was forty years old and had one son named Franklin. He was in the lap of luxury.

Monique had gone way too far this time. She lay in a hospital bed, thinking about Jack Abagnale. She hadn't told him her true name, Cheryl Ann, a model for Seventeen magazine who had turned to prostitution shortly after her downfall of losing her touch in the fashion world. She remembered the last time she had seen Jack. She had not handled the situation well. She did not hate him, not really. She loved him more than she hated him. She had never told him about what had really happened to her after she had left him. How could she tell him that she had been having his baby, then had a miscarriage? She just couldn't. She had heard that Frank had had a child out of wedlock. It would not be good for Jack. He deserved better. He deserved much more than better. He deserved the ultimate. Had he even noticed that she was depressed when he had last saw her? Probably not!

Jack lay down near Rose, looking at her beautiful red hair. He thought of Monique sometimes, and had sworn she looked familiar to him at one time. He was a family man now. He had the life--a beautiful wife and a lovely son. Franklin Abagnale.

Franklin popped his head into the room.

"Dad?" Young Franklin wandered into his dad's room.

"Yeah, Frank? I am awake." Jack woke up.

"Dad, I need twenty bucks for school." He sat on the bed.

"Sure. Just take some money out of my wallet over there on the dresser." Jack pointed.

*****

Today was the day that things were about to change for the Abagnales.

Frank hopped aboard a bus. He had started a new school today. Being the new kid in town, even though he had lived in New York all his life, had not made him tough, but that was not to say that he was a weak geek, either.

He went to the office as soon as his bus stopped. He got his schedule. Like all the Abagnale men, he looked older than he was, so Franklin had an advantage over most.

He looked at his schedule. French I.

He had no idea where the room was, so he walked over to a girl.

"Excuse me. Do you know where this class is?" The girl was trying to help him out when someone pushed him.

Franklin got mad. He would get even with him somehow.

Frank went into his class. He looked at all the students, acting liked they owned the room.

He turned toward the chalkboard and wrote his name. Mr. Abagnale.

"Everyone please take your seats!" he yelled with authority.

They all sat down.

"My name is Mr. Abagnale, not Abagnoli, Abagnaley, Abagstony, but Mr. Abagnale. I am the new substitute teacher. Which chapter are we on?" he asked them.

"Chapter Eight!" a girl shouted out.

"All right. You stand up and read conversation five." He got the young man who had pushed him. He read French in a terrible dialect no one had ever heard of, and Frank somewhat laughed at him.

Mrs. Waters peeked in.

"Hi. I am the substitute," she said.

"Sorry, I am Rebecca's replacement. I always sub for her." He smiled at her.

"Well, why didn't they tell me? I came all the way down from Dixon, and they called me. Well, not anymore." She stormed away.

Frank continued teaching the class all that week and for next two weeks.

The principal called Jack and Rose in to have a meeting.

"Mr. Abagnale, your son has been teaching Mrs. Connors' French class for the last two weeks. We don't tolerate that sort of thing, so we are giving him a one week suspension," Principal Anders said.

Jack and Rose walked out.

Frank saw a girl with a doctor's note.

"Is that a real excuse?" he asked her.

"Course it is. My mom gave it to me." The girl looked at him.

"So where's the crease?" he asked.

"Huh?" She had no idea what he was talking about.

"You know, when your mom gives you an excuse, you fold it and stuff it in your pocket." He demonstrated.

She thought it over and quickly folded the paper before Frank's parents came for him.

Jack looked him in the eye. He reminded him so much of his father, who was now Frank Abagnale, Sr.

Chapter Fourteen
Stories