AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am writing this because I was never satisfied
with the resolution of the Maison Blanche storyline and its
aftermath. The following is my version of Maison Blanche, the way
it should have been.
PROLOGUE:
It is late June 1994. Roman Brady has thrown himself into his work, trying to smother the painful mental images of John and Marlena entwined in each other's arms, somewhere on a sun-kissed beach. The two of them had been away, together, for over two months now. Even so, until that shattering phone call from Marlena, he had held out a faint hope that somehow, someway, they could put John behind them and find their way back to each other. But that hope was gone now, and in its place was a corrosive bitterness that ate at him night and day. He didn't like what it was doing to him, but he couldn't stop it. The only thing that helped at all was working, but even that was spoiled now because of this latest case. They had finally gotten a line on one of Stefano's high-level drug couriers--a line that lead straight to the current source of all his bitterness: New Orleans, and Stefano's plantation house of Maison Blanche. When John had not found Stefano there, he had called Marlena and she had gone running to him.
Trying to ignore visions of John and Marlena wining and dining in
the exotic French Quarter before leaving on their seemingly
endless cruise, Roman sighed and reached for the phone to make
travel arrangements and coordinate plans with the Louisiana State
Police. He didn't dare contact the New Orleans police: the
department there was riddled with corruption, a lot of it linked
to Stefano. And even though the Phoenix might finally be dead--in
all likelihood was dead--his organization was alive and
flourishing. So he would have to take his chances with the State
Police, and hopefully also get some help from Bo, who was
attending that damned ridiculous cotillion Kristen was holding at
Maison Blanche...
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