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Season Two : Episode Fifteen, Ocean's 9-1-1

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April, 2019

The day had been long and draining, the weight of the accusations still hanging over them like a thick fog. After their questioning, Violet, Hen, and Becca were more determined than ever to clear their names, and they knew they needed to find something that could put all their suspicions into focus.

Becca stood off to the side as Hen and Violet looked to Athena for support. "You two sure about this?" Athena asked, her tone cautious but serious.

"I'm sure about clearing my name," Hen responded firmly, her jaw set. She wasn't about to let the detectives paint her into something she wasn't.

"You guys were inside the vault the whole time, out like a light. Your names are gonna clear themselves," Becca added, a little more calmly but just as determined.

With a shared glance, the group stepped out of the station and toward the bank. There was still so much they didn't know, but they hoped that walking through the scene again might spark something, a detail, a clue that would give them the edge.

As they approached the bank, Hen pointed to an area just outside the fire engine. "The mystery man was right there. Yellow splash suit. I.D.'d himself as a firefighter. Led the driver away from the armored truck, filled some disposal bags with the green," Hen explained, her fingers tapping her arms as she recalled the scene.

"That's what us bank robbers call the money," Violet added with a wry smile.

Hen nodded. "Yeah, 'dough-re-mi.'"

They approached the front doors, Hen stepping forward and knocking. A moment later, Ms. Wolcott, the bank manager, appeared behind the glass. She unlocked the door and gave them a surprised but courteous smile.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," she started, but then noticed them. "Oh! You're the firefighters who went back into the vault. How are you two feeling?"

"Like it never even happened," Hen said with a slight shrug, trying to keep it casual.

"I wish I could say the same," Ms. Wolcott said, stepping aside and opening the door. "Come in. Uh, we'll be closed for at least a week. Your Captain Nash went a little 'Hulk smash' on the vault. He was really worried about you guys."

"Um, we don't really remember much. That's why Hen and I are here, hoping to jog our memory," Violet explained, trying to appear friendly, but her eyes scanning the area warily.

"Would your manager happen to be around by chance?" Hen asked as they walked in.

"Oh, Mr. Prentiss?" Ms. Wolcott's smile faltered for a moment. "He doesn't work here anymore. That was his last day."

"Uh, the day of the robbery was his last day? Was that a planned thing?" Athena inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Retirement. 26 years," Ms. Wolcott replied with a small shrug, her voice tinged with sadness.

"Oh," they all said in unison, absorbing the information.

"I feel bad," Ms. Wolcott continued, shaking her head. "He was so close to making it out."

"What do you mean?" Becca asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Well, he had a fear... A phobia, really... of getting locked in the vault. He was always talking about these stories he'd heard. I think that Florida kid was the last straw. So he put in for retirement right after that."

"You said Florida?" Athena repeated, pulling out her phone and quickly googling the incident.

"Maybe it's lucky you guys were unconscious. You don't remember being locked inside." Ms. Wolcott's voice softened with a hint of concern.

Hen and Violet exchanged uneasy glances as the memories came flooding back.

"Would it be okay if we took a look in there?" Hen asked, her voice filled with determination.

"Follow me," Ms. Wolcott said, leading them to the back of the bank, where the vault was currently being emptied out for inventory purposes. The hole Becca, Buck, and Eddie had made to get in was now taped off with caution tape.

"Inventory protocols," Ms. Wolcott explained. "We're moving all the boxes to another branch until the repairs are done."

Hen and Violet began scanning the room, each of them lost in thought, trying to piece together what had happened before they were knocked unconscious.

"Hey, you okay?" Athena asked, noticing Hen was deep in thought.

Hen nodded absently but then looked down at the ground. "He was right here, and... Violet and I ran in."

"Yeah, and Franklin was panicking, so we were trying to calm him down. And that's when he touched our faces," Violet added, remembering the odd and unsettling moment when Mr. Prentiss had done that.

Suddenly, Hen's gaze flicked to the corner of the room, where something caught her attention. She tapped Violet's arm, silently pointing to the object hidden underneath one of the deposit boxes.

"What is that?" Violet asked, standing up and making her way toward it.

"'Thena, Becca," Hen said, her voice urgent.

"What is it?" Athena asked, walking closer.

Hen kneeled down and pointed at the object, it was a bottle of hand sanitizer, tucked away and nearly hidden beneath the wall of boxes.

"That doesn't belong there," Violet said, her voice tight with suspicion. "It was hidden."

Athena quickly grabbed her phone and dialed Detectives Wash and Mercer. Moments later, they arrived, and Wash, wearing gloves, carefully picked up the bottle, placing it in an evidence bag.

"Go ahead. Can't believe we missed that," Mercer remarked, eyeing the bottle.

"Maybe we didn't miss anything," Wash said, looking over at Athena. "Firefighter Wilson's the one who found it, right?"

"Check the tape. She didn't plant it. I was with her and Violet the whole time," Athena said firmly, defending them.

Mercer narrowed her eyes. "And why were you two revisiting the scene of the crime?"

"So we could remember and defend ourselves from the accusations you two are saying against us," Violet replied, her voice steady but tinged with frustration.

Hen nodded. "And we remember that he touched our faces. Franklin—he touched mine and Violet's faces when we went in there to pull him out."

"That's how he delivered the toxins, or whatever that was," Violet said, her voice trembling slightly. "Maybe it's in the bottle."

"W-W-Wait. You're saying the bank manager was in on it?" Wash asked, incredulity in his voice.

"Could be. Everyone's a suspect, right?" Becca replied, crossing her arms.

"Did you know that was his last day?" Athena asked, her eyes sharp.

"Yeah. He put in for retirement right before Christmas," Mercer replied, glancing over at Wash.

"Yeah, and right after he saw this," Athena said, showing them her phone with the article about the Florida incident. "You know how those firefighters got the kid out? Drilled a hole in the vault wall. They also had to cut the power to do it, just like we did."

The detectives exchanged looks, and then Wash turned back to Ms. Wolcott. "Check every single box in this room again."

"Something wrong Ms.Wolcott?" Wash Asked

Ms. Wolcott nodded. "Box 725 is supposed to have $6 million worth of diamonds in it, not the recycling," she said, holding up a plastic bottle.

"Who else had access to that box?" Athena asked, her voice hard.

"Mr. Prentiss," Ms. Wolcott said, her face blanching. "Only him."

The air in the room seemed to freeze. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Athena, Hen, Violet, and Becca—standing by a car, a few feet away from Mr. Prentiss' house. They're all tense, waiting. Detective Wash and Detective Mercer stand a few feet in front, approaching the door with authority.

Detective Wash bangs on the door. "Franklin Prentiss! LAPD. We need to ask you some more questions."

They wait, but there's no answer. Wash tries the door handle and discovers it's unlocked. He gives a signal to Mercer, and they both enter the house cautiously.

The door creaks open, and Athena, Hen, Violet, and Becca stand by the car, watching intently, eyes trained on the entrance. There's an air of unease among them—tension from the past days hanging in the air.

Inside the house, the detectives move through the entryway, and Wash takes the lead. As they step further in, the scene is grim—Franklin Prentiss is dead, sprawled out on the floor in a heap. A passport lies next to his hand, its edges curled from the weight of the situation.

Mercer grimaces. "Ugh, I hate this case," she mutters under her breath, as both detectives kneel to inspect the body.

Wash looks around, scanning the room for any sign of struggle or anything unusual. "Looks like he was headed out when he collapsed," he comments, eyeing Prentiss' position near the front door.

Athena, stepping cautiously inside, looks to Wash. "Out of the country, you mean?"

Wash, rifling through the room, casts an appraising glance around. "Any sign of the diamonds?" He asks, her tone sharper than before.

Mercer turns to his partner. "Nothing. And nothing's ever been easy with this case. His accomplices probably killed him and took the stones. It's starting to feel like we're chasing ghosts."

Wash gaze shifts over to Hen and Violet, who are standing by the door with Becca. His eyes narrow. "So where are they, Firefighter Wilson and Firefighter Singh?" he asks, clearly growing frustrated with the lack of answers.

Violet's and Hen's eyes flare with indignation. "Seriously?" They Said in unison

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The next morning, Becca is in her kitchen, brewing coffee as the house is quiet. The kids are at Justin's for the weekend, giving Becca a rare moment of peace. She's been going over everything in her mind—the investigation, the questions, the accusations. She doesn't know who to trust anymore. As the smell of coffee fills the air, the sound of a knock at the door breaks her from her thoughts.

Becca sighs, wiping her hands on a dish towel before walking to the front door. She peers through the peephole, recognizing the faces of Detective Mercer and a few officers. Her stomach twists, but she takes a breath, trying to stay calm.

She opens the door, her face tight with resignation. "Detective Mercer," Becca says, her voice quiet but firm. She doesn't need to ask why they're here; she already knows.

Detective Mercer stands with a stern look, the search warrant held up in one of the officers' hands. "We have a search warrant for your home, Miss Martinez. We're here to collect evidence related to the ongoing investigation. Please cooperate."

Becca stands there for a moment, eyes scanning the officers, her mind racing. She can feel the tension in her chest, but she doesn't speak. The weight of everything pressing down on her. Finally, she steps aside and lets them in without a word.

The officers file in, moving through the front door and spreading out across the living room. One begins looking over the shelves while another checks behind furniture. Detective Mercer walks into the living room, her expression still unreadable.

"Just doing our job, Becca," Mercer says in a matter-of-fact tone, her voice a little softer than the others, as though she's trying to remind Becca that this isn't personal. But Becca's had enough of this—enough of being treated like a suspect in a case she doesn't understand.

Becca closes the door behind them with a soft thud, her eyes lingering on the detective for just a moment. "I get it," she mutters, her voice steady, though frustration lingers underneath. "You think I'm involved in something I don't even know about." She turns away, heading toward the kitchen to grab her coffee mug, not bothering to wait for a response.

Mercer watches her but doesn't respond right away. She motions for the other officers to continue their search as she steps forward, her voice low. "We don't want to think that, Becca. But the facts are starting to paint a different picture. You're still tied to this, whether you like it or not."

Becca doesn't turn to face her, but she grips the mug tightly. "I told you everything I know. I'm not hiding anything."

Mercer hesitates but doesn't push further. Instead, she watches the officers work, knowing this isn't over yet. She's hoping for something—anything—that can make this case clearer, but deep down, she's beginning to suspect the truth might be crazier than anyone anticipated.

As Mercer observes the scene, one officer is already making his way upstairs, his footsteps heavy as he opens the first bedroom door. Becca's heart skips a beat, but she doesn't say anything as he walks into Bryan and Dylan's room. The officer starts checking through drawers, his hands moving quickly through the contents of the boys' clothes and belongings. He flips open a toy chest, moving aside stuffed animals and discarded sneakers.

Becca remains still, her mug pressed tightly to her lips, watching the officers carefully.

Another officer heads into the room next door, where Aryana's things are. The door creaks open, and the officer begins rummaging through her belongings—picking through a bookshelf, pulling out her journals and school papers. The officer's eyes briefly linger on some framed pictures of Aryana, and for a moment, the officer hesitates, before continuing the search.

Detective Mercer watches all of this, her gaze flicking between the officers and Becca, as if measuring her every reaction.

"Is this really necessary," Becca says after a long silence, her voice just above a whisper as she leans against the counter. "I swear, I'm not involved."

Mercer studies Becca for a moment before giving a small nod, seemingly acknowledging the truth in her words, but she doesn't let her guard down. "This is just procedure, Becca. We have to make sure we check every lead."

Becca doesn't respond. She can't. The tension in her chest is suffocating. All she can do is watch as another officer opens her bedroom door and walks in. The officer begins sifting through her clothes and personal items. As he moves through the closet, he pulls out a drawer, finding nothing of note. He moves on, looking through the nightstand and opening a few of her journals.

Becca's hand tightens around the mug. This wasn't supposed to happen. She's a mother, not a criminal.

The officer then moves toward the bathroom, checking the counter, and the medicine cabinet, looking for anything unusual. Becca watches helplessly, feeling the house slowly become unfamiliar with each step they take.

"Why don't you just search everything while you're at it?" Becca snaps suddenly, her voice cracking under the pressure. "Why not turn my life upside down completely?"

Mercer turns her head, her gaze softening slightly as she looks at Becca. "You know we have to do this. The evidence we have leads us here. All we're doing is following the facts."

Becca doesn't respond, turning her back to them. She knows arguing won't help. But inside, she's simmering with frustration. They'll leave, she tells herself. They'll finish their search and leave her in peace, and maybe—just maybe—this will be over.

Later that day, around 5 PM, Becca was finishing putting everything back where it belonged. After two exhausting hours of restoring her house to its normal state, she finally felt like she could breathe again. The kids were still over at Justin's, giving Becca a much-needed break from the madness. She opened a beer, sinking into the couch as the weight of the day's events lingered.

The doorbell rang, and Becca groaned, wondering who it could be now. She opened the door to find Violet, Eddie, and Buck standing there with six-packs of beer in his hand.

"We figured you could use some company after everything today," Violet said, flashing a small smile.

Becca let out a tired laugh and stepped aside to let them in. "Yeah, I definitely could use it. Thanks for coming over."

The group settled around the living room, cracking open their beers and sinking into the familiar comfort of each other's company.

"Man, I still can't believe they went through my house like that," Eddie said, flopping down on the couch. "I'm talking everything—every drawer, every closet, and they even looked through my underwear drawer. Like, seriously? Did they think I was hiding something in my boxers?"

Becca snickered. "I can't believe they did that to all of us. I swear, they even went through my kids' rooms. You'd think I was hiding a body in there."

Violet chuckled and took a sip of her beer. "Same here. My place was totally torn apart. They even found a toy of mine in my drawer."

Buck blinked, looking confused. "A toy?"

Becca and Violet exchanged a look before laughing at Buck's completely bewildered expression. The two girls shared a silent understanding that only made Buck more curious.

Buck, still clueless, leaned forward. "What kind of toy are we talking about here?"

Eddie, sitting on the armrest, caught on immediately and smirked. "I think you're about to get an education, my friend."

Buck glanced at Eddie, furrowing his brows. "What? What do you mean? I'm lost here."

Eddie leaned back, crossing his arms, and grinned. "Let's just say...it's not the kind of toy you'd find in a kid's room."

Buck's eyes widened. "Oh!" Then, his face turned bright red. He looked at Violet. "I—uh, didn't mean to—"

Violet was unfazed, shrugging as she took another sip of her beer. "Hey, I'm a single woman. Gotta find ways to entertain myself."

Eddie raised his beer bottle in a mock salute. "No judgment here, my friend."

Buck, now thoroughly embarrassed, took a long gulp of his beer. "Uh, right. Okay. Didn't see that coming."

The moment passed, and the group shifted to talking about their day. But before they could get too deep into it, Violet's phone suddenly rang. "Hold on, I gotta take this," she said, getting up and excusing herself.

As she walked into the kitchen Eddie followed behind her, Eddie leaned over to the counter to grab some chips. Becca and Buck were left alone on the couch.

"So," Buck said, finally breaking the silence. "You, uh, got any toys like that?" he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Becca shot him an amused look. "Like a toy?" she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Buck's face instantly reddened. "I didn't mean... sorry, I just..."

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a teasing tone. "Wouldn't you like to know what I keep in my drawer, Buck?"

His face turned red as he shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't say that I mean, not exactly... I just—uh..."

Becca laughed, clearly enjoying his flustered state. "Relax, Buck. You're adorable when you're trying not to say the wrong thing."

"Adorable?" he repeated, his ears turning red. "I think that's the first time someone's called me that in a conversation like this."

"Well, you are," Becca said with a shrug. She smirked, leaning back against the couch. "But if you must know..." She paused, watching as Buck's eyes widened in anticipation.

"What?" he asked, leaning closer. "You can't just leave me hanging like that!"

Becca grinned, dragging it out for effect. "If I did have something like that, you think I'd tell you?"

Buck blinked, caught off guard. "Wait, so...is that a yes or a no?"

She laughed again, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, clearly out of his depth but trying to play it cool. "Well, you're the one keeping secrets."

"Some things are better left to the imagination," Becca teased, her tone light but playful.

Before Buck could respond, Eddie walked back into the living room with a bowl of chips. He raised an eyebrow at the scene, glancing between the two of them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Nope," Becca said quickly, grabbing a chip and popping it into her mouth. "Buck was just trying to pry into my personal life."

"I was not!" Buck protested, though his face betrayed him. "I mean, not really..."

Eddie smirked, catching on immediately. "Sure, sounds like it. Should I leave you two alone?"

Buck groaned. "Can we not?

Becca and Eddie laughed but before Buck could dig himself deeper, Violet returned to the living room.

"They got my tox report back," Violet said, walking in with a serious expression. "You'll never believe what they found."

"What?" Eddie asked, settling back into his chair.

"Scorpion venom," Violet replied, holding up her phone. "Yeah, it was in the hand sanitizer we found in the vault. Scorpion venom, people. Not something you find in the typical first aid kit."

Becca blinked, trying to process what Violet said. "Scorpion venom? Where the hell did Prentiss get that?"

Violet shrugged. "I don't know, but it's not something you just happen to find in hand sanitizer. Someone was planning something."

Buck looked even more confused. "So, what? Are we saying this whole thing has to do with... scorpions?"

Eddie leaned forward, his expression serious. "I think it means we're dealing with something way bigger than just a regular robbery. This is connected, and I don't like it."

Violet nodded. "Exactly. The hand sanitizer was in the vault with the diamonds, and now this."

"So what could this all mean?" Buck Asked

Violet thought for a second, then reached for her phone. "We should call Hen."

"Why?" Becca Asked

"Cause I think we know who might've done this." Violet Said, already pulling up Hen's contact info.

Eddie, still trying to make sense of the situation, gave a half-smile. "Well, it's not every day you get a scorpion venom situation dropped in your lap. Talk about a twist."

Becca snorted. "Yeah, no kidding. I thought today was bad enough, and now we've got venom and missing diamonds."

Buck, trying to lighten the mood, grinned. "Maybe I'll just start carrying hand sanitizer with me from now on. Who knew it could be this dangerous?"

The group chuckled, but the seriousness of the case wasn't lost on them. The next day Marty Collins entered the firehouse, toolbox in hand. He glanced around, his steps cautious. The place was eerily quiet, no signs of the usual bustling energy.

"Hey, Marty, thanks for coming," Chimney greeted, stepping out from the passenger seat window of the ladder truck.

Marty laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh... heard you guys were having trouble with the ladder. Was starting to think maybe you don't know how to use it."

Before Chimney could reply, the passenger door of the fire engine opened, and Eddie leaned out, wiping his hands with a rag.

"Well, you know how we operate," Eddie said casually. "All about procedures and protocols."

Marty hesitated. "Right..."

"But maybe you could show us some tricks," Buck added as he appeared with Bobby and Becca. They approached slowly, their expressions calm but purposeful.

"Yeah, you seem to know more about these trucks than we do," Bobby said, his tone neutral.

"Like, where to hide $300,000 in cash," Becca chimed in, crossing her arms. Her voice carried an edge that made Marty's nervous chuckle falter.

"What are you guys talking about?" Marty asked, his eyes darting around.

From the shadows, Violet and Hen emerged, moving to flank him. Violet's gaze was piercing, while Hen's expression carried an air of suspicion.

"How are your hands, Marty?" Hen asked, her voice cutting through the tension. "That alternative medicine still working for you?"

"What medicine? I don't know what you're talking about," Marty stammered, his voice rising slightly.

"Don't play dumb," Violet said, folding her arms. "We know about the scorpion venom."

Marty blinked, panic starting to settle in. "I don't—"

Before he could finish, his toolbox hit the ground with a loud clang as he bolted toward the exit.

But he didn't get far. Athena, along with Detectives Wash and Mercer, stepped out from behind the fire engine, flanked by several officers.

"Marty Collins," Wash announced, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "You're under arrest for bank robbery and murder."

Marty froze, his eyes wide. "Murder? Who'd I kill?"

As the officers closed in and cuffed Marty, the team stood by, watching in silence. Becca exchanged a glance with Violet and Hen, shaking her head.

"Well," Becca muttered under her breath, "that's one way to start a Monday."

They watched as Marty was led out of the firehouse. The tension in the room hung thick in the air, but for the first time in days, there was a small sense of victory.

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Later the team sat around the table, the aroma of freshly cooked food mingling with the tension that still lingered after the morning's events. Plates were mostly ignored as they tried to piece together the intricate puzzle they'd been dragged into.

"So let's see if I got this right." Buck leaned back in his chair, gesturing with his fork. "The fake nerve agent attack was a distraction for the armored car robbery... which was a distraction for the diamond heist. Crime is hard."

"It is when you put a lot of thought into it," Becca quipped, giving him a teasing look as she bit into her sandwich.

Buck raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Becca smirked. "Let's just say, if I were pulling a heist, it wouldn't have unraveled this quickly."

"Oh, really? And what would your master plan be?" Buck asked, leaning closer, his tone playful.

Becca leaned in slightly too, locking eyes with him. "Wouldn't you like to know, Buckley?

Before he could respond, Hen interjected, steering the conversation back on track, "Franklin knew the bank, and Marty knew us," Hen chimed in, her tone analytical.

"But how'd they know each other?" Eddie asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Brothers-in-law. Well, ex-brothers-in-law," Hen clarified. "You see, Franklin had been married to Marty's crazy sister. And when they ran into each other again, a plan formed. Franklin was the inside man—his job was to create a medical emergency in the bank. The kind that would trigger a Hazmat response, because Marty knew that we'd have to seal the perimeter to execute the Big Bird protocol."

Buck furrowed his brow. "Big Bird protocol? I'm still not over how ridiculous that name is."

"It works," Bobby said with a shrug.

"Anyway," Violet continued, "Franklin gets the driver to leave the truck and empty all his pockets. And while the driver gets clean, Marty gets rich."

"Yes," Hen picked up, "except how's he gonna get all that money out of there? He can't just walk it off the scene. He needed a mule. Or a team of mules. Us."

"Not a bad plan," Buck admitted, nodding. "I mean, it's crazy, but it could've worked. We bring the money back here, and all he has to do is wait for the right moment, sneak in, access the ladder truck, and retrieve the money. Except there wasn't any money, because the police had already beaten him to the punch."

"But how'd the police know exactly where to find the money?" Becca asked, frowning.

"'Cause there was one variable that Marty didn't count on." Bobby's voice was steady. "The double-cross."

Hen leaned in, her eyes sharp. "See, Marty may have known everything there is to know about LAFD protocol, but Franklin knew the bank. He knew what was in that vault. He could steal those diamonds with his eyes closed. Marty's plan was simple, but Franklin's was more time-sensitive. So he told Marty the best day to rob the armored car would be his last day. He knew there'd be a party at the end of the day, at the close of business. He'd start with Marty's plan, then improvise. Franklin made sure he collapsed inside the vault. He knew what our response would be. Then all he had to do was wait for the vault to automatically close and time-seal for the night. He'd have hours alone inside that vault while we ran our rescue protocols. It was meticulous."

"But there was an unexpected complication," Violet said, pointing between herself and Hen. "Us. He was supposed to be in there alone. Hen and I running in to save his sorry ass? A complication. He had to take us out, too."

"Which put him on a clock," Hen added. "Soon as the cameras couldn't see, Franklin swiped six million in stones and waited to be saved. He had the stones. All he needed was a clean getaway."

"So, while the police were investigating us..." Becca trailed off.

"He could flee the country. New name, new passport, new life," Violet finished.

"Mm-hmm." Bobby nodded. "He just wasn't fast enough."

"Marty knew he'd been double-crossed," Eddie said grimly.

"He goes to confront Franklin," Bobby added.

"So Marty killed Franklin," Buck concluded, his tone quieter now.

"Looks like it," Bobby said.

The table fell silent, everyone digesting the complexity—and the audacity—of the scheme.

"We'll just have to wait until the autopsy gets back." Bobby Said

"Well," Becca finally said, pushing her plate aside, "I'm just glad we're not the ones in cuffs."

"That makes two of us," Buck said with a small smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

"Three," Violet said.

"Four," Eddie added with a soft chuckle.

"I hope we never get a bank call like that ever again." Chimney Said

"Agreed." Hen Said

For a moment, there was some relief, even laughter, but the weight of what had transpired lingered just beneath the surface.