Chapter 3 - What Rosa Knew
Enzo's head turned toward the ceiling.
Laney barely heard the sound.
He did.
"Stay here."
He disappeared upstairs.
Thirty seconds later, Micah came down.
"Nobody."
Enzo followed him.
"Rear stairwell?"
"Door was open."
Enzo looked toward Laney.
Someone had heard Rosa's name.
That mattered.
He didn't yet know why.
Laney still held the photograph.
"Your mother?"
"Rosa Castellan."
Laney stared at the smiling woman.
"I thought she was just Aunt Rosa."
"To a lot of people, apparently she was."
Enzo pulled out a chair.
"Tell me everything."
Laney hesitated.
"Why?"
"Because someone spent fifteen years teaching me not to ask."
That answer changed something.
She sat.
Laney told him about hunger.
Her father disappeared when she was nine. Her mother worked until illness took most of what remained of her strength. Some nights there was food.
Some nights there wasn't.
Juny had always been smaller.
Laney learned to lie.
"I'm not hungry."
"I ate at school."
"I don't like chicken."
Anything that left the last portion for her sister.
Then somebody told her about Aunt Rosa.
"The first night I went, I thought she'd send me away."
"Why?"
"I wasn't from that block."
Laney smiled faintly.
"Your mom looked at me and said, 'Hungry doesn't have a ZIP code.'"
Enzo looked down.
That sounded exactly like Rosa.
Laney kept returning.
Eventually Rosa let her wash dishes.
Then peel vegetables.
Then stir pots.
"She never made it feel like charity."
Enzo nodded.
"She hated that word."
"She said feeding somebody wasn't charity. It was dinner."
For the first time, Enzo smiled.
Barely.
But Laney saw it.
"You look like her when you do that."
The smile vanished.
Laney regretted saying it.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
The next morning, Micah brought the first trust records.
Three boxes.
Then five more.
By evening, there were fourteen.
Rosa's trust had been substantial.
Property.
Restaurant holdings.
Investment accounts.
A charitable fund.
Enzo had known the broad details.
He hadn't known what happened afterward.
Gil had told him the restaurant failed after Rosa died.
The charitable programs were unsustainable.
Properties were sold to cover obligations.
But the records told a stranger story.
Properties had been transferred below market value.
Money had moved through consulting companies.
Several companies eventually traced back to people connected to Gil.
Micah looked sick.
"This isn't sloppy accounting."
"No."
"He's been stealing."
Enzo didn't answer.
He turned another page.
Then stopped.
A payment appeared every month for fifteen years.
Ashcroft Family Assistance.
The early payments were small.
Rent.
Groceries.
School supplies.
Then medical costs.
The beneficiary information had been partially redacted.
Enzo stared at the surname.
"Ashcroft."
Micah leaned closer.
"Laney?"
"Maybe."
Enzo summoned her upstairs after her shift.
She entered cautiously.
He pushed the record toward her.
"Did my mother give your family money?"
Laney read it.
Her face went blank.
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Your mother?"
"She would've told me."
"Your father?"
Laney's jaw tightened.
"If he got money, we never saw it."
Enzo watched her.
"Where did these payments go?"
"I don't know."
That was when they realized Rosa's trust hadn't merely been robbed.
Someone had used poor families as cover.
Fake assistance payments.
Fake charities.
Fake medical expenses.
Real names.
Real suffering.
Money disappearing elsewhere.
Laney's hands curled into fists.
"They used us."
Enzo said nothing.
"They used hungry families to steal from your mother."
"Looks that way."
Laney pushed the document away.
"Find them."
It was the first command she'd ever given Enzo Castellan.
Micah almost smiled.
Enzo didn't.
But he obeyed.
Over the next week, Enzo and Laney found pieces neither could have uncovered alone.
Enzo had records.
Laney had memories.
Names.
Families.
Children Rosa had fed.
A mechanic named Benny who remembered Rosa paying for his mother's medicine.
A retired teacher who remembered Rosa quietly funding school lunches.
A woman named Marisol whose electricity had been restored one winter after Rosa heard her children were sleeping in coats.
But the trust records showed ten times the amounts those people actually received.
Somebody had inflated every act of kindness.
Then pocketed the difference.
Gil.
Or someone working with him.
Meanwhile, Laney kept working.
Night shift.
Morning prep.
Rehabilitation center.
Enzo began noticing.
She drank coffee instead of eating.
She leaned against counters when she thought no one was watching.
One night, a plate slipped from her hand.
It shattered.
Laney bent to pick it up.
The room tilted.
Enzo caught her before she hit the floor.
Her body felt frighteningly light.
"Laney."
"I'm fine."
"No."
"I stood up too fast."
"When did you eat?"
She looked away.
"Delaney."
"Lunch."
"What lunch?"
Silence.
Enzo lifted her into a chair.
"I can walk."
"Congratulations."
"Put me down."
"Already did."
She glared.
He placed food in front of her.
"Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Your stomach disagrees."
Her face flushed.
"Juny says the same thing."
"Juny sounds intelligent."
"You'd like her."
The words slipped out.
Something passed between them.
Quiet.
Unexpected.
Personal.
Enzo sat across from her.
"Why $8,600?"
Laney stared.
"How do you know?"
"Micah heard you asking payroll about extra shifts."
She sighed.
"Juny's coverage ran out."
"What's the treatment?"
"Rehabilitation. Occupational therapy. Mobility training. She's learning how to live independently after losing her sight."
Enzo nodded.
"I'll pay it."
Laney immediately stood.
"No."
"It's nothing."
"To you."
"Exactly."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not becoming one of your charity projects."
The words hit harder than she intended.
Enzo's expression cooled.
"My mother fed you."
"She fed everybody."
"And you think that made you less?"
"No."
"Then why would this?"
"Because I work for you."
"Then call it an advance."
"No."
"A loan."
"No."
"You're difficult."
"So I've been told."
For one second, Enzo almost laughed.
Then Laney softened.
"I know what you're trying to do."
"You don't."
"I think I do."
She sat.
"I need to solve my life myself."
Enzo studied her.
His mother would have liked that answer.
She probably would have ignored it too.
Two days later, Micah discovered something worse.
Rosa had amended the trust three weeks before her death.
The amendment had vanished.
But a reference remained.
Enzo read the notation twice.
"What changed?"
"We don't know."
"Find the original."
Micah hesitated.
"There's another problem."
He placed a photograph on the desk.
Security footage from the rehabilitation center.
Gil Traver stood outside Juny's room.
Enzo's face became still.
"When?"
"This afternoon."
Laney was downstairs.
She didn't know.
Enzo grabbed his coat.
At the rehabilitation center, Juny sat alone.
Gil was gone.
Laney arrived ten minutes later.
"What happened?"
Juny turned toward her voice.
"A very polite older man came to see me."
Laney's blood went cold.
"What man?"
"Said he knew your employer."
Enzo stepped closer.
"What did he ask?"
Juny tilted her head toward him.
"You must be Enzo."
Laney stared.
"How do you know?"
"He asked a lot about you."
Juny smiled humorlessly.
"And he smelled like cedar cologne."
Enzo knew that scent.
Gil.
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing useful."
Then Juny's expression changed.
"He left something."
She reached beneath her pillow.
An envelope.
Enzo opened it.
Inside was a photocopy of an old handwritten letter.
Rosa's handwriting.
Enzo recognized it immediately.
Only one sentence had been circled.
If anything happens to me, do not let Gilbert Traver control the trust.
May you like
And beneath it, in different handwriting:
You should have listened to your mother.
