Chapter 2 - The Name He Had Refused to Open
At nine that morning, Enzo sat behind the desk above his restaurant.
His uncle Gil Traver arrived carrying paperwork.
Gil had been part of the Castellan family longer than Enzo could remember. He spoke softly, smiled easily, and had spent fifteen years telling Enzo that some doors were better left closed.
“Your thirty-fifth birthday is coming,” Gil said.
“I know when I was born.”
Gil smiled.
“With it comes control of your mother’s trust.”
He placed a document on the desk.
“Power of attorney. Sign it. I’ll handle everything.”
Enzo studied him.
Normally, he would have.
Anything involving Rosa Castellan had remained untouched since her death.
But last night, a woman he barely knew had served him his mother’s food.
And suddenly Enzo wanted every locked door opened.
“I’ll handle it myself.”
Gil’s smile remained.
“I thought anything bearing your mother’s name was something you preferred not to touch.”
“Not anymore.”
A pause.
Then Gil retrieved the document.
“Of course.”
After he left, Enzo looked at Micah Doyle.
“How long since anyone audited the trust?”
Micah hesitated.
“Not since your mother died.”
“Who signed for it?”
Micah swallowed.
“Uncle Gil.”
Enzo’s expression became perfectly calm.
Micah preferred him angry.
“Get every record.”
“How far back?”
“The beginning.”
“Through family accountants?”
“No.”
Enzo stood.
“Twenty-six days until my birthday. Nobody in the family knows what we’re doing.”
Across town, Laney was sitting beside her younger sister Juny in a rehabilitation center.
Juny was blind, but she noticed things sighted people missed.
She touched Laney’s face.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“No.”
“Don’t argue with someone who has only this way left to see you.”
“I eat at work.”
“You bring your food here.”
Laney said nothing.
Juny smiled faintly.
“Your stomach just growled.”
“Traitor.”
“Your stomach has better judgment than you.”
They laughed.
Then Juny’s expression changed.
“They called.”
Laney looked down.
Insurance had reached its limit.
The center would now cost $8,600 a month.
“I’ll take another job.”
“You already work nights.”
“I found morning prep work.”
“How much sleep will you get?”
“Enough.”
“How many hours?”
Laney stood.
“I should go.”
“Laney.”
She stopped.
“You can’t save me by destroying yourself.”
“I’m not destroying myself.”
“You stitched your shoe together.”
Laney looked down.
Juny couldn’t see it.
Somehow that made it worse.
“I’ll figure it out.”
That night, Laney returned to Castellan’s restaurant.
The executive chef intercepted her.
“Office. Now.”
Her stomach dropped.
She climbed the stairs.
Enzo was standing at the window in a tailored black suit, no tie, dark tattoos visible above his collar and across one hand.
“You wanted me?”
He turned.
“Sit.”
“Am I fired?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like that?”
One corner of his mouth moved.
“Like what?”
“Like somebody is about to disappear.”
Micah coughed to hide a laugh.
Enzo stared at her.
Laney immediately regretted speaking.
Then he placed an old photograph on the desk.
A woman stood outside a small neighborhood restaurant.
Laney stopped breathing.
“Aunt Rosa.”
Enzo watched her face.
“You’re sure?”
“That’s her.”
“Look carefully.”
“I don’t need to.”
Laney picked up the photograph.
“That’s her.”
Her eyes moved to a teenage boy standing beside Rosa.
Dark hair.
Hard eyes.
A younger version of the man across from her.
Laney looked up.
“That’s you.”
“Yes.”
The room became silent.
“Aunt Rosa was your mother?”
Enzo nodded.
Laney looked again at the photograph.
Then whispered:
“She never told us.”
“She apparently didn’t tell me either.”
“About feeding us?”
“About any of it.”
Laney lowered the photograph.
“Why?”
May you like
“That,” Enzo said, “is what I intend to find out.”
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