Chapter 5 - What Rosa Castellan Really Left Behind
Gil did not confess.
Not completely.
But he had said enough.
An independent audit uncovered the rest.
Rosa’s trust had funded kitchens, housing assistance, rehabilitation programs, and medical care for struggling families.
After her death, Gil redirected much of it through shell companies.
He told himself he was protecting Castellan wealth.
In reality, he had stolen from the people Rosa intended to help.
Three days later, Enzo confronted him in the old family dining room.
“You forged her signature.”
Gil looked exhausted.
“I preserved your inheritance.”
“You stole it.”
“For you.”
“Don’t use my name to clean your hands.”
Gil slammed his palm against the table.
“You were nineteen! Your father was dead. Your mother was feeding strangers while the family businesses were bleeding money.”
“She built that money.”
“And she was throwing it away!”
Enzo became very quiet.
“No.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Rosa beside children at the restaurant’s back door.
“She knew exactly where she was putting it.”
Gil looked away.
“You taught me not to open anything connected to her.”
“I taught you to survive.”
“You taught me to forget her.”
Gil said nothing.
Enzo stepped back.
“You’ll return every dollar.”
“And if I don’t?”
Enzo’s expression remained cold.
“You’ve known me since I could walk. You already know the answer.”
But Enzo did not order violence.
He turned the financial evidence over to attorneys and investigators, froze Gil’s access to the trust, and removed him from every Castellan-controlled company.
Gil lost the thing he valued most.
Control.
That night, Enzo found Laney in the kitchen.
Again.
She was chopping rosemary.
“You’re still working?”
She glanced at him.
“You pay me to.”
“You worked morning prep somewhere else.”
Her knife stopped.
“How do you know?”
“I know everything happening in my restaurant.”
“That isn’t your restaurant.”
“Then I know everything happening to my employees.”
“Creepy.”
“Efficient.”
Laney smiled despite herself.
Then Enzo put an envelope beside her.
She stared at it.
“No.”
“You haven’t opened it.”
“Rich men only put two things in envelopes. Trouble and money.”
“It’s neither.”
She opened it.
Inside was a promotion.
Head of community kitchen operations.
Laney read it twice.
“What is this?”
“My mother’s trust is reopening its food program.”
“You want me to run it?”
“You know what she wanted better than any accountant.”
“I’m a night cook.”
“You’re the only chef in fifteen years who made her dish correctly.”
“I’m not a chef.”
“You will be.”
Laney’s eyes filled.
She immediately looked down.
Enzo pretended not to notice.
Then she saw the salary.
“This is too much.”
“No.”
“It’s more than triple—”
“It includes medical benefits for dependents.”
Laney stopped.
Her eyes rose slowly.
“Juny?”
“If she qualifies under the policy.”
Laney’s voice became suspicious.
“Did you design that clause?”
“My attorneys did.”
“Because you told them to?”
Enzo adjusted his cuff.
“I have no idea what you’re implying.”
Laney laughed.
He liked the sound more than he expected.
Then she became serious.
“Why me?”
Enzo looked toward the pot.
May you like
“Because my mother chose you first.”
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