The Family No One Mentioned
She didn't sleep much that night. She sat at the kitchen table after Wyatt was in bed, his rabbit tucked under his chin, and typed Cassel Group into her phone with hands that kept hovering over the search bar before she let herself hit enter.
The company came up first — logistics, private, founded three decades ago by a man named Elias Cassel, still listed as chairman despite what one business-page headline called "an extended medical leave." She clicked through photos: boardrooms, ribbon cuttings, a much younger Gideon standing beside an older man with the same sharp jaw, both of them unsmiling in the way people are in photos where nobody actually wants to be there.
She kept scrolling. A gossip column, five years old, half paywalled, the kind of article that existed only to be forgotten — except one line jumped off the screen at her before she'd even finished loading the rest.
"...following the quiet estrangement of youngest son Roland from the Cassel family, whereabouts of Roland's wife and young son remain unknown to relatives..."
Talia's hand went cold around the phone.
Roland. Her Roland — Wyatt's father — had told her his family was dead. Both parents, no siblings, nothing to visit, nothing to explain the silence whenever she'd asked. She'd believed him because there had been no reason not to, because a man running from his own history doesn't usually invent a fake orphaning as a hobby.
She opened the photo again — the younger Gideon, unsmiling, beside his father. She zoomed in on the older man's face. Elias Cassel. The same jaw Wyatt had. The exact same jaw, softened by seven years and baby fat, but unmistakably there in every photo she'd ever taken of her own son.
Her phone buzzed. A text, from a number she didn't recognize, three words long:
Can we talk?
She didn't need to check the signature. She already knew whose name would be under it.