Amauri looks up at me, eyes wide. "Is she mad?"
"Probably," There is no reason to lie to him about this. I pull him close, my heart pounding with thoughts I don't want to acknowledge just yet, with the things I said and meant.
"Amauri," my mind is wandering to places I need to explore. "Can you play by yourself for a little while?"
He looks up from the puzzle, suspicious. "Why?"
"Mummy has to work for a few minutes," I explain. "And Hammie probably needs a nap."
The hamster squeaks indignantly as if on cue. Amauri considers this, then nods with exaggerated seriousness. "Okay. But not too long."
"Not too long," I promise.
We put Hammie back in his cage together, fresh bedding smoothed down, water bottle checked twice. Amauri gives him a sunflower seed as a peace offering, then drags his toys back to the carpet and settles in front of the TV.
Only when I'm sure he's absorbed do I open Massimo's laptop. My hands are steady. My heart is not. I pull up the old ledger entry, the one I've never been able to explain away, no matter how hard I tried. It sits there, neat and bureaucratic, the kind of line item designed not to invite scrutiny.
Northstar Advisory Group.
I copy the name and start digging again.
At first, it's nothing. A clean website. Vague language. Corporate buzzwords. Strategy. Risk mitigation. Advisory services. Then the cracks appear. A lawsuit quietly settled and scrubbed. A formerconsultantcharged with obstruction. Shell companies that dissolve and reappear under new names. Security contracts that don't quite add up. My pulse picks up. I dig deeper. And then I see it.
Kingsley.
Not loud. Not obvious. Just… present. Pulling strings. A charge dropped here. An investigation redirected there. A judge who suddenly recused himself. A problem that vanished overnight.
Northstar didn't survive on its own.
My father kept them afloat.
Worse, he pulled them out of deep trouble. The kind that would've buried a smaller man. The kind that requires influence, not money. I sit back slowly, the room suddenly too quiet. I don't know exactly what this means yet. Not fully. But I know enough.
I close the laptop just as Amauri laughs at something on the TV, bright and unbothered. My hands start to shake. Because whatever this is, it's bigger than me. And there is only one person who understands this world well enough to tell me what I'm looking at.
I don't call him—yes, I saw his name and number programmed into my phone, right on top. Every instinct I have wants to, but I don't. He's atwork. Whatever that means in Massimo's world. I keep myself busy instead. Too busy. We make lunch out of snacks. We watch half a movie and abandon it for a game. I help Amauri with homework that he insists on doing even though no one asked him to.
The sun dips low. The city lights come on. Then the door opens.
"Hey," Massimo calls easily, like this is any other evening. "I'm back. Are you guys hungry? We can order something from the kitchen—or go out."
Amauri doesn't even answer. He launches himself at Massimo with the kind of force only a ten-year-old can manage, arms wrapping around his waist like he's afraid he might disappear again.
"I got Hammie back!" he announces, breathless. "Do you want to see him? Have you seen my dad? Is he okay?"
The questions tumble out all at once. Massimo stills, just for a fraction of a second. His eyes meet mine over Amauri's head.We need to talk about that.
"Your… dad is okay," Massimo chooses his words carefully, one hand coming up to steady Amauri, the other resting at his back. "He's recovering."
Amauri nods, satisfied enough for now. "Good." Then—already moving on—"What can we eat? Mom and I had chips and cookies and pretzels."
"Whatever you pick," Massimo sends an apologetic smile at me.
That seems to delight him. Amauri grabs Massimo's hand and drags him toward the guest bedroom without another word. "Come on, I want to show you Hammie."
I follow, quietly. Amauri launches into a full demonstration, hamster ball, cage setup, food, and toys. "Look," he says proudly. "Isn't he cute? He can stuff his mouth like this—" He pantomimes dramatically, cheeks puffed out.
Massimo smiles. Really smiles. It looks strange on him. Like a muscle he hasn't used in a while.
