Chapter 2
Leah Brennan’s phone went directly to voicemail.
Her home address was legitimate.
She lived outside Baltimore.
School records showed she had a twelve-year-old son named Lucas Brennan.
Cassian sat in his attorney Katherine Moore’s conference room the following morning while she reviewed the public information.
“Do not go to the house.”
Cassian looked at her.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You were thinking it.”
“That is not legally actionable.”
“Neither is me enjoying being right.”
Cassian ignored her.
Lucas was born twelve years earlier.
Cassian calculated automatically.
He had been thirty-one.
Millie’s mother, Elena, had not yet entered his life.
Cassian had been seeing someone then.
Briefly.
A woman named Leah Brennan.
He remembered.
She had worked in public relations for a Washington nonprofit.
They dated for about four months.
It ended without drama.
She wanted stability.
Cassian was spending half his life traveling and the other half fighting wars he refused to describe as wars.
He never heard from her again.
Or believed he had not.
Katherine watched his face.
“You know her.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Enough for the timeline to be possible.”
“Did she tell you she was pregnant?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
“No.”
“Did your father know her?”
Cassian looked up.
That question landed differently.
Dominic Romano had been alive then.
His father controlled the family office, the Romano Family Assistance Trust, and nearly every personal gate around Cassian.
“He met everyone.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Yes.”
Katherine nodded.
Dominic had died four years ago.
No confrontation possible now.
She continued.
The hotel reservation for Leah and Lucas was made through a foundation vendor called Northgate Family Logistics.
“What is that?”
Cassian frowned.
“Family relocation and security support.”
“Why does your charity have a relocation vendor?”
“The foundation funds temporary relocation for domestic-violence survivors, witnesses in certain community programs, families escaping trafficking situations.”
“Legitimate program?”
“Yes.”
“How involved are you?”
“Not enough.”
Katherine gave him a look.
Cassian accepted it.
That answer was becoming a pattern.
Northgate had booked Leah’s hotel room.
Northgate also arranged a car leaving the hotel.
Destination on the work order:
Protective residential placement — Pennsylvania.
Cassian stood.
“Protective from what?”
Katherine held up a hand.
“Sit.”
“My alleged son has been moved across state lines by a company my wife controls.”
“Your foundation contracted the company.”
“My wife authorized this placement.”
“Yes.”
“And we don’t know where they are.”
“Which is why police and counsel handle it.”
Cassian remained standing.
Then forced himself back into the chair.
Katherine continued.
Leah had apparently signed a relocation consent.
Not abduction.
Not on its face.
The document said she feared publicity if Lucas’s biological father discovered his identity.
It described Cassian as:
A high-risk public figure with known violent associates.
Cassian stared.
“Did Leah write that?”
“We don’t know.”
“Did she sign?”
“Looks like it.”
The arrangement gave Northgate permission to move Leah and Lucas to confidential housing for thirty days.
That explained Lucinda’s phrase.
Disappear.
Not necessarily murder.
Not necessarily kidnapping.
A legally dressed relocation that hid the destination from Cassian.
Then Katherine found another document.
Attached to the placement packet was a thirteen-year-old letter.
Vale—no.
Romano letterhead.
Cassian’s name.
Cassian’s digital signature.
It stated that Cassian acknowledged probable paternity but wanted no personal relationship with the child.
Monthly support would be provided privately.
Cassian read the first paragraph.
Then stopped.
“I never wrote this.”
Katherine looked at him.
“Certain?”
“I have never seen Lucas Brennan’s name before yesterday.”
She turned the page.
There were payment schedules.
Twelve years of them.
Tuition.
Health insurance.
Housing assistance.
Summer programs.
Total direct support:
Approximately $680,000.
Cassian felt the room contract.
“From where?”
“The Romano Family Assistance Trust.”
“My father controlled it.”
“Yes.”
“After he died?”
Katherine turned another page.
Administrative authority transferred temporarily to Lucinda during the estate transition.
Cassian looked at her.
“For how long?”
“It was supposed to be nine months.”
“How long did she keep it?”
“Three years.”
Cassian became silent.
Once again, nobody had revoked authority because everyone assumed someone else had handled it.
May you like
Lucinda had inherited the secret his father created.
And unlike Dominic, she had found a way to make it useful.
