Page 196 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“So you know how we were digging around in Michael’s hometown? Talking to old neighbors, old classmates, anyone who might remember the Baylee family?”

I nodded slowly.

“Turns out Charles Sterling lives there now. Has been for a while, apparently. He found out what we were doing and he… reached out.”

I frowned, the name taking a second to land. “Charles? As in Cassian’s father Charles?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s living there?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice. Charles Sterling—the man who’d walked away from this life. Who’d left his wife, his son, his company. He’d been hiding in Michael’s hometown this whole time?

Linda winced. “Yeah.”

I sat with that for a moment, letting it settle. “Okay,” I said finally. “What did he want?”

She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small sticky note. Her fingers hesitated over it before she slid it across the desk toward me.

“When he called, he said he wanted to talk to you. I told him that wasn’t happening. I was about to hang up when he said he’d give me everything on Michael—the real story, the full picture—if I’d just give his number to Cassian.”

She let go of the note. It sat between us on the desk, a string of digits written in neat handwriting.

“I wanted to give it to you sooner,” Linda said, her voice softer now. “But you were so focused on the restaurant. And with everything else—the launch, the pressure, the Garcia partnership—I didn’t want to drop this in your lap when you were already carrying so much. I thought I’d wait until after.”

I stared at the note.

Charles Sterling’s number. A man who’d been a ghost for years, suddenly surfacing in the last place anyone thought to look.

If he wanted to talk to his son, he should have done it himself. Picked up the phone. Written a letter. Shown up at his door. Done any of the things a father who actually wanted to make amends would do.

There was only one reason he was doing it this way.

My jaw clenched.

He was trying to earn points. Show Cassian that he helped. That he was useful. That he provided information about Michael, so surely he deserved at least a call back from the son he abandoned.

It was transactional.

Conditional.

Fucking manipulator.

Linda’s voice pulled me back. “What are you going to do?”

I stared at the slip of paper for a long moment, then folded it and slid it into my pocket. “I’ll have to think about it.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out the envelope I’d been saving for the end of the meeting. “Here. Your F1 tickets. And yes, you get to meet the drivers, but—” I held the envelope just out of reach as her hands stretched toward it. “Don’t do anything weird. They’re my clients. I need them to still want to be my clients after this.”

She snatched the tickets from my hand so fast I almost didn’t see it happen. “Of course not.” Her eyes were already on the envelope, her fingers already working it open. “This is going to be the best day of my life.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you win Businesswoman of the Year twice? And get married? To a person you actually like?”

She didn’t look up from the tickets. “I said what I said.”

A smile tugged at my mouth despite everything. I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “See you soon, Linda.”

“Thank you.” Her voice followed me out, distracted, already somewhere on a racetrack.

I raised a hand in acknowledgment and stepped into the hallway.