Page 38 of Finally Found You

This is a breakthrough. Since we learned my father had an affair, we’ve been trying to determine if he took more secrets to his grave.

“What are you talking about?” Aslan’s confusion filters through the line, thick with concern. “Who is she? And what documents?”

My pulse quickens as I pace back and forth, the plush carpet beneath my feet doing nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. “We found a deed to a house in Redwood City and another in France. It’s under Esme’s name. Along with that, there are insurance policies and accounts under her name—and Cécile’s, too,” I confess, the words tumbling out of me like the secrets they are.

“How did you find all those things?” Aslan’s voice is strained, and I can picture the furrow between his brows as he tries to make sense of this revelation.

I’m sure he’s referring to the documents I found back when Dad died. He was pretty meticulous about his paperwork. He saved everything—even his prenuptial agreement before he married Mom. One thing I always remember is that if she cheated, she wouldn’t get anything, not even the children, the product of their marriage.

There’s nothing about my father cheating. It was something so unlike my father to leave my mother destitute to protect himself and his fortune. I wish he were here to answer my questions.

“Cami is the one who found them,” I say. “You know all the files I brought from Spearman LP when we moved to this new office?”

“The ones you kept as souvenirs, and I wanted to destroy because they were old?” He sounds incredulous, and I can feel the sting of his skepticism.

“Yep, those,” I confirm, caught in a mixture of success and heartache. If we had disposed of them, we could be missing evidence or…

I give him a list of what I remember I saw, the weight of each secret heavy on my tongue.

When I finish, he asks, “He knew about Esme?” The words are laced with hurt and disbelief.

The question hangs heavy in the air, a fragile thread connecting us to the man we once idolized. Our father. A man we barely recognize now. Every day we discover something different about him. He was someone who likely struggled with his own burdens but tried to seek happiness while attempting to protect those he loved.

Cécile, his former lover, had claimed she never told him about their daughter, Esme. But these documents paint a different picture. Why hadn’t he confronted her?

Why had he let her give up their baby instead of claiming his own child?

A soft sigh escapes my lips as I lean against the cold glass window, searching for answers in the city skyline. “Yes,” I whisper, the word barely audible even to my ears, “he knew.”

“Call Cécile. I have the feeling that she’s hiding some information from us,” Aslan growls, his determination and frustration seeping through. “Be gentle but tell her we need to know.”

I rotate my neck, attempting to release the tension that’s taken hold. “I’ll do it, but I need you to come and help us. Bring Lulu, maybe Maia and Gatz…”

“Let me make a few calls. In the meantime, call Cécile,” he insists firmly.

* * *

The moment Cécile answers, I don’t waste any time, my words tumbling out in a rush as I tell her what I’ve discovered.

“I had no idea he knew,” Cécile mutters, wavering on the other end of the line.

“Are you sure?” I press, gentle but persistent, seeking the truth that has eluded us for so long.

“Why would I lie?” she snaps, her indignation palpable.

“You were my father’s mistress,” I retort, the accusation bitter on my lips. “In all the years we’ve known each other, you never mentioned him or Esme.”

Her anger sears through the phone line, a fierce, untamed force. “What was I supposed to say? ‘By the way, your father and I had an affair, but I broke up with him when I learned he was a cheating bastard.’” Her fury is palpable.

“Your mother is the one who came to me,” she admits, her words laced with regret. “I had no idea he was a married man until she was on our doorstep, demanding I leave her husband alone. He claimed they were on the verge of a divorce—they were separated. According to him, your mother had…”

“What?” I insist, my heart pounding in my chest.

Cécile hesitates, drawing in a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to talk about this, Lysander.”

I lean forward, determination flaring in my chest. “Keeping secrets is what almost killed Atzi and the babies,” I remind her, striking a nerve. She has to remember the stakes. “As long as we keep all these secrets buried, their lives will continue to be in danger.”

My plea seems to reach her, and the dam holding back her secrets begins to crack, the truth flowing like a torrent. She tells me how my father discovered my mother’s affair, and how he tried to divorce her. But my mother fought tooth and nail, unwilling to accept the meager monthly check outlined in their prenuptial agreement. In the meantime, my father began dating Cécile, his heart aching for something more.

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