The back room of Solomon's Spices wasn't an office. It was a fragrant, chaotic cave, filled from floor to ceiling with overflowing shelves. Burlap sacks of turmeric and peppercorns leaned in the corners, releasing a dusty, sharp scent. The only furniture consisted of a single, battered wooden desk, an old, beige computer, and three mismatched stools.
This was Talia's sanctuary. Her command center. And now, her interrogation room.
She walked in with her laptop in one hand and a worn, leather-bound ledger in the other. Sarah was already at the desk, wiping it down with a damp cloth, her movements quick and deliberate. Maya sat on a sack of star anise, her knees drawn to her chest, looking small and nervous.
"Alright, Tali," Sarah said gently. "Show us everything."
It felt like an invasion. For three years, those numbers had been her painful secret. She had manipulated them, bargained with them, and cried over them during the pre-dawn hours. They were her burden.
With a trembling hand, she set the laptop on the desk and opened it. The screen flickered to life, showing a sprawling, color-coded, and terrifyingly complex spreadsheet that governed their lives.
"This is... this is everything," Talia began, her voice shaky. "The green columns are 'incoming.' The red are 'outgoing.' This yellow one is 'due within 7 days.'"
The screen was filled with red and yellow.
Maya leaned in, her eyes wide. "Tali... that can't be right. The shop is always busy on Saturdays."
"Walk-ins are fine," Talia explained, feeling the familiar cold panic rising in her throat. She pointed to a line item. "See? 'Retail Sales.' It barely covers the cost of goods. We... we aren't really making a profit, Maya. We're just... getting by."
She clicked another tab labeled 'Contracts.'
"This... this was Élan." She pointed to the strong green number that represented 40% of their income. "It wasn't just profit. It was the only profit. It paid the rent. It paid the utilities. It paid... this." She clicked again, bringing up another budget sheet labeled 'M.D.C.'
Maya's Design Course.
Maya went pale. "Tali, no... That's... that's almost all of it. You've been paying for my school with one contract?"
"I... I was managing it!" Talia said defensively. "It was working. As long as that payment came in on the 15th, I could move the money to the rent account on the 20th, pay the utility bill on the 25th, and transfer the tuition deposit by the 30th. It was fine. It was... it was balanced."
"It wasn't balanced, Matok," Sarah said quietly. She wasn't looking at the screen but at the old ledger book that held the debts. "It was a house of cards. And the man in the black car just pulled one out."
The truth of that broke Talia's last defense.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her shoulders drooping. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I... I just... I thought I could... I thought I had to be him. I thought I had to be Dad. And I'm not."
"No," Sarah said, her voice softening. She placed a hand on Talia's. "You're not. You're his daughter. And you have been... very strong. But you have also," she tapped the laptop screen, "made some big mistakes."
"I'm quitting school," Maya said, her voice flat and determined.
"You will do no such thing," Sarah replied sharply, making both girls jump.
"But Mom, did you see the numbers?" Maya protested. "I can't let Tali do this—"
"You think being a barista is a long-term plan?" Sarah countered, tapping the ledger. "You think your sister suffering alone is a plan? No. We have been foolish. I, most of all, for letting you."
Sarah turned her gaze to Talia. "You," she said, "are a wonderful daughter. You are strong, and you are loyal. But you are not a good business owner."
Talia flinched as if she'd been slapped. "What?"
"You're just like your father," Sarah continued, a sad smile flashing for a moment. "All heart. All passion. He would have given these spices away for free if it made someone happy. He never had a head for numbers. And you," she pointed to the spreadsheet, "are drowning in them because you think working harder is the same as being smarter."
She opened the ledger. "I've been watching, Talia. I see the invoices you pay. This supplier for cardamom? From Germany? We're paying 20% over market value."
"They're the only ones who can guarantee organic certification—" Talia started.
"Your father," Sarah interrupted, "had a contact in Haifa. A family business. Their cardamom is better, and half the price. But you never asked."
She pointed to the computer. "This 'online store' you've been paying for each month. How many orders did we get last week?"
"Three," Talia mumbled, embarrassed. "But the developer said the ad spending needs time to—"
"Maya," Sarah said, turning to her younger daughter. "You are the artist. You are the designer. Look at that website. Is it good?"
Maya winced. "It's... it's terrible, Mom. No offense, Tali. The photos are dark, you can't find the checkout... it's a mess. I've been wanting to fix it."
"Good," Sarah said. "Then that is your new job. You are no longer just 'helping out.' You are our new Director of Brand and Online Sales. You will make us look as good as we smell. You will pause your course for one term, not to serve coffee, but to save your family's business. Understood?"
Maya's eyes, which had been guilt-ridden, now shone with determination. "Yes. Yes, I can do that."
Sarah turned back to Talia. "You are off the computer. You are out of this office. Your job is the spices. The blends, the sourcing, the quality. The magic. The part you're actually good at. The part your father taught you."
"But the books, the suppliers, the rent... I can't just—"
"I will handle the books," Sarah said, closing the ledger decisively. "I will call our landlord. Shlomo has known me for thirty years; he's not going to evict us over one late payment as long as we have a plan. I will call your father's old contacts. I will cut our costs by 30% before the week is over. We are done just getting by. We are going to thrive."
Talia stared at her, her mind racing. Her heavy, solitary burden was being taken apart and shared in real-time. It was terrifying. Her control was slipping away.
"Together," Sarah said, placing her hand over Talia's on the desk. "You are not the boss, Talia. You are a partner. So is Maya. We are Solomon's Spices. Together."
Talia took a shaky breath. It was the first breath all day that felt natural. "Okay. Together."
"Good," Maya said, pulling the laptop toward her, her expression suddenly fierce. "Now, I want to find out exactly who did this. 'The Asher Group,' you said?"
"Yeah," Talia replied, the name leaving a bitter taste.
Maya's fingers flew across the trackpad. "Let's see who this guy is." She typed, her thumb tapping the trackpad. A moment later, she frowned.
"That's strange," Maya said, turning the laptop for Talia to see.
The search results were all press releases. Forbes articles. Financial Times reports. All mentioning the same name.
"Jadon Asher," Talia read, her voice cold.
"Yeah," Maya said, scrolling. "Jadon Asher, the 'private founder.' Jadon Asher, the 'reclusive genius.' Jadon Asher, the 'phantom of the culinary world.' But look... there's... nothing. No photos. No interviews. No... personal details."
Maya looked up at Talia, her expression darkening. "He's a ghost. A ghost in a corporation who just declared war on our family."