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“He’s greedy.” At last, emotion flickers across Ryan’s face. “Why would he settle for shares if he could have everything?”
The sentiment is so rare for my brother that it takes me a moment to place it.
Hatred.
“The house…” I look around the room. “The house in Bloubergstrand?”
“No.” Ryan crosses his arms. “Dad paid off the bonds. The investments and the houses were always intact.” Ryan’s smile is flat. “The rest is—”
“Charity,” Mom says, all but spitting the word out. She’s staring at the cold fireplace, rocking herself on the edge of the sofa.
“This was happening from the day he stole that book?” I ask, dread filling my veins.
Ryan nods.
How terrible. How humiliating it must’ve been for Dad to live on Angelo’s money. No, not Angelo’s money. The money Angelo stole from my dad when he blackmailed him to sign over his business.
The thought makes me want to empty my stomach. “What about Dad’s savings?”
Ryan straightens and walks to the wet bar. “Most of it was invested in long-term funds. The trust funds were structured to be untouchable in case of bankruptcy.” He pours Dad’s favorite brand of Scotch into tumblers. “We couldn’t touch that money. It could only pay out in the event of his death.”
“Our inheritance.” My heart thuds between my ribs. The reality weighs down on me, making everything feel too heavy. “What about that money? Mine is tied up until I turn twenty-five, but you have access to yours.”
Mom sniffs. “I used all the money your father left me to pay off our debts.”
Ryan carries two glasses over and hands one to Mom and the other to Celeste. “The business he left me is nothing but a small satellite office in Cape Town. It’s the only part Angelo didn’t take. It hardly makes enough money to be worth the effort.”
“Hold on.” I’m still stuck on what Mom said. “Debts?” I sit down on the chair facing her. “I thought we didn’t live on credit.”
She waves a hand. “Credit cards, wedding expenses, the funeral… It all adds up quickly.”
Meaning there’s nothing left.
“Don’t forget that woman and her daughter got most of the money,” Mom adds through thin lips.
Laura and Daisy.
It’s expensive to keep one family, especially with the material standards my parents upheld, but two cost double that much.
Ryan pours another glass and lifts it with a raise of his eyebrow in a silent question directed at me.
I shake my head. On second thought, I reach for the drink. When he places the tumbler in my hand, I swallow everything in one go. The alcohol heats my stomach, dispelling some of the ice in my veins.
My eyes water from the burn of the strong liquor. “Then he pays for everything?” I can’t say his name out loud. Not now. Not after what I just learned.
Ryan’s silence is his answer. He pours a few fingers of Scotch for himself and, following my example, downs it in one shot.
That’s horrible. Angelo is paying not only my expenses but also my family’s. He’s paying for our food, our clothes, and every luxury we care to indulge in.
Why would he do that? Does he take perverse satisfaction from making us dependent on him? Because Mom is wrong. Angelo doesn’t have a charitable bone in his body. He doesn’t do anything without a reason, let alone out of the goodness of his heart. Wait. He doesn’t have a heart.
Hurt and confused, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Dad never wanted to.” Ryan shrugs. “You were so young at the time. He was trying to protect you.”
To stop me from blaming myself more than I already was because I was the one who let Angelo into the house. Fresh guilt needles its way into my gut.
“Why?” I glance between Mom and Ryan. “Why would he pay our bills?”
