When Venus Fell by Deborah Smith Page B

he said.
    “This is a bad joke.”
    “No. Ten years ago a stranger walked up to my older brother outside a building at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. My brother was there to accept an award from the College of Business. My brother—Simon. This man—this stranger—had obviously been following him, waiting for an opportunity. It was the same week your father died, after he was arrested. The stranger walked up to Simon and shoved a small briefcase into his hands. He said, ‘Max Arinelli begs you on his wife’s soul to keep this for his daughters. Just keep it until they come for it.’ The man turned and ran. My brother opened the briefcase. It was full of hundred-dollar bills.”
    My head swam. “I’ve never known
anything
about money being sent to your brother. Nothing. If you don’t believe me—”
    “Since you never showed up to claim it, I think you’re telling the truth.”
    He studied me with a troubled expression. I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Everything my father owned was confiscated or—”
    “Obviously he had money hidden for an emergency. When he was arrested he got word to somebody he trusted. Somebody willing to go to Tennessee and deliver the money to my brother.” Gib leaned toward me, a muscle popping in his jaw. “I don’t understand why your father did that, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say he never forgot how he and your mother were treated by my family. No matter how much he rejected us—the same way he rejected all his old friends after your mother died—I guess when push came to shove he still thought he could count on my family for help.”
    “You don’t know what this means to me,” I whispered.
    “Here’s what it means to me: My brother agonized over that money. He knew he should turn it in to the authorities, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He stuck the money in his office safe and waited for you and your sister to come for it. When you didn’t, he never touched it again and he never told a soul. My brother wasn’t the kind of man who kept secrets from his family. I don’t doubt the deception worried him for years.”
    “I’m sorry, but I’m still waiting for you to laugh and tell me you made this up.”
    His face darkened. “My brother’s honesty and sense of duty isn’t a joke.”
    “I didn’t mean—”
    “I wish it were that simple. The money’s dirty. Drug money. Gun money. From all that money your father laundered to serve his cause. That fact weighed on Simon’s conscience—but not as much as his compassion did. He was a father himself, and he understood what your father was trying to do. He left a letter in his safe-deposit box saying he felt like a coward for not finding you and Ella and handing you the money. He’d been afraid that somehow it could hurt our own family to beassociated with Max Arinelli’s hidden money. But he said in his letter he’d been wrong. That only God could judge your father’s legacy to you.”
    “Your brother,” I said numbly. “Simon. What happened to him?”
    Gib was silent for a moment. His throat worked. “He died a little over a year ago.”
    My mind whirled again. “Died? You found the letter—”
    “A few months later. In his papers. Now my sisters and my great-aunt know about it, too. And Simon’s wife knows. We all know. We’re trying to do what he wanted done. He wanted you and Ella to have that money.”
    One hundred thousand dollars. It could be the down payment on a small music club somewhere. Or on a house. Or the start of a retirement fund that would ensure that neither Ella nor I ended up on the street playing for tips and eating out of garbage cans. I had promised Ella for years that someday we’d have the money to settle down.
    “The money’s yours,” Gib insisted. “No strings attached.”
    My daydreams cooled. “There are always strings.”
    “Well, nothing you can’t handle.”
    I stared at him. “I swear to you I didn’t know