Page 20 of The Sound of Us

“Understood.” Bob wasn’t easily rattled. When I was only twelve years old, he’d watched calmly from behind his desk whilemy father beat me for daring to protest his decision to break the trust my mother had set up for my sister and me before she died.

“You said there was something we needed to discuss…” I wasn’t interested in pleasantries. I wanted out of his shady law firm as fast as possible.

“Yes, it’s about the money your grandmother left you in her will.” He stroked the salt-and-pepper goatee that matched what was left of his thinning hair. “I am very sorry for your loss, by the way. I had season tickets to the Chicago Symphony. I never missed one of your grandmother’s performances.”

My throat closed at the thought of never hearing my grandmother play again. She was a gifted cellist and had encouraged my passion for music by introducing me to a wide variety of musical genres and teaching me how to play both the piano and her beloved cello. I had been devastated when she didn’t step in to take custody of Sasha and me after our mother died, instead, leaving us to face my father’s abuse alone. I’d dropped by a few times to see her after I left home, but my anger and resentment had made for some awkward conversations, and eventually I’d stopped making the effort.

“Her solicitors tried to contact me after the funeral, but I didn’t return their calls or read the letters they sent,” I said. “It was a difficult time. If you want to know anything about her estate, you should contact them.”

Bob nodded in what was clearly feigned sympathy. “It’s been difficult for your father, too. You may not be aware that your grandfather died intestate many years ago and your grandmother inherited his considerable estate. Of course, that money was meant to go to your father, but for tax reasons it made more sense for her to keep it, with the expectation it would then pass to your father upon her death. Unfortunately, we just discovered that your grandmother decided not to honor that agreement. Shortly after your sister’s death, she put half the money in a living trust for you, which means that it did not become part of her estate when she passed.”

“I didn’t know about the trust.” I had a vague memory of mygrandmother mentioning something about securing my inheritance after Sasha died, but at the time I was barely able to function.

“You probably also don’t know then that her will divides the remainder of the money between you and your father, subject to payment of charitable bequests.” Bob pushed a file folder across the table. “I’ve drafted the documents you need to sign to transfer the trust funds and your inheritance to your father—”

I stared at Bob, incredulous. “You want me to go against my grandmother’s wishes and sign away the money she left me?”

“It was always meant to go back into the family business,” Bob said, opening his hands in a placatory gesture. “This will ensure that things are as they should be.”

The family business, Rossi Holdings, encompassed a little bit of everything from a real estate development company to casinos. My great-great-grandfather, a member of the Italian Mafia, had emigrated from Italy to Chicago to expand the enterprise. He brought with him extensive family connections, a head for business, and a nose for turning a profit. Over the years, the company had gone from success to success, the legitimate side supported by a variety of smaller businesses that were used to launder money from illegal activities such as drug trafficking, weapons dealing, smuggling, counterfeiting, and robbery. My father kept his hands clean with a team of clever mob-friendly lawyers and accountants to move his money around and a vast network of lower-level mobsters to do his dirty work.

“If things were as they should be,” I said coldly, “my mother and sister would still be alive.” I was tempted to go further, to tell him that I knew the truth—my father had murdered my mother and Bob had covered it up as a tragic accident, making use of both my father’s organized crime and political connections to ensure the truth never came to light. But I had to play the long game. Sasha had taken her own life, unable to handle the burden of that secret on top of the constant abuse. Witnesses and evidence also had a way of disappearing in my father’s world, and I intended to live to see justice done.

“I know you and your father haven’t always been on good terms, but think of the future,” Bob said, his voice dripping with honeyed insincerity. “Maybe one day you’ll reconcile, and you and your father can run Rossi Holdings together.”

“I’m not signing the papers.” My father would never get his hands on my grandmother’s money, but I also didn’t want to keep it. Ultimately, it had come from a family business that was run by organized crime and I wanted no part of it. “I plan to donate it to charity.”

Bob went utterly still. “We’re talking seven figures. I was a student once and I know the financial struggles students face—”

“I’m not struggling.” Between scholarships, band gigs, my summer internship, a side hustle providing essay-writing services on campus, and the money I’d saved while working at WJPK, I had more than enough to make ends meet.

Bob scratched his head, and I could almost see his brain do a mental shift. He wasn’t just a lawyer. He was a fixer. His job was to make problems go away. “If you are set on donating it to charity, I can help you select some worthwhile organizations…”

Something niggled at the back of my mind. Noah needed money for the station. What could be more worthwhile than giving back for all the help he’d given me?

“I’m going to have my inheritance handled by another firm,” I said, dropping my feet. “I’ll send you the details—”

“Our firm is well-placed to help you with your charitable endeavors,” Bob said in a pleading tone. “We’ve been serving your family for over two decades and would be happy to facilitate any donations.”

No doubt my “donations” would be to charities connected to my father’s businesses and wind up back in his pocket.

“Thanks, Bob, but I made some legal contacts this summer when I interned at the DA’s office. I’m sure one of them can recommend someone to help me.”

As expected, Bob paled at the mention of the district attorney. “Why don’t you take some time to think about it? There’s no rush.”

“There is a rush.” I grabbed the last cookie from the plate. “There are people who need that money more than me.”

“Someone call an ambulance.” Noah slapped his hand over his chest when I walked into his office later that afternoon. “I’m having a heart attack. Dante is here and it’s still light outside.”

“Hilarious.” I lifted a box off one of the chairs and cleared away all the papers so I could take a seat.

“This feels serious,” Noah said, his smile fading. He turned down his music—Leonard Cohen’s “So Long, Marianne,” one of his favorite songs of all time—and straightened in his chair. “Too serious for a Monday when I’m still recovering from the weekend.”

“It is.” I sprawled out in front of him, still buzzing with anticipation. I was about to solve all his problems with the click of a pen. “I just came from seeing my dad’s lawyer. My grandmother left me over one million dollars. I want to give it to the station.”

Silence.

Did he hear me?

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