I stewed in my anger. “Why do they get away with this? Emma’s dead, and they go on like nothing happened.”
She sighed. “Sometimes, life really fucking sucks. Shitty people do bad things to good people who don’t deserve it. When you can’t get justice through the legal system… Well, sometimes you need to remember that old saying about revenge being best when served cold. We have nothing but circumstantial proof, all the physical evidence was destroyed by the fire, and the man who supposedly confessed to killing your sister, a man with a prior criminal history, is dead.”
“Can’t we ask for one of those DNA tests to prove I’m his son?”
She nodded. “Sure, we can. I refer you to what I told you yesterday—there have been other deaths around that family. Junior’s been cleaning up Daddy’s indiscretions for a few years now. Ever since this lawsuit started.”
“What?”
“I know of at least three other people who died under somewhat murky circumstances. People who probably were illegitimate kids of Senior’s.”
“But…” I swallowed hard. “My name. Couldn’t they track down me and Mom by my old birth certificate?”
She shook her head. “Your mom listed your father’s name as John Smith. For you and your sister. That’s who’s listed on your new one.”
“Then why was our last name ‘Ronald?’”
“Because you can put whatever name you want on it.” She pulled out a copy of my old birth certificate, which, to be honest, I’d never looked at.
Never had a reason to.
She also had Emma’s.
Sure enough, our father was listed as John Smith.
“That fucker gets around, let me tell you what,” she observed. “John Smith has probably sired more kids than any man in this goddamned US.” She sat back. “He was also the father of the other people who died. Funny coincidence, that. I’m sure what Ronald did was pay for the births, the medical expenses, and probably paid money for a few years, or a small lump sum. Maybe he had your mom sign an affidavit saying she wouldn’t file for child support, or she denied he was the father. That’s how he usually handled it.”
“Handled…it?”
“Hid what he did. Sure, they could try tracking you through ‘John Smith,’ but seriously, they’re not going to bother. That would raise flags.Youare on their radar now, though, thanks to your sister, and your last name. Your mom didn’t know Emma had gone to talk to them. The witness heard her say that.”
“Why doesn’thego to the police?”
“Because he’s a fucking priest.”
I think I trusted her more because she was so blunt with me. “Priests have to talk if there’s a crime, though, don’t they?”
She bitterly snorted that time. “Riiiight. Just like they reported to the cops all those priests who raped and molested kids for decades.” She leaned in. “I’m going to give you some advice, kid—you make your own luck in this world. I can give you cover and hopefully keep you safe. We’ll try to figure out a way to get back at them, but not right now, when you’re still a kid and it’d still be too easy for them to get to you and your mom.”
“Get back at them how?”
“I don’t know. We can think of something. But you’ll need money to do it if you want any hope of not ending up like your sister. I’m not poor, but I’m not a fraction as rich as the Ronald family.”
Ireallylooked at her now, studied her. Her nice clothes, the expensive phone and laptop.
“How much money do you make a year?” I asked.
She studied me for a moment before answering. “Last year I pulled in almost $300,000, after taxes.”
“Do all attorneys make that much money?”
A slow smile curled her lips. “No. Especially if they go to work for the government in prosecution, or the public defender’s office. I’m in corporate law, but I do more pro bono work than other attorneys in my firm, so my bottom line tends to take a hit.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not putting in as many billable hours.”
“No. Why do you do so much free work?”
