Because It Is My Blood (Birthright #2)(72)

This seemed incredibly naïve to me. Just because they had left town didn’t mean they’d be gone forever. “We need to go see Simon Green,” I told him.

“The lawyer? Why?” Fats demanded.

I told him that Sophia had said that he was involved in the poisoning. “Fats, have you ever heard a rumor that Simon Green might somehow be related to us?”

Fats cocked his head and screwed his mouth into a skeptical ball. “Annie, there’s always rumors about us. And most of them you don’t got to bother paying no mind to.”

But I wouldn’t be deterred.

At Simon’s building, we walked up the six flights of stairs. My head was starting to pound and I was wishing I’d had the foresight to ask someone at the hospital for an aspirin before I’d run out.

We found that the door was open, and Mr. Kipling was standing in the center of the room. He must not have been there too long, because he was still out of breath from the stairs. “He’s gone,” Mr. Kipling said. “Simon Green’s gone.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

Mr. Kipling nodded to Fats, then held out a slip of paper to me:

Dear Mr. Kipling,

I am about to be accused of a crime, and I must now leave in order that I may clear my good name.

You have been like a father to me.

Please forgive the short notice.

Please also forgive me.

Simon Green, Esq.

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Mr. Kipling asked me. “Anya, what happened to your head?”

I answered him with a question of my own. “Mr. Kipling, why are you here?”

“Simon Green told me to come, and I did. I should ask the same question of you, I suppose.”

I told him what Sophia Balanchine had said about the poisoning and Simon Green hating my father and his children.

Mr. Kipling looked at Fats. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

Fats nodded. “I’ll be in the hall if you want me.”

Mr. Kipling shook his head. “No, Anya. She’s wrong. Simon Green loves you. And I love Simon.”

I reminded him of the day of his heart attack. “Did you ever wonder if it was a setup?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t watch what I ate and I didn’t take care of myself.”

“You should have heard Simon Green in court that day. What if he was being incompetent on purpose? What if he wanted to get me sent to Liberty?”

Mr. Kipling said that I sounded paranoid, insane.

“He knew the most intimate details of my business. He knew where all of us were. He knew everything, Mr. Kipling! If he was in partnership with Sophia Bitter the whole time…!”

“No! He would never have partnered with Sophia Bitter.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He would never have partnered with her because of who he is.”

“Who is he, then?” I demanded. “Mr. Kipling, who is Simon Green?”

“My ward,” Mr. Kipling replied.

“Who was Simon Green to my father?”

“Before he was my ward, he was your father’s ward.”

“Why was he my father’s ward?”

“Anya, I promised,” Mr. Kipling said.

“Is he my…” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “Is he my half brother?”

“It’s so long ago. What difference can dredging up any of this make?” Mr. Kipling said.

“Tell the truth!” I shrieked.

“I … You see, Anya, there’s a very good reason Simon Green could never have been involved in anything that would harm you.” Mr. Kipling took his mini-slate out of his wallet. He turned on the slate and showed me the screen. On it was a picture of my father standing next to a little boy. The boy was Simon Green. I recognized the eyes. Light blue like Leo’s and Daddy’s. “Your father … Well, you could say he adopted Simon. He took him under his wing.”

“I don’t understand what ‘you could say’ means. He either adopted him or he didn’t. Why would he have adopted him and never told any of us about it?”

“I … Maybe he planned to someday, but he didn’t live long enough. The story I was told was that Simon Green’s father had worked for your father. The father died on the job, and when the mother died, too, your father thought it was his responsibility to take care of him. He was a good man, your father.”

“Why do you say ‘the story’? Stop being vague, Mr. Kipling.” I was covered in sweat and my head felt like it might explode. Something fierce and terrible was beginning to burn within me.

Mr. Kipling walked over to the window. There was a distant look in his eyes. “The day you met Simon, he had been wanting to meet you for so long. But I always kept him from you.”

“Why? Why did he want to meet me? Who was I to him?”

“Have you never noticed the resemblance?” Mr. Kipling turned. “The eyes and the skin. Does he not look like your cousin Mickey, your cousin Jacks? Does he not look like your brother? Your father? Green was his mother’s name.”

“Is he my father’s son?”

“I don’t know for sure, Anya. But I have arranged everything for Simon. His schooling. This apartment. And I did these things because your father told me to.”