“Why not? It might be the best thing that ever happened to him. He shouldn’t live in New York. It’s too expensive.”
“He wouldn’t survive. He’s not strong, not like Father.”
Jackson held his tongue at the mention of their father. The years had not cleared up his sister’s blindness in that regard. “Forget it, I’m not going to waste my time discussing Roger.”
“I want you to tell me what’s going on, Peter.”
“When did you meet Donovan?”
“Why?”
“Please just answer the question.”
“Almost a year ago. He did a lengthy piece on Father and his distinguished career in the senate. It was a wonderful, compelling testimonial.”
Jackson shook his head in disbelief. She would have viewed it that way: the exact opposite of the truth.
“So I called Thomas up to thank him. We had lunch and then dinner and, well, it’s been wonderful. Extraordinarily wonderful. Thomas is a noble man with a noble purpose in life.”
“Like Father?” Jackson’s mouth curled into a smirk.
“Very much like him,” she said indignantly.
“It’s truly a small world.” He shook his head at the irony.
“Why do you say that?”
Jackson stood up and spread his arms to show the entire sweep of the room. “Alicia, where exactly do you think all of this came from?”
“Why, from the family money, of course.”
“The family money? That was gone. All of it. Has been for years.”
“What are you talking about? I know that Father ran into some financial difficulties along the way, but he recovered. He always did.”
Jackson looked at her with contempt. “He recovered shit, Alicia. He didn’t earn a dime of it. It was all made long before he was around. All he did was blow it. My inheritance, your inheritance. He pissed it away on himself and his lousy dreams of greatness. He was a fake and a loser.”
She jumped up and slapped his face. “How dare you! Everything you have is because of him.”
Jackson slowly rubbed his skin where she had hit him. His real skin was pale, smooth as though he had lived his life in a temple like a Buddhist monk, which in one sense he had.
“Ten years ago, I fixed the national lottery,” he said quietly, his dark eyes glittery as he stared at her small, stunned face. “All that money, everything you have came from that money. From me. Not dear old Dad.”
“What do you mean? How could you—”
Jackson pushed her down on the sofa as he interrupted.
“I collected almost one billion dollars from twelve lottery winners, the very same ones Donovan was investigating. I took their winnings and I invested the money. You remember Grandfather’s network of Wall Street elite? He actually earned his money. I maintained those contacts over the years for a very specific purpose. With the fortune I amassed from the lottery winners, which Wall Street assumed came from the ‘family money,’ I was one of their preferred customers. I negotiated the best deals, was given first choice of all the initial public offerings, the sure-fire winners. That’s a well-kept secret of the rich, Alicia. They get first dibs on everything: A stock that I get at ten dollars a share right before it hits the market goes to seventy dollars a share in the twenty-four hours after it hits the market. I sell it to the ordinary folks, collect my six hundred percent return, and move on to the next windfall. It was like printing money; it’s all in who you know and what you bring to the table. When you bring a billion dollars, believe me, everybody sits up and takes notice. The rich get richer and the poor never will.”
Alicia’s lips had begun trembling halfway through her brother’s explanation, as his speech and mannerisms grew more and more intense, more and more feverish. “Where is Thomas?” Her question was barely audible.
Jackson looked away and licked his dry lips. “He was no good for you, Alicia. No good at all. An opportunist. And I’m sure he loved all of this. All that you had. All that I had given you.”
“Was? Was no good?” Alicia stood up, her hands clamped so tightly together the skin looked boiled.