“Mmm?”
“I found out something today.”
“What?”
“Mom and Dad adopted me.”
She kept watching television.
I waited.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s it?”
She looked confused.
“What am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.”
She thought.
“Are you still my brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Then can we watch the dragon part?”
I stared at her.
“That’s seriously all you care about?”
Vicky sighed dramatically.
“Michael.”
“What?”
“You always say blood doesn’t make people nice.”
I blinked.
“When did I say that?”
“When Aunt Denise said we were family.”
I remembered.
Vicky leaned against me again.
“You’re my brother because you’re my brother.”
Seven years old.
That was all.
No identity crisis.
No complicated philosophy.
No bloodline.
You’re my brother because you’re my brother.
I kissed the top of her head.
“Yeah.”
Then my phone rang.
Mercer.
I answered.
“What now?”
His voice sounded strange.
“Michael, we found the final trust schedule.”
