“You said you were bringing him down here for medical treatment. Is your brother a slave you’ve brought here for rehab?”
“How would anyone be able to tell? He might withdraw enough he’d be mistaken for someone you describe the slaves as being like.” He really needed to know what they knew.
Her eyes narrowed. “They have marks on their wrists, mostly brands, but sometimes tattoos with their owners’ initials.”
Holding his arms out, wrists up, Todd looked up at her. “If he was a slave, wouldn’t I be, too?” How long could he tap-dance around the truth before she, or someone, figured out he was indeed a slave owner?
“I’ve never heard of slaves having siblings, but I suppose it’s possible.”
Before she could ask more questions, Todd took the plunge.
“I’ve been responsible for him his whole l
