Wealth (free and completed)

Chapter 3 - Chaos

Val

We saw more of Janus Malcolm days after the wake, the homecoming son sometimes visiting to be shown around by Mr. Twain, one of our dad's trusted solicitors. Janus always seemed in a hurry to leave, as if he would rather be elsewhere than the enormous mansion left to all four of us.

He was also at the funeral, a few feet away from the rest of us. Once, he glanced at me, and I held his grey eyes with mine. His face was grim throughout the funeral, with anger and sorrow on his face. I had given him a small smile of encouragement, but he chose to steer clear of all of us. On that same day, he brought a suitcase to the room assigned. It was the one in between mine and Mr. Sangster's rooms. So, soon, we would be spending more time with him, our brother.

Finding out that he was Mr. Sangster's biological son had created quite a ruckus at home. Everyone had their own opinion over the matter.

Yes, I was still torn about whether I should call Mr. Sangster dad. How could I be calling him that when he never got to hear the word from my lips when he was still alive? And yet, the word had started humming in my head, as if it was the truth all along.

"He’s out for dad’s fortune,” Joseph insisted, the veins on his forehead near popping, and his face was red as a tomato. He held a half-empty brandy snifter in his left hand. The rest of his body seemed to suggest he was relaxed, right leg over the other, but I knew he was anything but. He felt superior over the rest of us, being the son of one of Mr. Sangster’s second cousins. It was easy to figure out who it was as I searched for headlines about the prominent family dating back to twenty-odd years ago. It appeared that Joseph’s mother, Ava Sangster, was a drug addict who died when he was five.

Tragedy. I knew that was what the four of us had in common aside from Mr. Sangster.

“Yeah, you should have seen that suit he wore to the wake. I’m pretty sure that it was the same one he wore to the funeral,” Emilie said right before she popped her gum. So, she sounded like she swallowed all her words. She was not finished, though. “He obviously needs the bucks.”

I did not want to be judgmental, but she tended to seesaw between trashy and classy. She could do both, but sometimes the former seemed to peek out a lot more when she was here at home with us. Strangely, it meant that she really felt comfortable with us. She was with her amily. Rumors persisted that she was the love child of a famous celebrity whom Mr. Sangster adored. I wondered if the word “adored” was a euphemism for something else. Still, Hannah said it was more of an admiration for avant-garde films. People tended to talk too much around me as if I was a mute who could not pass on the story to someone else. Being crippled seemed to mean being regarded as safe and trustworthy.

“You two are idiots!” Rafael said. “He looked exactly like dad when he was that age. You don’t pay attention, do you? Anyway, we’re adopted while he’s the bio son, and you two seem to be acting as if he’s the one encroaching on dad’s wealth. What do you think, Val?”

I sighed. We were in the living room, with them sitting on the large, burgundy-colored L-shaped sofa as far apart from each other as possible. I was in my wheelchair because I did not like the feeling of having to ask any of them to help me to and from it. I was also there to merely listen as I often did when we had these family meetings of sorts. It would be the first one with all four of us, without our dad present and playing referee.

“He seems like a nice guy, Jo and Em. Raffy is right. He’s obviously blood-related to dad, and what are we, well, aside from Joseph?”

“Speak for yourself, Val!” Emilie snapped. “You're not adopted. We are. We were also here for years, blood-related or not. We were even here two years before dad took you home. Where was he the whole time?"

Okay, let me preface my thoughts by saying that Em was not precisely sharp up there.

"Is it his fault that he didn't know about it?" I asked. Okay, I wasn't sure about this, but I saw it on his face – the bewilderment and the pain. Janus Malcolm. Janus Sangster. The name he was born with seemed to fit better, yet he looked every bit the Sangster – dad came back to life as a young man. "He didn't look particularly pleased with moving to this house."

Emile gave me a look of disbelief when I said that. I could almost hear her thoughts. To her, I was probably the stupid one.

"Are you telling me that we're actually divided on this?" Rafael asked gleefully. My brother stood up and did a graceful turn, emphasizing his long legs. Even in jeans, he could do a pirouette.

Looking at him at that moment, he looked more like a rock star, with his spiky black hair, black eyeliner, and his sleeveless shirt. He liked trouble and would pursue it at any moment. He was slim and only a little over medium height: a dancer's body. He belonged to a ballet troupe for years since he was a teen, but lately, I wondered if he were still in it. He drank too much for someone supposed to be taking care of his body. His parentage was a mystery, and he had never talked about wanting to know more. Like Emilie, he should have an idea. He was adopted as a preteen.

I wondered how I was connected to any of them and to Mr. Sangster. Nobody questioned when our billionaire dad took me home. I could not understand why he did not adopt me because he surely did his part in making me feel like a flesh and blood daughter. Not many biological daughters were treated as well as I was.

"Yes, we're divided on this, Raf. But I know you'd never take my side. You would always find a reason to go against me. And you, Valerie, the guy just kissed your hand at the wake, and you're his defender?"

So, he saw that? I guessed what I liked about my three siblings was that they did not care if I were in a wheelchair. When they were angry, each would come at me if they wanted to. They would not hold back verbally, but they always gave me a few feet of distance. It was as if they were afraid I would break if they laid their hands on me. Small mercies.

"I’m not his defender. I’m trying to look at the situation in a fair manner. We don’t know him. Why don’t we try to find out more before we judge?”

“I know Val’s going to be nice about it. But face it, you two are unhappy about finding someone closer to dad in blood. You, especially, Joseph,” Rafael said, no longer smiling. He faced Joseph as if he could take his older brother on.

Joseph was six feet tall, with a body honed from the gym. I had pretty vain siblings, although I had to admit Rafael at least had reason to watch his body weight. All three were amazed that physical therapy, healthy food, and stretches managed to keep me slim. As one might expect from someone with my condition, my legs weren't even thin and sunken. However, my feet were a little on the small side.

Suddenly, we heard a clamor from outside.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” asked Joseph, exasperated, uncrossing his legs as if he had to ready himself for a fight. His elbows were now on his knees, and his hands clasped together – not in prayer but for a little bit of control. His knuckles had turned white.

“It’s him!” Rafael said with a grin on his face. He gave three more turns, a little show for his siblings, and his way of letting out steam. Raffy didn’t know that I had caught on his habit. Whenever he got very nervous, he would give random ballet turns. Three turns. “They make noise just like when he was here two days ago.”

“He’s damn fine. We can all at least agree,” Emilie said, licking her upper lip.

“He’s your brother, Em,” Rafael said, his face indicating that he was merely joking.

“You know he’s not. I’m adopted, and I didn’t grow up with him,” my sister said, seemingly trying to prove something. I saw her raise an eyebrow at Joseph. It was almost like a dare for him to say something. A bait. He didn’t take it. If any blood relatives were there in that same compound, it would be Joseph and Janus.

The door finally opened. Our 60-year-old butler Randall led the way. The kindly old man still walked with a straight back. Two male attendants carried a suitcase each. Janus Malcolm entered with one luggage in hand. He must have refused to give it to the attendants, who would gladly carry everything he had. Technically, he was the new master of the house.

“Mr. Janus Malcolm – Sangster,” Randall announced. There was a slight pause after the surname Malcolm. Did he decide to keep both surnames?

Janus gave a slight nod. He did not look diffident to me, but he was not happy with his new lot in life, either. Our eyes met again. And again, I was struck at how he looked so much like his father, Mr. Theodore Sangster IV – and yet so different. The late Mr. Sangster had crinkly eyes that smiled, only looking forlorn when he thought we were not watching. Janus, on the other hand, was more open about his grief. I felt like he had gotten used to wearing it like his best cloak.

Did he seek mine on purpose? Did he want me to see what he was feeling?

At that moment, I could only feel chaos in my heart. I remembered what Emilie said about not being real siblings. I was not even adopted? Was I meant for this moment? I inwardly shook my head, shook the thought out of my system. I was there to welcome our new brother, and I could not be anything else but sisterly – especially since he would only see me as a fragile thing to protect. Rafael was like that with me, I knew. He always made me feel like I belonged. The intensity in Janus Malcolm’s eyes suggested that he was capable of more.