The Sound of Us

Chapter Nine. “Dangerous” by David Guetta, Sam Martin

CHAPTER NINE

“Dangerous” by David Guetta, Sam Martin

DANTE

Bob Gregory had been handling our family’s legal matters since before I was born. His office was at the top of a steel-and-glass tower in The Loop, and it hadn’t changed in the ten years since I’d last been to see him.

I helped myself to coffee and cookies in the meeting room after a suspicious receptionist called security to stand outside the door. Clearly, the city’s top law firm didn’t have many clients who showed up dressed in a leather jacket, heavy metal band shirt, and a variety of chains.

“Dante.” Bob’s worn, lined face showed no expression when he walked in to find me lounging back in the leather chair, my feet up on the shiny mahogany table. But then as a lawyer and fixer for businessmen in the upper echelons of power, including those like my father who were involved in organized crime, his poker face was part of the job. “Nice to see you again. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to catch up last month at your grandmother’s funeral.”

“I can’t say the same.” I didn’t get up to shake his hand. I had no respect for the man that helped my father get away with his crimes.

“Understood.” Bob wasn’t easily rattled. When I was only twelve years old, he’d watched calmly from behind his desk while my father beat me for daring to protest his decision to break the trust my mother had set up for my sister and me before she died.

“You said there was something we needed to discuss…” I wasn’t interested in pleasantries. I wanted out of his shady law firm as fast as possible.

“Yes, it’s about the money your grandmother left you in her will.” He stroked the salt-and-pepper goatee that matched what was left of his thinning hair. “I am very sorry for your loss, by the way. I had season tickets to the Chicago Symphony. I never missed one of your grandmother’s performances.”

My throat closed at the thought of never hearing my grandmother play again. She was a gifted cellist and had encouraged my passion for music by introducing me to a wide variety of musical genres and teaching me how to play both the piano and her beloved cello. I had been devastated when she didn’t step in to take custody of Sasha and me after our mother died, instead, leaving us to face my father’s abuse alone. I’d dropped by a few times to see her after I left home, but my anger and resentment had made for some awkward conversations, and eventually I’d stopped making the effort.

“Her solicitors tried to contact me after the funeral, but I didn’t return their calls or read the letters they sent,” I said. “It was a difficult time. If you want to know anything about her estate, you should contact them.”

Bob nodded in what was clearly feigned sympathy. “It’s been difficult for your father, too. You may not be aware that your grandfather died intestate many years ago and your grandmother inherited his considerable estate. Of course, that money was meant to go to your father, but for tax reasons it made more sense for her to keep it, with the expectation it would then pass to your father upon her death. Unfortunately, we just discovered that your grandmother decided not to honor that agreement. Shortly after your sister’s death, she put half the money in a living trust for you, which means that it did not become part of her estate when she passed.”

“I didn’t know about the trust.” I had a vague memory of my grandmother mentioning something about securing my inheritance after Sasha died, but at the time I was barely able to function.

“You probably also don’t know then that her will divides the remainder of the money between you and your father, subject to payment of charitable bequests.” Bob pushed a file folder across the table. “I’ve drafted the documents you need to sign to transfer the trust funds and your inheritance to your father—”

I stared at Bob, incredulous. “You want me to go against my grandmother’s wishes and sign away the money she left me?”

“It was always meant to go back into the family business,” Bob said, opening his hands in a placatory gesture. “This will ensure that things are as they should be.”

The family business, Rossi Holdings, encompassed a little bit of everything from a real estate development company to casinos. My great-great-grandfather, a member of the Italian Mafia, had emigrated from Italy to Chicago to expand the enterprise. He brought with him extensive family connections, a head for business, and a nose for turning a profit. Over the years, the company had gone from success to success, the legitimate side supported by a variety of smaller businesses that were used to launder money from illegal activities such as drug trafficking, weapons dealing, smuggling, counterfeiting, and robbery. My father kept his hands clean with a team of clever mob-friendly lawyers and accountants to move his money around and a vast network of lower-level mobsters to do his dirty work.

“If things were as they should be,” I said coldly, “my mother and sister would still be alive.” I was tempted to go further, to tell him that I knew the truth—my father had murdered my mother and Bob had covered it up as a tragic accident, making use of both my father’s organized crime and political connections to ensure the truth never came to light. But I had to play the long game. Sasha had taken her own life, unable to handle the burden of that secret on top of the constant abuse. Witnesses and evidence also had a way of disappearing in my father’s world, and I intended to live to see justice done.

“I know you and your father haven’t always been on good terms, but think of the future,” Bob said, his voice dripping with honeyed insincerity. “Maybe one day you’ll reconcile, and you and your father can run Rossi Holdings together.”

“I’m not signing the papers.” My father would never get his hands on my grandmother’s money, but I also didn’t want to keep it. Ultimately, it had come from a family business that was run by organized crime and I wanted no part of it. “I plan to donate it to charity.”

Bob went utterly still. “We’re talking seven figures. I was a student once and I know the financial struggles students face—”

“I’m not struggling.” Between scholarships, band gigs, my summer internship, a side hustle providing essay-writing services on campus, and the money I’d saved while working at WJPK, I had more than enough to make ends meet.

Bob scratched his head, and I could almost see his brain do a mental shift. He wasn’t just a lawyer. He was a fixer. His job was to make problems go away. “If you are set on donating it to charity, I can help you select some worthwhile organizations…”

Something niggled at the back of my mind. Noah needed money for the station. What could be more worthwhile than giving back for all the help he’d given me?

“I’m going to have my inheritance handled by another firm,” I said, dropping my feet. “I’ll send you the details—”

“Our firm is well-placed to help you with your charitable endeavors,” Bob said in a pleading tone. “We’ve been serving your family for over two decades and would be happy to facilitate any donations.”

No doubt my “donations” would be to charities connected to my father’s businesses and wind up back in his pocket.

“Thanks, Bob, but I made some legal contacts this summer when I interned at the DA’s office. I’m sure one of them can recommend someone to help me.”

As expected, Bob paled at the mention of the district attorney. “Why don’t you take some time to think about it? There’s no rush.”

“There is a rush.” I grabbed the last cookie from the plate. “There are people who need that money more than me.”

“Someone call an ambulance.” Noah slapped his hand over his chest when I walked into his office later that afternoon. “I’m having a heart attack. Dante is here and it’s still light outside.”

“Hilarious.” I lifted a box off one of the chairs and cleared away all the papers so I could take a seat.

“This feels serious,” Noah said, his smile fading. He turned down his music—Leonard Cohen’s “So Long, Marianne,” one of his favorite songs of all time—and straightened in his chair. “Too serious for a Monday when I’m still recovering from the weekend.”

“It is.” I sprawled out in front of him, still buzzing with anticipation. I was about to solve all his problems with the click of a pen. “I just came from seeing my dad’s lawyer. My grandmother left me over one million dollars. I want to give it to the station.”

Silence.

Did he hear me?

“While I appreciate the gesture, your grandmother clearly meant for you to have that money,” Noah said finally. “I’m sure she wanted you to use it so you could have a good life. Law school is likely going to cost you over two hundred thousand dollars if you go to a good school, and I’m sure you don’t want to live above my garage forever. Have you seen the mortgage rates? And what about transportation? You may get the urge to buy a black 1967 Shelby Mustang GT500 that you’d let an aging station manager drive on sunny Sunday afternoons.”

It took me a moment to process the fact that he was rejecting my offer. “Most of that money came from the family business,” I protested. “I don’t want anything to do with it, but I do want some good to come out of the bad.”

Noah knew about my father’s involvement with organized crime. He knew about everything, including Sasha’s suicide note accusing my father of murder, and my plan to avenge both her and my mom. I’d never had any doubt that he would keep my secrets. I trusted him absolutely, and funding the station was the perfect way to pay him back for everything he’d done for me.

“That’s very generous, but it won’t solve our problems,” Noah said. “Our total annual expenses are over three hundred thousand dollars per year, and that’s with the rent subsidy we get from the university. If we want to stay on campus—and we do, because we are here to teach as much as anything else—we need to show the administration that the station is viable as an ongoing concern. I’ve spent years identifying grants specific to our needs. A lump sum will keep us afloat for a few years, but—”

“It could also mean you lose some of your long-term grants and that would hurt the station in the future.”

Noah laughed. “Well, at least your education hasn’t been a waste. It’s important for students to understand what it means to be a nonprofit and how difficult it is to raise funding so they will be sympathetic to the struggles of nonprofits they encounter in the future.”

“I feel like I missed out on an opportunity to learn about running a nonprofit radio station.” During my first few years at the station, I was involved in everything from working the sound board to fixing the equipment and from managing volunteers and schedules to organizing the library. After I was accepted as a student, I dropped everything except my show.

“I’m always happy to teach,” Noah said. “And with our finances tight this year, I’ll be asking you to help out more than just doing your show. But I won’t take your money, no matter how dire our circumstances. You have a life to live, Dante. I won’t take that away from you.”

“If I keep enough for law school, will you take the rest?” I persisted. “Or even just enough to fund something that isn’t already covered by a grant—a new piece of equipment, a program, an event…? I want to do this. For you and everything you’ve done for me, and for the station because this is where I got my fresh start.”

Noah sighed and twisted his lips to the side, considering. “There is something. We were only able to hire one intern for this year through our joint program with the journalism department. Usually, we fund one position as a paid internship, and the journalism department takes care of the other. This year we had to divert the internship money to pay for operating costs. If you really want to help, you could—”

Skye.

“I’ll fund the position,” I said quickly. “And I know someone who would be interested. She’s in journalism and—”

“I’ll stop you right there,” Noah said, holding up his hand. “First, the university has rules about scholarships and donations. Donors can set conditions but can’t direct who receives the award. It would be considered a conflict of interest with some very serious and possibly criminal consequences. Your friend would have to apply like everyone else, and I can’t guarantee I would choose her. I have to go with the best candidate.” He waited for me to nod my understanding before continuing. “You would also need to give me your word that you’ll keep back enough for law school, including all your living expenses. That’s non-negotiable.”

“You’ve got it.” I could justify keeping the portion of the money that my grandmother had earned during her years playing for the symphony—it had come from her music and not from the family business.

“You also cannot be part of the selection process,” Noah warned. “And you need to stay at arm’s length so we can’t be accused of bias. That means not being in a relationship with a particular candidate.”

“I’m not. I promise. She—”

“Ah. Ah.” Noah cut me off again. “I don’t want to know anything about this person. I should really just offer the new position to one of the candidates I interviewed last term because the start date for the internship is next Monday. But to be fair to people who may have missed out last term, we can advertise it again with a deadline of this Wednesday. I can do the interviews Thursday and push the start date for the internship to give the university time to deal with the paperwork. If all goes well, the two interns could start together as early as next Friday.”

I leaned back in the chair and groaned. Could he possibly make it any more difficult for me to help Skye? “That’s not a lot of time.”

Noah chuckled. “You should be thanking me for protecting your ass, not moaning like Ray Charles in ‘What’d I Say.’”

“I groaned,” I huffed. “I didn’t moan. And it was in protest of all the roadblocks you’re putting in the way of someone who really needs the job.”

“The biggest roadblock will be the university administration.” Noah toyed with the coffee cup in front of him. The pot was empty, and I made a mental note to fill it for him when we were done. “They are notoriously slow when it comes to setting up this kind of funding.”

“I’ve just found a lawyer to help manage the legal aspects of the inheritance. I can ask him if there is someone in his firm who can help move things forward.” I wanted Skye to have that chance, and if wasn’t her, then at least someone else would benefit. “Any other hurdles? I honestly thought I was going to just waltz in here and write you a big fat check.”

“No more hurdles,” Noah said. “But I do have a question. In all the years I’ve known you, not once have you ever mentioned a woman in any other context than that of a one-night stand. I figured relationships were off the table for you, but I get the impression that this woman is different. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“She’s just some girl I met,” I assured him. “I hardly know her at all.”