"What the hell?" I put out a hand and use the wall to steady myself. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel. Grateful? Instead I just feel vaguely dirty.

Patrick hands me a folder. The first page has been flipped up to reveal a new letter from my father's law firm.

“Mr. Boyd has asked if I can help notifying the others. Your brother Finnigan was the only one who responded. You wouldn’t happen to know where they are, would you?”

Others? I have no idea what he's talking about and it obviously shows on my face because Patrick points to the list at the bottom of the page. "Your father has plans to split his empire equally amongst his sons.”

"I only have one brother. Finn."

Patrick looks stunned for a moment. Then he yanks out the chair in front of his desk.

"Perhaps you'd best take that seat now, Mr. Marshall."

My head is reeling by the time I leave the lawyer's office. Emma says something to me on the way out and I don't even stop. I can’t. Everything I know is spinning around and around in my head. I have brothers. Plural. Three other men out there in the world that I share blood with and have never even met.

The thoughts torment me for the rest of the night.

By the next day, I've worked up a pretty good rage. It's the Irish genes, my mom always says. I'm not sure about that because my brother Finn is the exact opposite. Well, he used to be the exact opposite. Before he came back from war with a busted leg and found his fiancée with another man.

I park my bike in one of the spaces labeled with Finn's number. The old Ford pickup he’s had for years sits next to me. I tuck my helmet under my arm and ride the elevator to the top floor. He's in Penthouse B, which faces the West side of the building. He didn't have the same ethical dilemma with accepting the old man's largesse. Finn has always seen the world in black and white. In his words, “If the bastard wants to give me money, I'll let him.” That's my brother, the diplomat.

I use my key and enter his spacious apartment. The rancid smell of old takeout and funky gym shoes hits me as soon as I push the door open.

"Finn? Are you here?"

I call out to him out of courtesy not because I think he's actually gone. He hasn't left the place to my knowledge in several weeks. Not since he moved in. I pass through the kitchen. It’s a fucking mess with bottles, empty paper plates and pizza boxes everywhere. I pick up an empty container that smells like fried rice, disturbing the family of flies nesting there.

“Finn?”

"What do you want, Tank?" His voice comes from the general direction of the living room.

He's sitting on the couch, his leg propped up on the coffee table. I've learned to control my expressions around Finn but there's no doubt that I'm shocked every time I see him. His leg is shriveled, easily half the size it should be. It looks so fragile next to the rest of his body. We have the same deep brown eyes but his hair is lighter than mine, almost blond. It looks darker now, and hangs in dirty clumps all over his head, like it hasn't been washed in a while.  When he looks at me, his cheekbones appear even more sunken than last week. He's lost more weight.

"I went to the lawyer’s office yesterday. I signed the papers."

He closes his eyes and looks happier than he has in weeks. "Good. You deserve that money. Maybe you can finally take a break. Do whatever it is normal people do. Go sit your big ass on a beach somewhere."

I laugh because I know he expects me to. It's a bitter, strangled sound. "I wouldn't even know what to do on a beach. I'd probably shoot the first seagull that landed near me."

He laughs again and then his face twists into a mask of pain. “Pills are wearing off.”

I stand. “I’ll get them.”

His apartment is top of the line, granite counters, recessed lighting and cherry wood cabinets. The first thing he did with his money was buy this apartment building. It’ll generate a nice profit for him every quarter and he won’t have to worry about money while he's recuperating.

I would feel a lot better about his mental state if he were actually doing something to recuperate. Instead he's been sitting in the midst of all this finery slowly letting his life and his body go down the drain.

His medications are lined up on the counter. The first bottle contains the painkillers his doctor prescribed. It's almost empty so I know he's been taking these. I glance back to where Finn is on the couch. I suspect that he’s taking more of them than he’s supposed to. The others are things I can't pronounce. I shake out the required number of each and carry them along with a glass of water back to the couch. I set it all down on the glass top next to his foot.

"Don't you get tired of this? Babysitting me?"

When I don't answer, he heaves a sigh and leans forward to grab the handful of pills. It pains me to see the strain and effort it costs him to move. He throws the entire handful in his mouth and then downs the glass of water in one big mouthful.

"Babysitting comes with the territory. It's Big Brother 101." The statement makes me think of what the lawyer told me. "Did you know about the others?"

Finn collapses back against the cushions of the couch. "Other what?"

"Our other brothers. According to Stevens, there are five of us total." The names I saw in that file have been swimming around in my head ever since. Gabriel. Zachary. Lucas.

"I didn't know. Maybe he told me and I just wasn't paying attention. I was pretty out of it." Finn looks vaguely embarrassed.