"Our father was French," I said, looking at Jordan with respect and something else in my eyes. It was strange, how a simple decision that had been made in an instant to merely preserve a limited haul's success had evolved into something else. There was a growing possibility in my mind that what I wanted to explore was worth more than the limited profit we'd make from the swords.
"You told me that already," Jordan said with a small smirk. She was still a bit rattled from telling her story of the violin audition, but she was recovering well from it. "And that your mother was Romani."
I nodded, chuckling at my poor start. "That is true, isn't it? Well, he was an art thief, one of the best in the world. For nearly thirty years, he pulled off jobs that nobody else would even touch. He even got a few pieces from the Louvre's collection, although he never went into the main museum. He was far too skilled for that. Instead, he would often make them disappear like magic during transports, when they were taken for cleaning, things like that."
"So how good are we talking?" Jordan asked.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I said. Jordan looked at me like I was bragging, and I held up my hands, nodding. "I'm being honest. Father was . . . he was amazing. There are rumors, ones that even he wouldn’t confirm for us before he died that some of the supposedly world's greatest pieces hanging in galleries are forgeries slipped in by him in order to cover up his activities. I do know that in his home were a few pictures that also hang in various museums in New York, London, and even Moscow."
"So why follow him into the business? You said he had plenty of money, why not live the life of the trust fund child?" Jordan asked, certainly perplexed.
Francois shifted around uncomfortably and ran his hand through his hair. He got to his feet, then sat down before standing up again. “Excuse me, I think I need to get some fresh air."
I watched Francois pull his coat on and leave, closing the door loudly behind him. He crunched off into the woods, leaving behind myself and a very perplexed Jordan. "What's with him?”
I shook my head sadly. While he and I rarely spoke about it, I wasn’t ignorant to Francois’ inner demons, and the feelings he was struggling with. "There are things in our family history that cause stress between us. Some of it is related to what I’m telling you, and some of it is related to things that, well, will seem outlandish to you."
Jordan thought about it for a while, then nodded. "Is it really that much stress between the two of you? You seem to get along most of the time, like most brothers I know."
“We do, but let me continue," I said. "It’ll be easier that way. So, our father was a great art thief. As part of our culture growing up, both the Roma and the way he raised us, it was considered only natural that Francois and I follow in his footsteps. This has led to some of the stress between us, as Francois enjoys the process, while I’m more of your mindset. Even if we have to abandon this job, we have gotten enough money just from the work the two of us have done to make us rich men for the rest of our lives. I only agreed to do this job with Francois in order to help set him up further. He wants to be as secretly famous as our father was. It’s my duty as the lead brother to support him.”
"Lead brother? What exactly does that mean,” Jordan asked.