“Well, we all have our gifts,” Angelo said. “She supposedly stands for victory.”
“I like her already.” I took the photo from him and turned it over in my hands, but there was no writing, no date, nothing to indicate when it had been taken. “So this coin is missing?”
“Several of them, actually. Many of them. They were created by the US Mint, but President Roosevelt ordered them to be destroyed in 1933.”
“Party pooper.”
“Yes, well, many people agreed with you. They were supposed to be melted down and most were, but some were sneaked out of the Mint and remain missing to this day. They’re incredibly rare, which makes them, of course, incredibly valuable. Especially to criminals.”
“So they’re technically contraband?”
“Stolen property, according to the federal government. The Secret Service has actually set up stings to get these coins back.”
“Deeee-lightful.” I sighed, handing the photo back to him. “So is this the point where I start scanning the trees for snipers?”
“I’ve already done that,” Angelo said, and I couldn’t tell if he was just maintaining a straight face for my sake or if he was actually being serious. Either way, I pressed my back against the statue because, hey, better safe than sorry.
“So the Collective thinks my parents have this gold coin.”
“Ten of them, to be precise.”
“Nice. But what’s the big deal about—get away from me, pigeon, I swear to God—these coins?” I narrowed my eyes at a pigeon that was getting too close to my personal safety zone. “I mean, yeah, they were stolen and yeah, gold is great, but how much are these gold coins worth?”
Angelo tucked the photo back into his suit pocket. “The coins we’re looking for are from 1933. They’re the rarest ones.”
“Okay?”
“One gold coin from 1933 sold at auction in 2002 for seven and a half million dollars.”
My jaw fell open.
“Shut the front door!” I gasped, then covered my mouth as several tourists turned to stare. (On the bright side, though, my outburst scared the pigeon away.)
“So basically, the Collective is accusing my parents of stealing seventy million dollars worth of gold coins?”
Angelo nodded.
“And they think that we’ve been hauling them around with us all this time?”
Angelo opened his mouth, closed it, then thought a minute before opening it again.
“I think some members of the Collective know very well that your parents do not have these coins. I also think that there are some members who would like our various coworkers to think otherwise, though.”
I leaned against Sherman and his Victory woman and thought about this. “So let’s say I find these coins. What’s going to stop them from saying that I just, I don’t know, dug them out of my dad’s sock drawer?”
“Nothing. The Collective has always been able to say whatever it wants. And up until now, they have always told the truth.”
“So what’s the point then?”
“Because whether or not the Collective wants to do the right thing is beside the point. We do the right thing. We do it every day. That is your job, love.”
“Yeah, I know we do the right thing, but I’m not going to go out and find these coins and then put them in the hands of someone who doesn’t deserve them. What if I do that and then we get kicked out anyway and some evil genius takes them and invests in, like, terrorist activities or something?”
“I know, my love. It would be terrible to see that happen.”
I waited for Angelo’s inevitable “But that would never happen, darling,” or something like that, but it didn’t come. “Angelo?”
“Hmm?”
“How many people were kicked out of the Collective?”
“I know of at least six so far. Maybe more.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem like a lot,” I said, relieved. “I thought it was, like, a hundred.”
Angelo leaned against the statue with me, a rare, relaxed stance for him. “Those six are the ones who refused to bend to corruption, so they say. I’m sure there are more.”
“More who became corrupt,” I clarified.
“It’s possible.”
“More than six?”
“Again, very possible.”
“But they’re just drops in the bucket,” I said. “Right? I mean, if it’s only a few, then you and I could find them and clean everything up.” I pictured Angelo and me, pushing mops and vacuums, literally cleaning the Collective and putting it back in its proper order.
Angelo looked down at me, his gaze steady. “The thing about these drops in the bucket, as you say, is that they build and grow. It might take a while, but many drops create—”
“A flood.” I finished his sentence before he could. “Something that could wipe us all out.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do. You swooped down in a freaking helicopter and saved me and my friend and boyfriend. You’ve got my lifelong trust.”
Angelo smiled then, a full smile that showed off all his white teeth. “Then please trust that I will tell you when I know more. All right, darling? I’m still putting a few pieces together.”
“Well, can you tell me who has the coins, at least?”
“I am able to do that, yes. It’s a man named Dominic Arment.”