Chapter 20 Sad Apples
Sad Apples
Curled up on her couch with Fuller on her lap, Penelope leafed through her father’s notes for the third time that week, still circling Belgrave Trust without finding anything concrete.
Her laptop balanced on the armrest beside her, open to a half-finished search query.
She still spent most of her free time lost in research, and, well, texting with Lucia.
True to form, Lucia respected the digital-only boundary Penelope had drawn.
Penelope hadn’t expected or even wanted her to break it—she just hated that she herself wanted to.
Wanting to see Lucia again was half the reason she’d made the suggestion in the first place.
Being logically inclined was a pain in the butt sometimes.
She reached for her mug and grimaced. She’d let the green tea steep too long.
Perhaps her research drive had increased because it proved to be somewhat of a distraction. How funny, considering it had been her main obsession since the fallout with her father.
Her father’s conviction had left her floundering, so she’d spent the year afterward in archives, poring over provenance records, chasing whispers of fraud through restricted databases, and tugging on every thread Valentina had left dangling.
What she found—old correspondence, stray references, fragments—was enough to harden her grief-fueled hunches into something real and to give her enough certainty to approach Valentina.
Only after her mother had relinquished the full set of his private notes did those scattered traces crystallize into something closer to proof.
And months at Valentina’s doorstep—the woman was a damned vault—had yielded little until now, when she seemed to have unintentionally stumbled into her best chance at reaching her goal, even if Belgrave Trust still stared back at her from every margin of her father’s notes like an unanswered question.
One she still needed to bring up with Francesca, though who knew when she’d see her next. If she’d see her again at all.
Penelope sometimes thought Francesca and Valentina were two sides of the same coin.
Polar opposites in looks and temperament, yet both exuded the kind of confidence that amassed loyalty.
A sort of charisma that drew people to them and kept them steadfast. To her, Francesca’s loyalty seemed more deserved, but what did she know? She was biased, too.
And here she was, circling back to Lucia because all paths led to her.
Right on cue, her phone beeped, and she startled Fuller by how abruptly she snatched it up.
“Sorry, girl.” She petted her head, then focused on her phone.
Lucia.
Penelope failed to quell the smile blossoming on her lips.
Just checking in to make sure you had more than a sad apple for lunch.
And what happens if that was indeed my lunch? For the record, that apple was juicy and delicious yesterday. Not sad at all.
A lunch that consists of only an apple is sad by definition.
Penelope shook her head, smiling.
Did you just really go through the trouble of bolding part of your message to make a point?
It’s a point well worth making!
“She’s a lunatic, Fuller.”
Fuller opened one eye, but then, as if deciding Penelope wasn’t worth her attention, returned to her ball-shaped sleeping position.
So, what did you eat?
Penelope almost asked something along the lines of, Don’t people usually ask what you’re wearing? Thankfully, her head proved faster than her fingers this time, though that didn’t prevent the heat from spreading through her.
Ridiculous.
Tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.
Ah, comfort food. You okay?
A new smile formed on Penelope’s lips.
Yes, of course. I just like the combo.
~ ~ ~
The following Monday, Penelope stopped by the registrar’s office, waving at the man behind the desk until he removed his headphones.
“Hey, Tim, could you do me a favor and flag anything unusual about Belgrave Trust’s donations or provenance records? Just shoot me an email with the results.”
“Sure thing.” He scribbled something on the notepad next to his computer. “Anything else? Additional connections or threads you want me to look out for? Or any particular pieces?”
“No. Just note everything that’s off.”
“All righty. Talk soon!” He put his headphones back on, effectively dismissing Penelope.
Tim was…different from most other registrars she’d worked with in the past, but he was highly efficient, and she hoped he’d find something she could show Francesca.
That this meant she’d (presumably) also see Lucia again had nothing to do with it.
Before she could get too annoyed with herself, she ran into Montgomery in the hallway. Montgomery promptly asked her to join her in her office.
“I’ll cut right to the chase. Valentina Varnelli is hitting us from both ends—legal letters about insurance and conservation, and whispers to donors that we can’t protect what we borrow. None of it would stand up in court, but the noise alone is making my job a nightmare.”
“Have other donors contacted you about this as well?”
“No, but it’s only a matter of time. Not to mention, her tactics eat up a lot of time and resources we can’t afford to waste. Instead of bringing us money, the Madonna could end up bleeding us dry.” Montgomery sighed.
“What do you suggest?”
“I have half a mind to return it just so I no longer have to deal with that woman.”
“But the ball, and—”
Montgomery waved her off. “Oh, don’t start preaching to the choir. I won’t. Out of sheer spite alone, but in some moments…”
“I get it. Ms. Varnelli can be challenging.”
Montgomery tilted her head. “I take it you don’t have any real influence with her?”
“No. I’ve only dealt with her in my capacity as curator. She’s a known quantity in the local art world.”
“Too bad. I’d hoped you had some connections and might be able to talk her out of it. Like a secret weapon.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“Yes, well. I’ll talk with Legal to see what options we have.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Montgomery settled behind her desk.
Before turning and heading back out, Penelope hesitated. “What would you do? If she somehow managed to void the contract before the ball? What would we put on display in place of the Madonna?”
“Dear Lord, Dr. Blackwell, don’t even voice such thoughts! Months of planning undone by one diva with a legal team. That’s a nightmare I refuse to consider.”
“I understand, but shouldn’t we be prepared for the worst-case scenario?”
Montgomery grunted. “How about this—why don’t you decide on the best alternative? Being prepared might allow us to ward off such a scenario.”
Penelope smiled. “Of course.” She left the office.
Perhaps convincing Montgomery would be harder than she thought.
Harder still when she couldn’t ignore the truth: Valentina’s empire was a poison, Francesca’s Collective little better, and yet here she was, standing in between.
Justice for her father on one side, Lucia on the other.
And Penelope? She was starting to wonder if there even was a “right” side left to stand on.
She used to think this was all so easy and straightforward.
Not that she tended to see the world in black and white—she’d outgrown that after her teenage years—but still, on paper, both Francesca’s Collective and Valentina’s Eris Group were the villains.
Yet when affection and loyalty intruded, everything turned gray.
Or maybe that was what she wanted to see to justify her own actions.
Wasn’t there a saying about how the path of vengeance only ever hurt the seeker?
After a few hours of losing herself in her work, an internal email chain between the Conservation team and the registrar, copied to her as well, caught her attention:
We logged an unusual humidity spike in the Conservation wing yesterday. Facilities say it was momentary, but I wanted you to be aware since the Madonna is in that environment.
The registrar had replied:
This needs to be noted in the loan file. Can you confirm Conservation will monitor daily? Dr. Blackwell, do you want to move the Madonna just in case or observe the next twenty-four hours and decide then?
Penelope groaned. So much for the Meridian’s security system being embarrassing. This must have come from Jules’s test run Lucia had mentioned the other night.
Although this might work in their favor. She needed to update Lucia.
She tapped her pen against her desk, then pressed reply.
Huh. I suppose that clears up whose side you’re on.
Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose. What was she getting herself into? And how much farther could she wade out before there would be no way back?
She wrote:
Let’s observe for the next 24h. If there’s another issue, let’s move it to the Conservation Lab while we figure out the cause. Better safe than sorry.
There’d be no other hiccup. At least not yet.