Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Anthony
I smiled to myself. Gabrielle and I had fallen into a rhythm again.
It wasn’t the cautious distance we’d shared when I first arrived at the gallery—before the vault had been opened after Devereux’s guilty plea— before the secrets began to unspool. It also wasn’t the electric, barely-contained current of tension that had defined our time on the yacht. This felt… different. Calmer. Steady.
Side by side at the expansive table in the gallery's workspace, we both had our laptops open, the gentle whir of the scanner in the background acting as a soft metronome. The air smelled faintly of aged paper and brewed coffee.
“Three pieces cleared this morning,” I said, glancing up from my screen. “France, Germany, and one heading to Dubai. The foundation’s arranging transport.”
Gabrielle nodded, her fingers pausing on the trackpad. “That’s good. I wasn’t sure the Chagall would get confirmed so fast.”
I smiled. “Neither was I. But the tracing on the pigment came back clean, and the paperwork finally matched.”
She gave a small, distracted smile, then reached for her coffee. The mug hovered near her lips for a second too long before she took a sip and set it down barely touched.
I watched her for a beat longer than necessary. Her complexion looked paler than usual under the natural light. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the data, but her body told a different story—tense shoulders, stiff posture, a kind of internal retreat I recognized but didn’t yet understand.
She was here. She was working. But something in her energy was… off.
“You okay?” I asked keeping my voice easy.
Gabrielle glanced at me and slowly nodded. “Yeah. Just still tired from everything we’ve been through, I guess.”
I didn’t press. I could’ve. But I didn’t.
“Let’s pull the next two from the vault after this break,” I said instead. “Burker’s warmed up and ready to go.”
“Sounds good.”
She clicked back to her files, and I watched her hands for a second—steady enough now, but I’d seen the way they trembled yesterday.
Whatever was weighing on her, it hadn’t left.
And I had a sinking feeling it wasn’t just the gallery’s ghosts keeping her up at night.
The breakroom smelled like overworked appliances and a hint of citrus cleaner, a contrast to the old-world opulence of the rest of the gallery. I poured myself another cup of coffee, grateful for the moment to stretch my legs and shake off the tight coil of attention that came from cross-referencing provenance logs all morning.
I’d just taken a sip when Gabrielle stiffened beside me.
I followed her line of sight to the hallway.
Judge Valencia strolled in like he had no concept of the word unannounced —casually dressed in khaki shorts, a navy golf polo, and aviators tucked into the collar. He held a white pastry box in one hand, grinning like he was showing up to brunch.
“Well, I figured I’d drop by and see how my favorite restitution team is doing,” he said, lifting the box slightly. “Didn’t want to come empty-handed.”
I set down my cup slowly. “Judge Valencia. We weren’t expecting you.”
“That’s the fun of a surprise, isn’t it?” he said, breezing into the room. “I’m heading to Coconut Grove for a tee time—thought I’d check in on my way.”
His tone was bright. Too bright. Rehearsed.
Beside me, Gabrielle offered a weak smile. “That’s… thoughtful of you.”
She accepted the pastry box and set it on the counter, but I noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her coffee mug again—then set it down untouched.
The judge didn’t miss a beat. His eyes scanned the breakroom, then drifted past us toward the gallery floor. “Looks like you’ve got the place humming. Anyone interesting on the return list?”
“Three this morning,” I said. “One to Paris, one to Munich, one headed to a museum in Dubai.”
“Excellent. Excellent.” He nodded, still smiling, and then his eyes landed on the glass case across the gallery floor. “Is that… A Lady and Gentleman in Black ?”
“It is,” I said, even before Gabrielle could answer.
He took a step forward, as if admiring it from a distance. “Quite the piece. Have we located the original owner yet?”
I turned to look at Gabrielle just as she was closing her laptop. Not shutting it down—just a tab. She stood slowly, smoothing her palms on her skirt.
“We’re still reviewing the provenance trail,” she said evenly. “No confirmed match so far.”
The judge nodded, as if that was the answer he expected. “Well, I trust you’ll let us know the moment anything changes. You know how it works—foundation protocol, legal precedent... If no heirs surface, the court prepares the piece for public auction.”
I remembered our conversation. He wanted that painting, and I wasn’t sure at what lengths he would go to get it. He had mentioned the protocol so mildly it almost sounded like a courtesy. But Gabrielle was still standing beside me. And I didn’t like the way his eyes lingered on her a fraction too long after he said it.
I stepped forward. “We’ve actually uncovered more than what was on the court’s initial list. If you have a few minutes, I can show you the vault.”
The judge glanced at his watch, all performative charm. “Tempting, but I’ve got a tee time in an hour, and I’m not dressed for rummaging around in a temperature-controlled vault full of priceless art.” He grinned and turned back toward the door. “Rain check?”
“Of course,” I said.
He gave a mock salute, his hand brushing the edge of his sunglasses. “Good work, both of you. Keep me posted.”
And just like that, he was gone.
The moment the door clicked shut, I felt the energy shift. Gabrielle let out a quiet breath and turned back toward her workstation, but her shoulders remained stiff.
I didn’t say anything. Not yet.
But I was starting to see the cracks she didn’t want anyone to notice.
Gabrielle didn’t go back to her computer after the judge left.
She stood for a moment near the edge of the workstation, her arms folded tightly across her stomach like she was holding herself together from the inside out. I remained quiet. Just gave her the space, waiting to see what she’d do.
After a long beat, she reached for her purse.
“You okay?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
She nodded a little too quickly. “Just need some fresh air.”
Her fingers fumbled slightly as she tucked her phone inside the front pocket. It wasn’t enough to draw attention, but I noticed. I’d noticed a lot of things lately.
Her complexion still hadn’t fully come back. She’d barely touched her coffee. And now this—an exit timed just after a conversation that left her visibly rattled.
She glanced at me. “The thought of Curtain showing up again has me… on edge.”
I didn’t blame her. The man had crossed a line the moment he decided to weaponize a photo. And we still didn’t know how deep he planned to go.
“You don’t need to explain,” I said gently. “Take the day if you need it. I’ve got the next two scans covered.”
She hesitated, caught between duty and something else she wasn’t ready to name. Then, with a quick decision, Gabrielle slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the front doors. Halfway there, she paused and flashed me a small, playful smile.
I didn’t want her to leave without asking. “Since the judge mentioned it earlier—any updates on the provenance review for A Lady and Gentleman in Black ?”
She stopped. A subtle shift in her posture, barely noticeable, but enough to register.
Turning slightly back toward me, she said, “I’ve got a contact in Switzerland digging into it.”
Her delivery was smooth. Factual. But there was something in the pause before she answered—calculation.
It wasn’t what she said. It was what she didn’t say.
I nodded slowly. “Good work.”
She gave a small nod in return, then turned fully toward the door.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said over her shoulder, softer now.
I watched her walk out, her frame tense but controlled, like she was holding herself to some internal deadline I couldn’t see. The front doors closed behind her with a soft whisper of glass and brushed steel.
I moved to the window and stood there a moment longer, watching the parking lot. The sun had crept high enough to cast clean reflections across the gallery’s floors, bouncing light into places that usually stayed quiet and dim.
But inside me, something remained unsettled.
She hadn’t lied.
But she wasn’t telling me everything.