Liz
“They broke in but didn’t even steal anything?” I asked as I looked at the heavy lock on the floor. The remnants of the chain used to keep the back doors locked were scattered over the ground.
“Nothing was touched and none of the alarms inside went off,” Jen, the gallery assistant, said with a small quiver in her voice.
I had been a part of the gallery for most of my adult life. I had started in a position similar to hers as an assistant, then after getting my master’s and working my way up, I was given the title of gallery curator.
Not director, much to my annoyance, but I’m still working on it.
Stefan had been fairly involved in the gallery until three years ago when he suddenly stopped answering our calls. He also started visiting less and less and dumping more of his responsibilities on me. It had become a pattern.
The gallery was practically run by me at this point, except for the mortgage of the space and the random pop-up events—I would get a heads-up for those a day before, if I was lucky. Most of the time, he didn't even bother calling me and would just send me an email.
It had been a long time since Stefan updated access security. Because of the insane amount of money inside the gallery, security there was all right, but after this break-in, I was concerned.
I looked around the delivery area. Jen had done a good job not touching anything, since it might ruin any evidence.
“Go take a break,” I told her in a soft voice. “I baked you those lemon-poppy seed muffins you like. We will open a little bit later today.”
She shifted and pushed the sides of her short pixie cut behind her ear.
“Are you sure? I think maybe I should start cataloging everything just to make sure—”
“It’s okay,” I said, lightly pushing her back toward the side entrance. “Take a break, please. We can catalog it together later.”
She gave me a small nod before slinking back around the corner.
When she was gone, I finally got to work, taking pictures of everything, including the path that led up to the back.
It wasn’t until I went in through the front and around to the other side of the delivery area that I realized that the perpetrator likely didn’t even set foot into the place.
There were no footprints or anything stolen, like Jen had said.
I took pictures of it nonetheless, but the more I lingered, the more uneasy I felt. A small chill worked its way up my spine. We had hundreds of thousands of dollars in here, and yet they took none of it. It was almost like…
They just wanted to let us know how easy it was to get in.
With that in mind, I tried to ring Stefan but went straight to his voicemail.
Something wasn't right here. Red flags were going off in my mind.
And then my phone rang.
As a gallery curator, my phone was constantly going off, so I didn't think twice about picking up a call from a number I didn't recognize.
Silence met me on the other side of the line.
“Hello?”
More silence. And then a small and very familiar chuckle trickled through the speaker.
Fear gripped my throat. My body froze in place.
“How did you get this number?”
“What? My own wife doesn't wanna hear from me?”
I looked over my shoulder, making sure Jen was still on her break.
“Ex-wife, and remember phone calls violate the restraining order.”
“You know I don't give a shit about the restraining order,” he said.
Yes, I do know.
“So what do you want now?” I asked, impatience leaking into my tone. “Money not enough?”
“Did you move on from me so fast? You fought me so hard to keep a good image for Claire, yet here you are coming home in the middle of the night—”
Panic shot up my spine, but I pushed it off and forced a chuckle out of my mouth. He wanted me scared, and I wasn't going to give him that.
“So now you’re stalking me again?”
“I just don't understand. We had everything. And you ruined it.” His tone turned dangerous. “You ruined me. You put lies in people's heads, now they—”
“You got the money. You got the house. The only thing I got out of this divorce was Claire, and I care about keeping her safe. Something you never even thought about,” I spat.
“You're the one who ruined us. And when you couldn't deal with the consequences of that, you lashed out. That has nothing to do with me.”
My ex-husband, Trevor, was stupid and ignorant. I had fallen for him when we were young and made the mistake of having unprotected sex. That's how Claire was conceived, but I never once regretted her. Only her father.
He roped me into a marriage with lies about family stability, and facing pressure from his family and mine, I couldn't help but say yes.
And then everything went to shit.
He grew resentful as I built a career without him. He cheated. He hurt. He stole.
I waited until Claire was out of high school to file for divorce, but it only went through three years later after much fighting. Our little girl was an adult now, but I still did everything in my power to keep him from her.
Trevor never got over it, though. The rage simmered over the years until we got here.
“You know, for such a high-end gallery, your security is really shitty.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. I started wildly looking over my shoulders, scared that he was somehow still lingering in the dark, maybe behind one of the artworks, just waiting to jump out at me.
I knew he knew where I lived. I planned to get a better place as soon as I had a chance. Hopefully with the help of the money from the auction, I could finally live in peace.
Or as close to it as this asshole would let me.
“You're going too far. What do you even want?”
“Like I said, I let you ruin my life for too long. I settled on the divorce. Took the pity money you sent my way. But I won't let you continue like this, spreading your lies.”
Pity money. A good sum that came out of my pocket in an attempt to get him off my back.
“I haven't been talking about our divorce to anyon—”
“They all know! My coworkers. My family. Fuck, even Claire’s high school friends’ parents. All of them have been reaching out to me!”
I shut my mouth, not knowing what to say.
I stayed true to my word. I never told anyone what happened between us. At least the truth. If they figured it out, it was from rumors or someone with inside knowledge.
“It wasn't me. Now, I suggest you stop this before it gets serious.”
“I'll show you serious. Do you think you can just ruin my life like this and move on? Well, you have another thing coming.”
He hung up before I could respond. Fear was still running through my veins, and it was threatening to freeze me, but I forced myself to push through it and tried to call him back but was hit with a disconnected tone.
I cursed under my breath. My heart was racing at a million miles per minute.
Would he really go this far?
I was lucky before. Yes, he made a fuss about the divorce and me forcing him away from Claire, but after the restraining order, he went quiet. During the divorce, I might have threatened to go public with everything he’d done to us, but I never truly thought I would need to.
At least not until now.
I imagined him sitting in the house that I bought with my own money, stewing in his own anger and rage. Watching toxic online videos that only reinforced his messed-up ideals.
He was getting worse, and I didn’t know how to stop him.
I always secretly thought he hated me for bringing Claire into this world. I also thought finally being rid of him was my chance to start over.
But he was back now. And just when things were going so well.
I knew deep in my heart that if I called the police, they would do nothing. So instead, I dialed the number of someone I knew would be able to help.
“Liz! Let me guess, you enjoyed your night so much that you're asking for—”
“I need your contact for club security,” I said, cutting off Sloan. “For the gallery and… for myself.”
“Are you safe? Your daughter?”
I swallowed a knot in my throat thinking about Claire, but I knew he wouldn't take it out on her. It was me he wanted to hurt.
“I'm safe for now. My daughter will likely not be implicated. But the sooner I handle this, the better.”
Sloan didn’t even miss a beat. Internally, I would complain about her laissez-faire attitude, but when it came down to getting things done, she’d never disappointed me.
“You’re working today, right? I’ll have her meet you at the gallery in… a few hours?”
“Sounds good. Thank you, Sloan. I owe you.”
“Nonsense. Maybe after this we can finally consider ourselves friends.”
I let a little smile show on my face.
“Maybe.”
Once we hung up, I stood there, taking deep breaths. It took everything in me not to go into a panic attack. I could feel it rising in my body. It had the power to take over at a moment’s notice, and I needed to get a handle on it. I couldn’t let him continue to control me like this.
I can feel the ground underneath my feet.
I can feel the cool air against my body.
I can smell the dry paint, wood, and clay stored here.
I can hear the pounding of my heart.
When I finally got it under control, I let out a breath and opened my eyes.
“Liz?”
I turned to look at Jen, who was holding her iPad close.
“I won’t be going to the police, but I'll be meeting someone today about this. Don’t worry too much, okay?” I said. “Do you mind handling the cataloging? I’ll cancel the rest of our appointments.”
She tilted her head to the side, an almost cutesy look of concern crossing her face.
“Everything? Even your lunch with—”
“Everything.” There was a finality in my tone that gave her no room to argue. “Milo is also coming in later. Call them and have them come a bit early to help out, okay?”
She nodded, and I left the room still trying to collect myself.
I jumped as food was dropped unceremoniously on my desk.