Page 118 of The Chase
“My team.”
“That’s right, your elusive team.”
“God help me I’ll put you over my knee and spank you if you don’t stop this.”
“Why are they here?” I snapped.
“We, that is my legal team, decided the National Gallery is best suited for your Michelangelo. When the gallery announces there’s a priceless painting of this magnitude, the attention will be unimaginable. We’re talking millions of new visitors. The Otillie isn’t set up to handle that kind of foot traffic.”
“Why not take them straight to the National?” I raised my chin, proud of my reasoning.
“Getting a Michelangelo into a world-renowned gallery is relatively easy. Getting one out is virtually impossible. First, they must agree to our terms.”
“Terms?”
“Yes, Zara, terms. A watertight contract that enables you as the exclusive owner, as stipulated in the paperwork, which you saw on the table, to remove the paintings from the gallery after five years. Should you so wish.” He gave a shrug. “You might want to have it tour the world. Perhaps stop off at The Wilder in LA.”
“Oh.”
“You’re obviously not thinking straight. What girl keeps a Michelangelo in her bedroom? One who is clearly torn up with grief, that’s who. If we’ve learned anything, it’s you need me.”
“Icon doesn’t know I even exist,” I whispered.
“I have a feeling he does.”
“Why?” Fear slithered up my spine.
“You’re investigating him.”
“I’ve been in denial.”
“That’s not the safest place.”
“But I’m part of a big team? I’m insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”
“You may well be his biggest threat yet.”
I blinked at him, trying to understand his reasoning.
“You’re proving a great investigator,” he added.
I wiped my hand across my nose. “Yeah, right, I just fell at your feet after melting down over some huge misunderstanding.”
“I wish it wasn’t me who had to shine a light on your naivety.”
My feet wobbled as the madness of my last few decisions reared. I’d been scared, confused, and had totally mishandled those paintings.
I knew better.
Parting with them was my final goodbye to the art-filled life I cherished with my father.
All those memories clutched at me as they faded day by day.
I tried to remember Dad’s face. His laugh. Those kind eyes that told me how much he loved me.
That bleak hospital room at Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital. The sympathetic expressions of the nurses as they relayed he didn’t have long.
Take care of our paintings, Zara,he’d whispered as he’d clutched my hand.Guard them with your life.
