Chapter 5 - The $85,000 Trap|
"My mother didn't buy that painting."
I said it before Daniel had finished explaining.
"She couldn't have."
Alessandro looked toward me.
"Claire, nobody is accusing her."
"Camille will."
The words came out sharper than I intended.
I looked at the paperwork on the table.
"That's what she's doing, isn't it?"
Harold frowned.
"What do you mean?"
I thought about the evening.
Camille had accused Harold of theft.
When I proved the painting was a reproduction, she attacked my credibility.
Now a sales record connected the original to my mother.
A woman who might be Sofia Romano's daughter.
A woman whose identity Camille had apparently been investigating.
It wasn't coincidence.
It was a trap.
"She wants someone else blamed," I whispered.
Alessandro studied me.
"Go on."
I swallowed.
"If the painting disappears and the sale is registered under my mother's name, then Camille can claim my mother arranged it."
Daniel nodded slowly.
"And if Margaret's relationship to Sofia becomes public, it could look like a family dispute over inheritance."
I looked at Alessandro.
"Camille could tell everyone my mother discovered the truth and tried to take something she thought belonged to her."
Harold covered his mouth.
"Good heavens."
Alessandro's face became cold.
"Daniel, preserve every document."
"Already done."
"And contact law enforcement."
Daniel nodded.
I stared at Alessandro.
"You're involving the police?"
"Yes."
The answer surprised me.
I'd heard stories about Alessandro Romano.
Men disappeared from his restaurants after making threats.
Business rivals suddenly sold their properties.
People claimed he could end a career with one phone call.
Yet here he was, choosing lawyers and investigators.
He noticed my expression.
"What?"
I shook my head.
"Nothing."
He studied me for another second.
Then said quietly, "My grandmother spent her life teaching children that art matters because truth matters. I'm not going to honor her by hiding fraud."
Something warmed inside my chest.
Before I could respond, Daniel's phone rang.
He listened.
Then his expression changed.
"Understood."
He ended the call.
"The transaction wasn't completed."
Alessandro frowned.
"What?"
"The purchase agreement was prepared, but the payment never cleared."
I felt a rush of relief.
"So the painting hasn't been sold?"
"Legally, the transaction is disputed and incomplete. The artwork may still be in the gallery's custody."
Alessandro nodded.
"Good."
Daniel continued.
"But there's a complication."
Of course there was.
"The gallery's inventory system shows the painting was transferred to a private storage facility this morning."
"Where?"
"A climate-controlled warehouse outside Chicago."
Alessandro looked toward Harold.
"Did you authorize that?"
"No, sir."
Daniel hesitated.
"The transfer was signed by someone using your credentials."
Harold went pale.
"My credentials?"
"Your electronic signature."
The old man began shaking.
"I never signed anything."
I remembered how Camille had humiliated him in the ballroom.
How she'd called him confused.
How she'd accused him of stealing from the family he'd served for nearly two decades.
My anger rose.
"She wanted him blamed from the beginning."
Alessandro looked toward the elderly man.
"Harold, sit down."
"I promise you, sir—"
"I know."
The simple words brought tears to Harold's eyes.
Alessandro pulled out a chair.
"You're not going to defend yourself against accusations we already know are unsupported."
Harold sat.
I looked toward Alessandro.
He noticed.
"What?"
I hesitated.
"Mr. Romano, I may know something useful."
"Tell me."
I took a breath.
"Your grandmother's frame wasn't ordinary."
Harold looked up.
I continued.
"When I repaired the hanging wire, I noticed the corner joints were handmade. The gilding had been restored twice, but the wood underneath was older than the painting."
Alessandro frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"The frame may have been made for another artwork originally."
Harold nodded slowly.
"That's possible."
I looked at the photograph.
"There's also a tiny metal plate beneath the lower edge. I thought it was a manufacturer's mark."
Alessandro leaned closer.
"What kind of plate?"
"Silver. About the size of a postage stamp."
Harold suddenly straightened.
"Claire, did it have an engraving?"
I nodded.
"Three letters."
"What letters?"
I closed my eyes, trying to remember.
Then I whispered, "S.R.M."
Harold's face changed.
Alessandro noticed.
"What?"
The old man swallowed.
"Sofia Romano used those initials before she married."
Alessandro frowned.
"Her maiden name was Marino."
Harold nodded.
"Sofia Rosa Marino."
The room went quiet.
I looked at the photograph again.
"S.R.M."
Alessandro slowly sat down.
Harold whispered, "That frame was made for her when she was seventeen."
My throat tightened.
Before she'd given up her daughter.
Before she'd left Italy.
Before she'd become Sofia Romano.
The painting wasn't simply a valuable family possession.
It was a piece of the life she'd lost.
Then Daniel spoke.
"Boss, there's another problem."
Alessandro looked up.
"What?"
"The warehouse transfer is scheduled for midnight."
I glanced at the clock.
9:42 p.m.
Daniel continued.
"After that, the shipment is leaving for an international freight terminal."
Alessandro stood.
"Then we stop it."
I looked at him.
"Mr. Romano?"
He turned.
"If they remove the frame, they may destroy the compartment."
His expression changed.
I took a shaky breath.
"Whoever is stealing that painting doesn't just want the artwork."
Alessandro stared at me.
May you like
I continued.
"They want whatever your grandmother hid behind it."
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