Chapter 5 - The Man Who Could Have Let Me Go
I stayed.
The next morning, I signed nothing.
Anthony didn't ask me to.
Instead, he took me to breakfast.
Real breakfast.
Not the formal kind.
Eggs.
Toast.
Coffee.
He looked almost ordinary sitting across from me.
“Why aren't you eating?”
“I am.”
“You've moved food around the plate for ten minutes.”
I looked at him.
“You're intimidating.”
He smiled.
“You've survived twenty-eight years with your father. I'm probably less intimidating.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
For a moment, it was normal.
Then he asked about my mother.
I told him everything.
Her work.
Her illness.
Her last days.
The way my father started gambling after she died.
Anthony listened.
He didn't interrupt.
When I finished, he said,
“My grandmother loved your mother.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me.”
“What else?”
“That your mother was the only person outside the family she trusted.”
That surprised me.
Anthony continued.
“She believed your mother discovered the counterfeit network.”
“So why was she killed?”
“She wasn't.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“My mother died of cancer.”
“Your mother.”
“Yes.”
“My mother too.”
“No.”
Anthony's expression changed.
“Your mother survived longer than anyone knew.”
I stared.
“What are you saying?”
“She disappeared.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
He showed me a medical record.
Sarah Evans.
A private clinic.
Two years after I thought she had died.
I couldn't breathe.
“You're saying she's alive?”
“Was.”
The record ended there.
I looked at him.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know where she was.”
“Then how did you find this?”
“Elias.”
My stomach twisted.
“What does he have to do with her?”
“He paid for the clinic.”
I stared.
Anthony's voice became quieter.
“Your mother may have known something about the counterfeit operation that Elias needed.”
“She helped him?”
“No.”
“Then why pay for her?”
“To keep her alive.”
I felt dizzy.
“My mother was alive.”
“Yes.”
“For years.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she now?”
“We don't know.”
I stood.
“I need to find her.”
“I know.”
Anthony took my hand.
“We will.”
That word.
We.
It sounded dangerously intimate.
We searched everywhere.
Private hospitals.
Old records.
Safe houses.
International transfers.
Nothing.
Then I noticed something.
A symbol.
The same blue crescent.
It appeared on my mother's medical file.
And on the fake painting.
And in Elias's shipping records.
“It isn't a signature.”
Anthony looked at me.
“Then what is it?”
“A cataloging mark.”
“For what?”
“Stolen objects.”
He froze.
“Keep going.”
“The crescent means the piece is part of a private collection.”
“Whose?”
“Not Elias.”
I followed the records.
Then stopped.
The collection belonged to Thomas Evans.
My father.
I stared at the screen.
“He wasn't just working for Elias.”
Anthony nodded.
“He was using Elias.”
“How?”
“He stole paintings from collectors, moved them through false restoration records, then sold them privately.”
“Why would Elias need him?”
“Access.”
I realized something.
“My father knew art.”
“No.”
“He knew enough.”
“He knew you.”
I looked at Anthony.
“What?”
“Your mother taught you.”
My heart sank.
He understood.
Thomas didn't need to learn art.
He needed me.
He had spent years watching my education.
My degree.
My internships.
He knew I could authenticate objects.
He didn't need a criminal.
He needed a daughter he could force into the system.
But there was another piece.
A list.
My name.
Next to a date.
December 14.
I looked at the calendar.
Three days away.
“What happens then?”
Anthony's face went cold.
“They plan to transfer the collection.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you're the only person who can certify the originals.”
I stared.
My father had never wanted to pay his debt.
He had wanted to use me to legitimize his biggest crime.
Anthony closed the folder.
“It ends now.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I want to finish it.”
“Emma.”
“You gave me a choice.”
“Yes.”
“I choose to stay.”
His expression softened.
“Then we finish this together.”
That night, he kissed me.
It was brief.
Almost hesitant.
Then he stepped back.
“We shouldn't.”
“I know.”
“You're still free to leave.”
“I know.”
May you like
I smiled.
“I'm staying.”
