Chapter 8 - Victoria’s First Betrayal
Henry’s late wife, Linda, had saved everything.
Bills.
Christmas cards.
School photographs.
Legal letters.
Employment records.
She had also saved one envelope Henry had forgotten.
In 2007, six months after Elias disappeared, Linda wrote down the license plate of a black sedan that repeatedly parked outside their apartment.
The plate traced to Vale Security Services.
Victoria felt nauseated.
“My father’s company.”
Henry said nothing.
Linda had attached photographs.
One showed Nathan Cole entering the sedan.
Another showed a man Victoria recognized.
Graham Pike.
Richard Vale’s longtime private security chief.
Still employed by Vale Capital.
Henry looked at her.
“Your father knew I was being watched.”
Victoria whispered, “Yes.”
The evidence became personal in a way bank statements had not.
Linda had been pregnant.
Henry had been unemployed.
And Richard’s people were monitoring them.
Victoria called Graham directly.
“Were you assigned to Henry Bennett in 2007?”
Silence.
“Graham.”
“I cannot discuss past client matters.”
“My father was the client.”
“I cannot discuss that either.”
“Were you watching his pregnant wife?”
Graham ended the call.
Victoria wanted to scream.
Instead she did something worse.
She made a copy of Linda’s photographs.
Then, without telling Henry, she took the original envelope.
Her reasoning came quickly.
If Richard saw the originals through discovery, he might retaliate.
If federal investigators received them, the entire family-security apparatus could become evidence.
The Vale trust could freeze.
Her mother’s estate could be pulled into litigation.
Victoria told herself she only needed one night to understand what the photographs meant.
She hid the envelope in her apartment safe.
The next morning Henry noticed.
“Where are Linda’s photographs?”
Victoria’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“They were in the file.”
Miriam looked up.
“Did evidence intake collect them?”
“No.”
Henry turned toward Victoria.
He saw it immediately.
“What did you do?”
“Henry—”
“What did you do?”
“I took them.”
The room went silent.
Laurent stared at her.
Miriam’s face hardened.
“You removed potential evidence?”
“I copied everything.”
“That is not the point.”
Henry stepped closer.
“You stole from my wife.”
“No.”
“You took something Linda preserved from my home without telling me.”
“I was trying to protect—”
“Don’t.”
The word struck harder than shouting.
Henry’s eyes filled with fury.
“Do not use that word with me.”
Victoria stopped.
He continued.
“Richard protected his family.”
“Nathan protected the auction house.”
“Your mother protected the foundation.”
He pointed toward her.
“And now you protect everybody by deciding what truth they’re allowed to have.”
Victoria felt exposed.
“I was going to return it.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“After you decided whether it hurt you.”
She had no answer.
Henry walked away.
Laurent looked at Victoria.
“You need counsel.”
“I know.”
“No. You need to understand what you just did.”
“I didn’t destroy anything.”
“That is an extremely low standard.”
Miriam required Victoria to surrender the originals immediately.
She did.
She also disclosed that she had removed them overnight.
Special Agent Mills was furious but did not accuse her of obstruction without further investigation.
“You do this again,” Rebecca said, “and your family name will not matter.”
Victoria almost laughed.
“Apparently it matters too much.”
Henry refused to speak to her.
That hurt more than expected.
Meanwhile, frame analysis confirmed the 10/21/06 pencil notation was consistent with materials from the period.
More important, specialists identified the handwriting.
It belonged to Tomas Arendt, a conservator who had worked privately for Vale Art Holdings.
Arendt was seventy-four and living in Vermont.
When investigators contacted him, he initially denied remembering the painting.
Then they showed him the mark.
He requested an attorney.
Two hours later, he agreed to an interview.
“I restretched the canvas.”
“For whom?”
“Richard Vale.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
“When?”
“October twenty-first, 2006.”
“Where?”
“A private warehouse in Brooklyn.”
“Was Nathan Cole present?”
“Yes.”
“Elias Mercer?”
Arendt went silent.
Agent Mills repeated the question.
“Was Elias Mercer there?”
“No.”
“Did anyone mention him?”
Arendt looked frightened.
“Nathan said Elias had become a problem.”
Henry stared through the observation-room glass.
Arendt continued.
“The canvas arrived rolled inside a shipping tube.”
“Why remove it from the frame?”
“I was told the frame had been contaminated.”
“Contaminated by what?”
Arendt shook his head.
“Blood.”
Victoria stopped breathing.
Henry turned toward her.
Whatever had happened to Elias, the painting had been close enough to someone’s blood that Richard ordered its frame stripped.
Arendt then said something worse.
“The old frame was burned.”
Henry stared.
“But the current frame contains Elias’s envelope.”
Arendt looked confused.
“Current frame?”
Henry’s eyes widened.
The envelope was never hidden in the frame in 2006.
Someone had placed it there later.
Someone alive.
May you like
Someone who knew the painting was returning to auction.
And whoever did it wanted Henry to find it.
