Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“It was only a half-lie,” I admit. “It was a business trip about the art. Please don’t repeat any of this.”
“I won’t. Go on,” Sheldon says.
I tell him about the fake Gainsborough and the investigation Axel and I launched. We went to Paris to talk to the dealer that whoever stole the original painting sold it on to.
He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Ah. That explains a lot.”
Does it? I don’t know what he means, but I sip my tea and nod to agree with him.
“And what did you learn?” he asks.
“Nothing we didn’t already know. I’m afraid the dealer wouldn’t talk.”
His eyes flick to mine, sharp and alert. “I see.” He pauses for a beat, then casually, as if speaking to himself. “So, he did tell me the truth.”
I feel heat flood my face. Has Axel already told Sheldon about this, and has he used me to corroborate the story?
“Excuse me?” I say, hoping I have misunderstood.
“The dealer called me,” he says, his voice calm, almost amused. “He told me some people were sniffing around the Gainsborough. He said he didn’t tell them anything, and that one had an American accent, the other a British one. I suspected immediately that you had somehow known the replacement painting was a fake.”
Well, I definitely misunderstood him, but now I wish I hadn’t. He didn’t mean Axel told him the truth. He meant the dealer told him the truth. And that can only mean one thing.
“It was you,” I gasp, staring at him in shock.
He laughs, low and sharp, not warm at all. The sound curls in the room like smoke. “Yes. It was me.”
My hands tighten around the teacup. My stomach drops. “You switched the painting?” I whisper, disbelief hammering in my chest. “And you sold the original?”
He leans forward slightly, his eyes gleaming, a cold calculation under the polite smile. “Well done. You’re finally piecing it together.”
I stand up instinctively. “But why?” I ask, my voice rising. “You didn’t need the money. Your parents gave you everything you ever wanted.”
“No, they fucking didn’t,” he says, voice sharp. “I have debts. Gambling debts. The sort of people I owed money to aren’t the sort of people who wait, if you get my drift. I had to get the money fast without my mother or Joseph knowing about my habits. I had to cover it myself.”
I feel a flutter of anger, disbelief, and horror mixing together. Sheldon rises now too, and he moves. I realize I am in danger. The world changes. Time slows. I watch him in disbelief. His footsteps echo, the sound almost hypnotic.
My mind starts turning. I have to get out of here. I have to find some way to placate him and get out of here. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s all in the past.”
“Nah. It’s not in the past, is it? You and Axel are investigating, are you?”
“Look, if you come clean, Axel can help.”
He barks with laughter. “Axel help? Axel is the reason I had to steal the painting. He would have told my father, and if my father knew I had yet another weakness, he would have cut me off entirely,” he spits, spinning toward me, his eyes flashing with repressed rage. “It had to be done my way. And it was done and forgotten, but you had to go poking your nose in, didn’t you? All you had to do was restore the damned thing. You didn’t need to investigate it.”
He moves back to the chair he was sitting in, and leans down the side of the chair. To my utter disbelief, he pulls out a wooden baseball bat. The sunlight catches the varnish, turning it golden and sinister in his hands.
I freeze. My mind goes blank. My instincts scream ‘run’ as he stalks towards me, the bat raised, but my legs are frozen with fear. I scramble backwards, but I am not fast enough. He’s already looming in front of me.
“Sheldon …” I murmur, my voice barely audible as panic seizes me. “Please … d …”
Before I can finish my sentence, he swings the bat. Hard. The bat strikes the side of my head with a sickening thud. Pain explodes, sharp and immediate, and the world tilts violently. The floor rushes up to meet me. The last thing I hear before everything fades is his laughter, cruel and triumphant, echoing around the apartment as darkness swallows me whole.
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
JO
Iwake up to the taste of dust and iron in my mouth. My head pounds, a painful drumbeat that matches the thrum of my heartbeat. I don’t feel like I’ve been out for long, but it must be longer than I thought because I have been moved.
My eyes blink open, and the dim light of the space is immediately confusing. Long shadows stretch across the walls, uneven and jagged. I don’t know where I am, but it’s not Sheldon’s apartment. My pulse jumps when I try to move, and I notice almost immediately that I can’t move. I look down and see that I am strapped into a parked wheelchair.