Page 108
Story: The Maverick
Creativity had burst in me the last few days, and I couldn’t stop painting or outlining the ideas for a terrarium corner. I finished three paintings and even varnished them.
I didn’t have to go to the gallery until later today, so I walked into Attikus’s office and looked at the research boards he’d created. He didn’t know I’d been using these boards for my research. I couldn’t sit around while my man put himself in danger trying to help me.
I stepped over to the board that displayed my issues, looking at Emmanuel’s pictures and all the people he had been associated with. Becca was the redheaded woman I’d seen with Enzo at the bakery that day. Both were deceased Trogyn members. Milton Kalkounis was Emmanuel’s trainer—another Trogyn member. Not deceased. A Post-it note stated that he was also Jean-Claude Dumas.
“Huh?” I said to no one. The trainer had two identities? Why?
My heart raced as I recognized the man who was there the day I was attacked in the alleyway—Brody Harris. The man with the scar on his lip and the flying pig tattoo on his neck. Attikus had probably identified him from the blurry video.
Brody was the cousin of Dillon Harris, the man I’d killed. They were part of Harris Pharmaceuticals, which owned several drug and health insurance companies.
As I surveyed the board, studying more pictures, my eyes landed on the trainer, Milton Kalkounis. He was also on Attikus’s board. I saw he was friends with the group who had bullied Attikus. Milton was the link between our cases.
I wanted to ask Attikus so many questions, but if I did, he’d know I was looking into it.
I looked at the picture of the severed finger of his high school principal. Perhaps it had been sent to Attikus that day and not me. Whoever had done it knew he would attend the gallery opening.
My phone rang, and it was Willow.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“I know you’re not due in yet, but three art collectors are here. They’d like to speak to you. Shall I ask them to come back later?”
“No. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Getting ready now.”
Business at the gallery had increased more than I expected. With my terrarium collection coming soon, I should hire a second or even a third associate. I had to review my finances to see what I could afford. But right now, things looked positive.
When I arrived, five people browsed the gallery. I walked to the back room and brought out three new abstract paintings I’d finished two days ago. I had an urge to show them today.
Two of the new pieces sold while I spoke to the art collectors. After attending to those customers, a man approached me. I stopped breathing, and my heart thundered in fear. Gathering all my strength, I remained calm and pretended not to recognize him.
“Hello. How can I help you?” I forced a smile as I greeted Brody Harris.
Was God trying to tell me something earlier today when I recognized his face on the research board? He looked older and had gained more muscle since the alleyway incident. The scar on the lip and the flying pig tattoo on his neck were still visible.
“How much is that painting right there?” He pointed to the third abstract painting I’d just brought in.
I didn’t want to sell it to him. I didn’t want him to have anything that belonged to me. So I threw out a price that was way more than what the art was worth.
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
His mouth dropped open. “But I heard the other two customers buy something similar for a fraction of the price.”
“Well, this painting has a deeper meaning. And there’s more texture to it. The colors are similar to Van Gogh’sThe Starry Night.”
“What is that painting called?”
“The Starry Truth,” I said, realizing the irony of it.
This man who put my mom in prison was now trying to buy my art. Did he recognize me? Probably not. I didn’t look like that college student anymore.
He stared at the painting for a moment. “I’ll take it.”
I blinked. What should I do now? I didn’t want to sell the artwork to him, but I couldn’t decline his offer either. What if he created trouble by saying I was prejudiced against him for whatever reason? That would create bad press for my gallery. Plus, he was associated with bad people. They could create more trouble for me.
An idea popped into my head. The shock of seeing him had hindered my ability to think clearly.
“Wonderful. Fill out this form for me.” I offered him a tablet with the document to collect his information. “I’ll package the painting for you and provide the Certificate of Authenticity.”
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