and his shares seized by the Feds, the controlling interest reverts back to the
original estate. Welcome home, Madam Chairwoman.”

I looked up at the ceiling, at the intricate gold leaf my father had
commissioned. Then I looked at Marcus.

They were dragging him away. He was bleeding, disheveled, his bespoke suit
ruined. Just before they pulled him through the side exit, he stopped resisting.
He turned his head and looked at me.

In his eyes, I finally saw it. The crushing, suffocating weight of realization.
He realized what he had done. He hadn’t locked away a hysterical, jealous wife.
He had taken a forensic accountant—a woman whose entire life was dedicated to
finding the truth hidden in the dark—and he had locked her in a room with
nothing to do but trace his brushstrokes for two solid years.

I gave him a slow, victorious wink.

Two hours later, the hall was empty. The police had cleared the guests, the
evidence was bagged, and the silence had returned to the Vale Auction House.

I walked out onto the high stone balcony overlooking the city. The storm had
passed, leaving the night air sharp and clean. The city lights glittered below
like scattered diamonds.

Celeste stepped out onto the balcony, handing me a glass of whiskey.

“So,” she said, clinking her glass against mine. “The canvas is clean. The
forgery is destroyed. Tell me, Elena… do you finally feel free?”

I took a slow sip of the amber liquid, feeling it burn its way down my throat. I
looked back through the glass doors at the empty podium, the shattered champagne
glasses, and the empire that was mine once more.

“No, Celeste,” I said, a soft, true smile finally touching my lips. “I don’t
feel free. I feel complete.”