Chapter 3: The Man I Should Avoid

POV: FIRST PERSON - LUCAS REED

The message came from Julian Mercer, Adrian Kingsley's personal lawyer. 

He asked me to return to the foundation for a private meeting with Mr. Kingsley. They were also prepared to pay for my photographs, notes, and the time I had spent examining the painting.

I read it twice. They had refused to show me the records, but now they wanted to pay for my work. I agreed to attend, but made it clear that I would not sign anything before hearing the offer.

Julian met me near the lift and led me to Adrian's office. Adrian stood by the window, dressed in a dark suit, with a copy of my report on his desk. He looked as calm as he had the day before, but I wondered how much of that calm was real.

“Thank you for coming,” Julian said.

“I came to hear what your client wants. I haven't agreed to anything.”

Adrian pointed to the chair across from his desk. “Sit.”

I took the chair, keeping my folder on my lap.

Julian opened a folder and explained that the foundation was willing to pay me for my photographs, research, and time. In return, I would hand over my material and agree not to share it without the foundation's permission.

I looked at Adrian. “You want to buy my work and stop me from talking about what I found.”

“We want to protect the painting and avoid false claims before the facts are clear,” he replied.

“Then let an independent expert examine it. Why do you need me to sign away my findings?”

“The offer is fair,” Julian said. “It covers your time and the work you've done.”

“My mother's name is under that paint. You can't put a price on that.”

Adrian's eyes stayed on me. “What do you want, Lucas?”

“I want access to the painting and the papers showing who owned it before the foundation bought it. I also want to take my own photographs and keep a record of every test done on it.”

“That is not a small request.”

“Neither is finding my mother's work hidden under another artist's name.”

He closed the folder. “Are you doing this because you believe the painting is hers, or because you want revenge against my family?”

The question hurt more than I expected. I had spent years hearing people call my mother a liar. Now the man who owned the painting was asking whether I was simply angry.

“Restoring my mother's name is not revenge,” I said. “She deserved the truth while she was alive. She deserved to have her work shown under her own name, not hidden and given to someone else.”

Adrian did not answer at once. His face remained still, but his fingers tightened around the edge of the desk. I wondered if he had ever thought about what people like my mother had lost because of the choices made by his family.

“I won't sign that agreement,” I continued. “Keep your money. I want the records and a proper examination.”

Adrian rose and came around the desk. He stopped beside the table where I had placed my photographs and leaned closer to examine one. 

I caught the clean scent of his aftershave and became annoyingly aware of how little space separated us. His dark hair was neatly arranged, and the small lines beside his eyes made him look less distant than he usually did. 

I looked back at the photographs before he could catch me studying him. I was there because of my mother, not because I wanted to know what Adrian Kingsley looked like up close.

I should have moved back. Instead, I stayed where I was, annoyed that I had noticed how good he looked at such a moment. His eyes lifted from the photograph to mine, and for a second neither of us spoke.

“Your findings are not enough to prove the painting is hers,” he said.

“I know. That's why I asked for an independent expert.”

“I'll consider your request.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“And I haven't changed my answer.”

“Then we have nothing else to discuss.”

I gathered my folder and stood. Adrian watched me, his face hard to read. I was not going to wait for him to decide whether I deserved an answer.

At the door, I turned back. “I'll keep looking, with or without your help. You don't get to decide how far I go.”

“I wouldn't advise you to make this personal.”

“It became personal when I found my mother's name under your painting.”

I left the building angry, but also unsettled by the way Adrian had looked at me. I was still thinking about the meeting when my phone buzzed.

An unknown number had sent a message: STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT ADRIAN KINGSLEY.

I stared at the screen, trying to decide whether it was a warning or a threat. Before I could reply, another message arrived. This time, it was a photograph.

It showed me entering the foundation building less than an hour earlier. The picture had been taken from across the street, close enough to capture my face clearly.

Someone had been waiting for me.

My fingers tightened around the phone as I looked across the road. Cars moved through the traffic, people hurried along the pavement, and nobody seemed interested in me. Whoever had taken the picture was already gone.

Then my phone vibrated again.

WE KNOW WHAT YOU FOUND UNDER THAT PAINTING. NEXT TIME, WE WON'T JUST TAKE A PICTURE.

My stomach turned.

I had thought Adrian Kingsley was the biggest problem standing between me and the truth about my mother. Now I understood that someone else knew about the painting, knew I was investigating it, and was willing to threaten me to make me stop.

And they had just made one mistake. They had given me another reason not to walk away.