"Is this how the rest of my life will go, Father? You arranging every interaction? What if I refuse to go through with the wedding?"
"That will never happen. Good day, Viv. I suggest you prepare your resignation letter."
I'm dismissed.
The rest of the day, I stomp around the mansion. None of the drivers will take me out, and I have access to none of the keys to any of the many cars. The Faulks estate sits several miles from the main road, and the nearest town is twenty miles away. I've been effectively imprisoned within my own home.
The next day brings me to Dr. Phillips's office. I storm around the cramped space, fuming over my father's decree. There's no reason to draft a resignation letter, but my father already saw to that. He even forwarded the letter on my behalf.
"I suppose I'm still reeling with the news. I can't believe it. Have you heard from him?" Dr. Phillips leans against the window, staring out at the campus lawn.
I've filled him in, telling him all the secrets I've kept from my father. Dr. Phillips isn't a man who can be bought off. His life passions revolve around the provenance of art, and he has a similar interest in the art plundered during World War II.
It's been weeks—plenty of time for Paul to recover fully. Yet, I've heard nothing, and my snort answers Dr. Phillips's question.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." I shrug. "I contacted the Russian consulate. They told me no man by the name of Urakov works for them. He disappeared. Paul disappeared. And Merlin is dead."
"It's a shame. After all this time… I would have loved to have met him."
"Me, too. But how am I going to find Paul? Even those at the ACT won't give me any details. Larson is a closed book."
"What about that fellow we met in New York?"
"Agent Radcliffe?" I give another snort. "He's less than helpful. When I called, he thanked me for my service and told me how the recovery ofDr. Gachetwouldn't have been possible without my help. When I asked about Paul, he switched the subject and ended our conversation. I'm afraid my opportunitiesto work with them are ruined. That leaves me with nothing. After all my hard work…" I vent a sigh.
"It's not that bad."
"You don't understand. After this wedding, I'll be a prisoner. My duties will revolve around charity events, galas, and social hobnobbing. My father wants a quick pregnancy and hopes for his male heir. After that, I'll truly be stuck. If I leave my child to grow up under my father's influence, I'll lose everything. My position as an art expert was going to be my escape. He's taken that from me."
"I'm sorry."
I wave to the letter sitting on Dr. Phillips's desk. "Exhibit A." Walking over, I crumple the paper and toss it in the trash. "He's a monster."
A soft knock sounds on the door. A young student pops his head inside.
"Dr. Phillips, you have a delivery."
"Well, bring it in."
"Um, you need to come to the examination room." The student glances around the room, uncertain.
"Why?"
"It's a series of crates."
"Just sign for it, and I'll be there momentarily." Dr. Phillips takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
"Sir, the man said you had to sign in person. He's waiting."
"Come on. Let's see what's so important that it can't wait." I shake my head, glancing at the wastebasket and the crumpled resignation my father penned. There has to be another way.
"Well, let's see what it is."
We walk down the hall and head to Dr. Phillips's examination room. This is a private lab area reserved for his use. I spent the better part of my training there, learning about the art of forgery and the methods behind revealing them as fakes.
Five large crates fill the room. A man with silver hair supervises three other men unboxing the crates. He turns, blue eyes twinkling under the harsh fluorescents overhead.
