“I told you when we met that my family have been cattle ranchers for a hundred years, and even before that they were cowboys and ranch hands. At least that’s what I was raised to believe. What I suspected but didn’t actually know much about until tonight was about the side business they’ve been running for years now.”
As he said the words, I imagined the various members of his family and friends, including Bella Rivera, trading in their lassos for box cutters.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Anton said, looking from Lacy to me to Charlie before reconsidering. “Or maybe it is?” He shook his head, his expression one of betrayal and confusion. “Oh God, it could actually be really, really bad.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” Charlie suggested, motioning toward the low couch and wingback chairs arranged for cultural conversations—not late-night confessions.
Still, this small act of decency, of normalcy even, seemed to give Anton some kind of courage to finally tell us what he knew.
“My family traffics in…” Anton paused as if he still didn’t want to confess his family’s sins.
As he took a deep breath, my mind tried to fill in the end of the sentence.Guns? Drugs? People?Then, it hit me: the pamphlets, Charlotte’s conversation with Aunt DeeDee, Bella cutting out a painting and accidentally slashing Lacy’s dress in the process.
“Your family traffics in art,” I finished for Anton.
“That’s right.” Anton stared at me, surprised and a little relieved that he hadn’t been forced to say it first.
Lacy inhaled a sharp breath at the confession, and she pointed to the empty frame on the far wall. “Your ex-girlfriend has already left her mark.”
His eyes widened and Charlie stood and motioned for Anton to inspect the frame. Anton examined the edges where the thief had cut out the artwork. “Do you know what painting was hanging in here?”
“It was a snowscape of some kind,” I answered, a bitembarrassed that I had no idea about the pieces in my own home. “Likely by an artist named Anna Perry.”
“Was it an Impressionist piece?” Anton asked, as if he expected as much.
“I think so.” I fished the pamphlet from my pocket and showed him the Monet painting inside. “It looked similar to this one.”
“That’s their specialty.” Anton inhaled and let out a steadying breath. He was realizing something—or confirming something he’d already known—in real time, and he needed a second to think. He placed his elbows on his knees and his hands in the form of a prayer as he made eye contact with each of us again.
“Look, tonight my father cornered me after the bachelor party. He laid out a few details for me about my family’s business in the hopes that I would join them.”
“What happened to good, old-fashioned ranching?” Lacy asked, her voice raised.
“For my entire childhood, all they talked about was the price per head being down,” Anton answered. I assumed by that he meant price per head of cattle, which made sense coming from a rural community. “My father had been looking for another stream of income for years, and somehow—I still don’t know how—he stumbled into this line of work. He trains and hires people to take paintings by minor artists, ones that won’t be missed for a while, ones that bring in a decent amount of money without raising worldwide alarms.”
I noticed the way Anton was trying to cage his words, using specific descriptions—stumbledinstead of “embraced”,takesinstead of “steals”, and classifying the artists asminor—to make his family’s crimes sound less terrible.
“And my mother…” Anton swallowed. “Apparently, she also does some light art forgery of these minor artists.”
“I thought your parents didn’t get along?” I asked, recalling our earlier conversation.
He lifted a shoulder. “Marriage is complicated.”
It certainly was.
“My dad seems to think this business will help make up for him cheating on her a few years ago.” Anton let out a deep breath. “Anyway, stealing less important paintings allows us—or them—to stay under the radar of the FBI and other large agencies.” He caught Charlie’s eye before looking away quickly. “But because they move so many pieces so quickly, it’s… well, it’s become rather lucrative. They’ve even discussed”—Anton hesitated again—“expanding their operations outside the U.S.”
“Are you involved in this on any level?” Charlie asked. He too had obviously noticed the way Anton was couching his words.
“No, I swear that I’m not a part of this.” Anton looked Charlie directly in the eye, his gaze pleading. “When I left Swanson, I knew that my father was building a special storage facility for art, and I knew that they were having a lot of closed-door family meetings that I avoided. Big shipments were coming in from around the country, and suddenly my father had plenty of money to modernize the ranch, to renovate our home—to see other women. I knew something wasn’t right, but it was easier to ignore it all, to run away. Maybe I was in denial…” Anton shook his head at his self-imposed ignorance. Then, he looked straight at Lacy. “I admit that I should’ve taken a closer look at what they were doing. I should’ve raised a red flag, but I swear I didn’t know the extent of their”—he struggled against the next word—“crimes. My father told me an hour ago that he wants me to come home and join him. He said that he’s been waiting to ask me until he has everything in place.” Anton swallowed hard. “Apparently, they’ve brought in ten million in the past two years and think they can double that in the next two.”
Again, Lacy looked wounded, and I understood why. Though Anton may not have known the ins and outs of the business, he’d known something was awry. He should’ve shared that much at least.
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out his hand and covering hers. “I was never planning to join them, so I didn’t think it mattered for us.” He blinked and it suddenly sounded as if he might cry. “And I’m certainly not joining them now. Obviously. God, I’m even outing them in front of a sheriff.”
For the first time I noticed that Anton’s expression was more than desperate: He was torn about doing the right thing when it meant betraying his family; he was also concerned that Lacy believe him at all costs.
Anton held her hand tightly. “Being with you is not an escape plan, but it has allowed me to imagine a life completely separate from my family. While I’ve been gone—maybe even before I left—they carved out this destiny for me, one that I do not want to fit inside.”
