"Besides the federal government freezing your assets and a Russian mobster trying to kill us?" I ask dryly.
He smirks. A genuine, small smirk that softens the scar on his brow.
"We need capital," he says. "Luca says the cash in the bag will last us two weeks if we stay hidden. But we can't fight a war on pocket change. I need to buy equipment. I need to bribe officials. I need to hire contractors who don't take checks."
"How much do you need?"
"Millions," he says. "Liquid."
He runs a hand through his hair. "I have assets Nikolai doesn't know about. Physical assets. Gold. Diamonds. But they’re invaults in the city. And right now, every camera in New York is looking for my face."
I chew on my lip, thinking.
I look at the knife on the table. I look at Silas—the man who bought my paintings when I was a nobody. The man who appreciates art.
"Art," I say.
He looks at me. "What?"
"Nikolai," I say. "He’s not just a thug, is he? The file... I remember seeing something in the file back at the office. Before the shooting. It mentioned theVoronezhTrust."
Silas’s eyes narrow. He puts the can down. "The Voronezh Trust is a front. It’s how the Sokolovs launder their heroin money. They buy high-value art, store it in freeports, and sell it years later clean."
"The Winter Gala," I say. The memory surfaces from my time at Parsons. Every art student knew about it. "It’s next week. In Manhattan. It’s the biggest black-market art auction of the year. Invite only. Cash only. No questions asked."
"I know it," Silas says. "I’ve bought there before."
"Nikolai will be there," I say. "He has to be. He’s the primary backer this year. I read it on the forums before... before you took me."
Silas walks over to the table. He places his hands on the wood, leaning down to look at me.
"Go on."
"He’s moving a collection," I say, my mind racing. "TheRomanovIcons. Stolen from Kyiv last year. They’re worth fiftymillion, easily. He’s going to sell them at the Gala to wash his money."
"And?"
"And I know who the authenticator is," I say. "Professor Arthur Sterling. He was my thesis advisor at Parsons. He’s corrupt as hell. He takes bribes to certify fakes."
I look up at Silas.
"If Nikolai is selling the Icons... he needs Sterling to sign off on them right before the auction starts. The money goes into escrowtonightpending authentication."
Silas stares at me. I can see the gears turning in his predator mind.
"If we get to Sterling..." he muses.
"We don't need to get to Sterling," I correct him. "We need tobeSterling."
I stand up. My legs ache, but I ignore it.
"Sterling is terrified of germs. He never meets clients in person. He sends his assistant. A graduate student."
I point to myself.
"I was his favorite student, Silas. I know his codes. I know his authentication process. If I walk into that vault... if I tell the escrow agent the Icons are fake..."
"...the deal collapses," Silas finishes. "The buyers pull out."
