Ivy steps inside.
The camera feed inside the vault is clearer. I hacked it three hours ago. The room is stark white, climate-controlled to a chillysixty degrees. In the center, on a velvet-covered table, sit three wooden panels painted with gold leaf and ancient pigments.
The Romanov Icons. Saints with sorrowful eyes.
"Okay," I say, my fingers flying across my keyboard. "I’m into the escrow system. As soon as you flag the authentication as 'Failed', the funds will bounce from the holding account. I have a script ready to intercept the bounce and reroute it to our clean accounts in Panama."
"I just have to say they’re fake?" Ivy asks, pulling on white cotton gloves.
"Not fake," I say. "Fake kills the deal, but it doesn't create panic. Say they arestolen. Say the provenance is forged. Say they are on the Interpol Red List. That freezes the assets instantly for 'compliance review'. That gives me the window."
Ivy walks to the icons. She pulls out a jeweler’s loupe from her pocket.
"Mr. Henderson," she says, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "Please bring the light closer."
Henderson complies.
Ivy leans over the icons. She pretends to inspect the brushstrokes.
"Silas," she whispers, barely moving her lips. "They’re beautiful. They’re real."
"Doesn't matter," I say. "Lie."
"Okay. Here goes."
She straightens up, sighing loudly. She takes off the loupe and drops it on the table with a clatter.
"Problem," she announces.
Henderson pales. "What? What is it?"
"The pigment layering on Saint George," she says, pointing at the gold leaf. "It’s inconsistent with 17th-century Orthodox techniques. And the wood backing... see this wormhole pattern? That suggests chemically treated pine, not aged oak."
"Are you saying they are forgeries?" Henderson asks, his voice trembling.
"I’m saying they are highly suspect," Ivy says coldly. "And this stamp on the back? The export seal? It’s a known forgery used by the Kyiv looting rings. These aren't just questionable, Mr. Henderson. They are hot. Radioactive."
She pulls out a tablet (provided by me) and taps the screen.
"I am flagging the authentication as 'High Risk - Provenance Failed'. I cannot recommend the release of funds."
She hitsSubmit.
On my screen, a green bar flashes.
AUTHENTICATION STATUS: REJECTED.ESCROW STATUS: FROZEN.ASSETS RELEASED TO ORIGIN... INTERCEPTING...
"Yes," I hiss, typing furiously. "Come to papa."
The numbers on my screen start to scroll. Fifty million dollars. Moving from the void, grabbed by my code, and funneled into the dark web.
"It’s working," I tell her. "I need thirty seconds to finalize the wash. Stall him."
"Mr. Henderson," Ivy says, "I suggest you inform the seller immediately that—"
The vault door beeps.
It slides open.
