“The VIP seating for the ball. You know how sensitive some of our donors are, and I was wondering if you…”
Penelope stared blankly, unable to compute this simple question.How can I care about this now? Get a grip, it’s your job!
“All right, um, Emma. Let’s see.” She’d not admit she missed the end of her question. “How about you check the seating arrangement from last year and see if there were any complaints? And if there have been, you adjust?”
“Oh, OK.”
“I trust your judgment.” Penelope forced a smile and exhaled a harsh breath when Emma beamed and wished her goodbye.
The rest of her workday went by in a much more orderly fashion, and right when Penelope was packing up her belongings, a messenger knocked on her door.
“Penelope Blackwell?” he asked.
“Yes?”
He handed her a medium-sized envelope before holding out his handheld scanner. “Please sign this.”
She did, not even noticing him leave again.
For a moment, excitement slithered through her—expecting her father’s notes—but then she realized that not only would that have been way too fast but also that the envelope was too small and thin. Not to mention, her mother wouldn’t send it to the Meridian.
When she flipped the envelope over, she froze at the red wax insignia—stylized initials pressed into a perfect oval. The two V’s almost looked like a W.
She grabbed her letter opener and sliced through the seam without ceremony, bracing herself. The missive contained a newspaper clipping and a handwritten note. She unfolded the clipping and ground her jaw upon seeing the headline.
Former Metropolitan Museum of Art Head of Provenance Indicted in High-Value Forgery Case
Her stomach twisted. The paper crackled faintly as her hands trembled.
The article included a photo ofLa Donna Addormentata, a painting now widely discredited as a forgery—one her father had authenticated just months before the scandal broke.
She glanced at the accompanying note, fearing she’d have to see her dentist soon if she kept grinding her teeth like that.
The past always has a way of bleeding into the present, doesn’t it?
Some legacies endure. Others…unravel.
—V
“That bitch,” Penelope ground out. As if she needed Valentina to remind her how the past still bled into everything.
Fury rising, she snatched her purse and headed out of the office.
Her drive home seemed to take forever. Traffic crawled, her fraying nerves made every minute stretch. She couldn’t count the times she resisted the urge to slam her horn to wake up the drivers ahead of her as theymusthave fallen asleep.
The steering wheel creaked under her grip. Her jaw ached from clenching.
By the time she entered her house, she was more than ready to wash the day off, but first, she needed to give a certain someone a piece of her mind.
Penelope dialed the number before placing down her purse.
Valentina answered on the second ring. “Hello, darling. I’ve been expecting your call. Did you like my letter?”
“What do you want?”
“Control. Certainty. And the assurance that inconvenient truths stay buried.”
“You already get more from me than I ever agreed to. Don’t confuse proximity with loyalty, Valentina. Besides, if you need my help, why would you antagonize me? Haven’t you learned that flies are easier caught with honey?”
