"Alright. Let's do it. I'll send the contract via email. You review, sign and send back. We'll handle everything else remotely. Sound good?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. Welcome to Void Gallery, RB."
We hang up and I stare at the burner phone in my hand.
R. Bush, the artist known as RB. Not even a full name, just initials and a mystery.
Week one is preparation.
The contract arrives via email. I read every word, looking for traps, requirements for in-person meetings, anything that would expose me. It's clean. Standard gallery representation, commission structure, exhibition timeline. No requirement for the artist to appear publicly.
I sign it as "R. Bush" and send it back.
Sarah responds within a few hours.Perfect. Let's talk about the exhibition.
We communicate entirely through email now. She sends questions about the work, the themes, the narrative. I respond carefully, revealing nothing personal.
What drew you to crime scenes?
Death is the most honest moment. I document it because it's sacred.
And the people in the sketches?
I’m always aware people are more expressive and open when they think nobody is watching. It’s the perfect time to capture true emotion.
She loves it.
This is perfect for the press materials. Can I use these quotes?
Yes. But no attribution beyond RB.
Understood.
The portfolio, however, does need to be expanded. She wants twenty-five pieces and I have twenty-six, but it needs refinement.
I spend twelve-hour days in the darkroom and at the drawing table, preparing the work for public viewing. Dom helps with logistics, like shipping arrangements, insurance, banking setup for the sales payments. Everything handled remotely, nothing traceable back to our San Diego address.
"You're really doing this," he says one night, watching me work.
"I can’t believe I have this opportunity. But I feel way more relaxed being anonymous, knowing this way Chen will have no way to locate us, even if she did pick up on the art. I think if we had stuck to the original plan, my nerves would eventually get the better of me.”
“You’re right. Besides, the mystery makes you more interesting. More valuable."
"And untouchable."
"Yeah. That too."
Week two, and the pieces ship to New York. Professional art handlers arrive with custom crates. They pack everything carefully, including my most precious piece, "Toxic Devotion." We decided to include it now that I don’t have to show my face. Sarah is convinced this will be the biggest seller and we would be crazy not to include it.
So, that’s it, I’m done, twenty-five pieces, headed across the country to a gallery that will show them to the world. And I won't be there, well, that’s what Sarah thinks.
"I want to go," I tell Dom that night. "To the opening."
"But you said…"
"I know what I said. I won't appear as the artist, but I want to be there. To see what happens and hear what people say."
