I looked at Gray.
His brow furrowed in confusion.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice barely audible above the soprano melody.
He shrugged and took my hand, leading me forward.“David?” he called out to the room.“It’s Grayson.”
I couldn’t help but notice Gray had maneuvered himself in front of me. He was naturally wary, taking measured steps forward and around the columns that separated us from the next room.
My nose tickled at the distinct smell of cigar smoke floating my way. I wrinkled it, breathing through my mouth; I hated that smell. Nash’s office had a lingering hint of it from the past, soaked into the oak wood of his shelves and floor. It was a scent that never went away.
Gray paused as a man, mid-song, shouted over the music,“Grayson, my boy!”
The music volume dipped, and I peeked around Gray’s shoulder, trying to see what was happening. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, who bore a striking resemblance to a Robert De Niro and Al Pacino hybrid, was stepping around a sofa and approaching Gray. He held his arms wide in invitation, a cigar between his fingers. He reached out to pull him in.
My eyes scanned past them, landing immediately on my father.“Dad?” I straightened, stepping out from behind Gray.
Seeing me, my dad let out a hearty chuckle, his face flushed and a cigar in hand as well.“Bee! My bug! There you are!”
I melted back into my eight-year-old self, grinning and dropping Gray’s hand as I sprinted towards my dad. He enveloped me in a hug, my arms wrapping around his soft belly. Cigar smoke wafted around me, but I didn’t mind; breathing in my father’s familiar scent beneath the sweet molasses aroma of the tobacco was good enough for me.
Letting him go, I cupped his handsome, wrinkled face.“Are you alright?” I scanned him from head to toe for any sign of injury—bruises, cuts, scratches—but he seemed unharmed.
“I’m fantastic, darling.” He hitched a thumb through a suspender, a signature part of his style. He adored wearing them, partly to avoid plumber’s crack, and partly for the sheer amusement. These particular ones were blue and white striped.“They didn’t hurt me, but they helped me shed a few pounds, only fed me once a day,” he said.“But I’m fine now that my new friend David has set me up with five-star accommodations.” He gestured with his cigar-holding hand behind me in David’s direction.“I’ve likely put all that weight back on since being here in his penthouse. His chef is incredible. They even have a pizza oven.” He patted his stomach.
I turned to find David, eager to thank him. When our eyes met, the strong resemblance to Gray was unmistakable. David stood beaming, one arm casually draped over Gray’s shoulder. Gray, looking a bit dazed and sheepish, hadn’t seen family in ages, much less one so openly welcoming. He resembled a small child encountering a distant uncle at Christmas dinner for the very first time.
David nodded at me, a confirmation of his end of the bargain.
I returned the nod, reaching behind me and pulling the painting from my remarkably stretchy jeans. With a flourish and a grin, I held it up.“I had to leave the frame behind. I hope that’s alright.”
David looked elated, releasing Gray and stepping towards me. He tucked the cigar between his teeth, taking the panel in both hands and holding it out to inspect the artwork.“Naked as the day we acquired it, over fifty years ago,” he said.“It’s perfect.”
He held it with such reverence and love that it was difficult to resent the fact that the wider world would never again see this Rembrandt. Glancing back at my dad, he noticed my reaction, a smile playing on his lips. He, too, could recognize the art’s role in this family, its history, and how that joy illuminated David’s face. I could tell that, despite his lifelong career in the art world, he was happy it was here, at home, where it could be appreciated more than any museum or foundation ever could.
David’s gaze remained fixed on the painting as he crossed the room. In the corner, an antique oak easel stood, sheltered from the direct sunlight streaming through the windows, and illuminated by a gentle overhead lamp. He reverently placed the artwork on the stand and stepped back.
Removing his cigar, he turned to us and asked,“Incredible, isn’t it? Looking at this reminds me of my older brother—your father, Grayson—and the best moment of our lives. The thrill and victory we felt that night and the bond we shared were eternal. He was an extraordinary man, brimming with life and affection.” David paused, his voice betraying a slight tremor.“He had a genuine passion for art, did you know that?” David’s eyes welled up with tears.
Gray also had tears in his eyes.“Yes... he absolutely adored it.”
I squeezed my dad’s hand before leaving his side to go to Gray, wrapping my arm around him and resting my head against his chest.
He pulled me close, kissing the top of my head, his nose buried in my hair. I wondered then if this was truly the end. What now?
A question lingered on the tip of my tongue, but it didn’t feel like the right time to ask. Bringing up the fate of Matteo seemed cruel, especially with the chance that David was the last of the four brothers still alive.
My father chose that moment to step over to David and pat him on the back, comforting him as a brother would. They shared a look of camaraderie, and I saw it: the making of a new family, knitting together right before my eyes. My father could use a friend, and based on the atmosphere we walked into today, I’d say that was likely to happen.
Perhaps my father was ready to learn about his children’s secret lives and our love for heists. Maybe he was ready to join us. It was inevitable he’d hear about the latest PERL stunt, and perhaps it was time he learned Sybil’s secret identity, too.
Besides, as far as I could tell, the thrill of adventure looked good on him.
Epilogue
Betty
“Looking good!” I yelled.
