Page 133 of This is a Kissing Book

Maxine’s nostrils flare. “Marchand only created matched pairs. If anyone knew one painting was by Marchand, they’d search for the companion piece. Separated, attributed to different artists, I could insure them as two unrelated works and double the payout.”

Like the narcissistic villain she is, this woman cannot help but brag about her questionable and diabolical logic.

Now I fully understand what Jules is getting at. “The real Fairfax Collection documentation would have listed both paintings together under Marchand’s name, which is why you couldn’t let anyone find the start of the list of the gifts to the Todd family, included in the lost love letters. That would have led us to the end of the list—the Marchand paintings donated to them posthumously in Lincoln’s memory.”

My father snorts as if impressed by the unraveling of the scheme. “Let me see if I understand. You discovered a record of part of the Lincoln diptych in our archives. You realized it was worth more separated than together.”

“The insurance possibilities were plain. Almost too good to pass up after the restructuring,” Maxine says coldly. “Two paintings by different artists, different time periods, insured separately were worth triple what they’d be as a matched set.”

Jules adds, “But you needed to hide the provenance. If anyone traced the Fairfax Collection back to Lincoln’s original gifts, they’d find documentation of a Marchand diptych, not two separate paintings.”

Maxine huffs. “I was playing a long game. Your mother’s obsession with those letters was the catalyst. I thought when she died, the search would die with her. But then you started looking.”

“The letters don’t just prove Lincoln loved Mary, they prove what pieces Lincoln originally gave to her family, which leads to the full collection. And the paintings, together, tell the complete story.” My father folds his hands.

“You’re finished, Maxine,” I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. “We have everything we need to destroy you.”

Her smile turns predatory. “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one who’s been requesting access to forged documents for months. Your little treasure hunt for those love letters made you the perfect patsy.”

I go still. My innocent search for the Lincoln letters has created a paper trail that makes me look complicit. Maybe that’s why Dad urged me to leave the letters alone. Either way, he counted on Jules and me finding the discrepancies. On us exposing Maxine.

Then Jules steps forward, eyebrow arched. “There is one problem with your theory, Ms. Drecken. We have the letters. You have the painting—or did you and Aiken already destroy it? He won the winning bid at the auction. Looks suspicious.”

“I covered my tracks. You won’t pin anything on me.” Her tone is cold, but uncertainty flickers across her face.

“Lincoln kept meticulous records,” Jules continues. “Including records of which documents he gave to which collectors. The letters reference his inventory. Your forgeries are about to be exposed.”

It’s brilliant and Maxine’s confident smirk wavers.

“You’ll never prove anything,” she says, but she sounds less sure.

“Won’t I?” Jules pulls out her phone. “Should I call the FBI now, or would you prefer to explain to them how you’ve been systematically defrauding insurance companies and auction houses, not to mention attempted murder?”

The room goes so quiet I can hear the traffic below.

Then Maxine clicks her tongue. “This isn’t over,” she says, but she’s already backing toward the door.

“Yes,” my father says quietly, “it is.”

After she leaves, the three of us exchange baffled looks as if to ask, Did that really happen?

My father says, “I’m afraid so. But I have you two to thank.”

“So you knew all along? You planted me on the inside, ‘undercover boss’ style, without my even knowing it?” Wrinkles line my forehead and then a sharp bark of laughter escapes when he doesn’t deny it.

My father spins his pointer finger in the general vicinity of the room. “The best part is all of that was caught on the security cams. I use Checkpoint Secure.”

Of course he does.

“Did you really find the letters?” he asks with a surprising amount of eagerness in his voice.

“Sure did.”

Jules turns to my father and says, “Sir, your wife really loved you. Your son, too. Now I understand why.”

Then she excuses herself, leaving Dad and me alone. He comes out from behind his desk and, for the first time in my adult memory, he hugs me and says, “Go after her.”

I grip him more tightly, not realizing how much I’ve needed this hug.