Chapter 9 - THE PAINTING THAT COULD DESTROY AN EMPIRE
Catherine had survived poverty, grief, and years of uncertainty.
But nothing prepared her for the sight of the empty examination table.
The Last Summer was gone.
The painting that had connected her to Rose.
The painting her father had spent decades protecting.
Gone.
Dr. Helen Strauss stood near the studio entrance, visibly shaken.
“I've already provided the surveillance footage to police.”
Catherine looked at the empty easel.
“Was anything else taken?”
“No.”
“Equipment?”
“Untouched.”
“Other paintings?”
“Nothing.”
Adrienne examined the room.
“Who had access?”
Helen hesitated.
“Staff members. A contracted security technician. And authorized gallery representatives.”
Catherine turned.
“Gallery representatives?”
Helen nodded.
“Marcus Hale requested access yesterday.”
Catherine felt the blood drain from her face.
“Marcus?”
“He said he needed photographs for insurance documentation.”
Adrienne's expression hardened.
Catherine remembered Marcus urging her to sell.
His warnings.
His knowledge of her father's past.
She had trusted him for years.
Now she wasn't sure whether she'd known him at all.
“Call him,” Adrienne said.
Catherine dialed.
No answer.
She tried again.
Voicemail.
Her hands began shaking.
Then a message arrived.
From Marcus.
I'm sorry.
Nothing else.
Catherine stared at the screen.
Adrienne leaned closer.
“What does it say?”
She handed him the phone.
His jaw tightened.
Rachel Donovan arrived thirty minutes later.
After speaking with investigators, she confirmed that the security footage showed someone entering the studio using Marcus's temporary credentials.
But the person's face was concealed by a baseball cap.
“Could be anyone,” Rachel said.
Catherine shook her head.
“Marcus sent me an apology.”
“Then we need to find him.”
Adrienne looked toward the doorway.
“I'm going to call him.”
Catherine stopped him.
“No threats.”
Adrienne turned.
“I wasn't planning any.”
She held his gaze.
“People have spent forty years trying to control this situation with fear. We're not doing that.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
That afternoon, police located Marcus's car outside an abandoned mill near the Hudson River.
Catherine and Adrienne arrived after investigators had secured the property.
Marcus was sitting on a bench beside the building.
He looked twenty years older.
When he saw Catherine, he lowered his head.
“I'm sorry.”
She stopped several feet away.
“Where is my painting?”
Marcus swallowed.
“I don't know.”
“Don't do this.”
“Catherine, please.”
“Did you steal it?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I gave someone access.”
“Who?”
He looked toward Adrienne.
“Vivian's attorney.”
Adrienne stiffened.
“Evelyn Price?”
Marcus shook his head.
“No. A different attorney. William Cross.”
Rachel immediately began checking the name.
Catherine stared at Marcus.
“Why?”
He covered his face.
“Because they threatened my daughter.”
Catherine went still.
Marcus rarely spoke about his family.
His daughter, Sophie, lived in Chicago and worked as a nurse.
“What did they say?”
“They knew where she lived. Where she worked. They sent photographs.”
“Did you call the police?”
“They warned me not to.”
Catherine looked away.
She was angry.
Furious.
But she remembered what fear had done to her own father.
She couldn't pretend Marcus had faced an easy choice.
“Where is Sophie now?”
“Safe. The police confirmed it this morning.”
Adrienne stepped forward.
“Then help us recover the painting.”
Marcus wiped his eyes.
“I can.”
He reached into his jacket.
From an inner pocket, he removed a small brass object.
A key.
Catherine recognized the unusual blue flower engraved on its head.
“Where did you get that?”
“Daniel gave it to me years ago.”
Catherine stared.
“My father?”
Marcus nodded.
“He said if anyone ever came searching for The Last Summer, I should remember that the frame was never the only hiding place.”
Adrienne frowned.
“What does the key open?”
Marcus looked toward the river.
“An old storage room beneath the gallery.”
Catherine felt a chill.
“I've worked there for years.”
“I know.”
“And you never told me?”
“Your father made me promise.”
They returned to the gallery after sunset.
Police investigators documented the storage area before anything was disturbed.
Behind a tall shelving unit, Marcus revealed an iron door.
The brass key turned reluctantly.
Inside stood a narrow cabinet, a desk, and several wooden crates.
Catherine stepped forward.
Her father's handwriting covered the labels.
One box carried her name.
She opened it.
Inside were old photographs, copies of letters, and a thin leather notebook.
Daniel Turner's restoration journal.
Her breath caught.
She opened to the final marked page.
The painting may one day be found, but the truth must survive even if the canvas does not.
I have copied everything Elias entrusted to me.
Rose deserves to have her name restored.
Lily deserves to know she was loved.
And Eleanor Finch deserves justice.
Catherine covered her mouth.
The notebook contained photographs of the frame's hidden compartment.
Copies of the original trust.
A handwritten statement by Eleanor Finch.
And something even more important.
A letter bearing Harrison Mercer's signature.
In it, he ordered the destruction of records proving Lily's identity.
He also instructed his attorney to conceal certain land transfers.
Adrienne slowly sat down.
“My grandfather signed this.”
Rachel photographed the documents.
“These are important leads. We'll need authentication and corroboration.”
Catherine nodded.
For the first time, she wasn't afraid of what the evidence might reveal.
She wanted all of it exposed.
But as Rachel examined the journal, her phone rang.
She listened carefully.
Then looked at Adrienne.
“Police found William Cross.”
“Where?”
“At a private hangar outside Albany.”
“Did he have the painting?”
“Yes.”
Catherine's breath caught.
“Is it safe?”
Rachel hesitated.
“The canvas is intact.”
“Then what's wrong?”
“Someone removed the frame.”
Catherine closed her eyes.
Of course.
The frame contained the original documents.
The stolen painting had been separated from its most valuable secret.
“Where is it?” Adrienne asked.
Rachel looked troubled.
“Cross says he delivered it to Vivian Mercer.”
Adrienne stiffened.
“But Vivian was at the assisted-living residence when the painting disappeared.”
Rachel nodded.
“She apparently arranged everything beforehand.”
Catherine looked at the evidence spread across the desk.
“Then we don't need the frame to prove what happened.”
Rachel agreed.
“Possibly. But there's still something missing.”
“What?”
“The original chain of custody for the documents.”
Catherine frowned.
“Daniel's copies aren't enough?”
“They may be, with supporting evidence. But originals would strengthen the case.”
Adrienne stared toward the window.
“Vivian knows that.”
Then Catherine's phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
She answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
Vivian's voice came through the speaker.
“You have something that belongs to my family.”
Catherine's hands tightened.
“The truth?”
“Don't be clever.”
“Where's the frame?”
Vivian ignored her.
“I know about Daniel's journal.”
Catherine glanced toward Adrienne.
Vivian continued.
“If you want the original documents, come to Blackwater Lake tomorrow morning.”
Catherine felt her pulse accelerate.
“Why would I trust you?”
“Because there's one more thing you haven't found.”
“What?”
Vivian paused.
Then whispered:
“The woman who stole Rose's child wasn't Harrison.”
Catherine went cold.
“Who was it?”
Vivian's next words were barely audible.
May you like
“It was someone Rose trusted more than anyone.”
The line disconnected.
