Chapter 4 - THE COLLECTION ROMAN'S FATHER BURIED
Roman's father had lied.
That much became obvious within hours.
Rosa Rossi had collected paintings privately for almost twenty years.
Nothing enormous.
No Picassos.
No Rembrandts.
She preferred overlooked immigrant painters and small religious works.
After Rosa died suddenly from an aneurysm, Roman's father told everyone a storage fire destroyed most of her collection.
Roman was twenty-three.
Grieving.
He never questioned it.
Now Sadi had found one.
Then a second.
Different storage unit.
Different paperwork.
Same hidden code.
R.R.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
Roman stared at his mother's handwriting.
“It means someone sold them.”
“Your father?”
“He died four years ago.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“No.”
Roman looked exhausted.
“My father had debt.”
“Your family?”
“Families that appear wealthy can still owe dangerous amounts of money.”
Sadi almost laughed at the irony.
“So he sold your mother's collection secretly.”
“Possibly.”
“Through Price?”
“Possibly.”
“And Carlo?”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“My cousin handled some of my father's private finances.”
There it was.
Carlo again.
The deeper they searched, the uglier the records became.
Rosa's paintings had not simply been sold.
Several had been used to disguise cash transfers between shell companies.
Art became currency.
Moveable.
Difficult to value precisely.
Perfect for laundering money.
Arthur Price authenticated pieces.
Carlo arranged transport.
Roman's father authorized early transactions.
Then after his death, Carlo continued.
Sadi looked at Roman.
“You inherited this.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn't know.”
“No.”
“Do you believe me when I say I won't automatically believe that?”
Roman looked at her.
“Yes.”
That answer mattered.
He opened every record she requested.
No hiding.
No convenient exclusions.
For three weeks, Sadi worked mornings at Ilvento and afternoons as an independent consultant.
Her bank balance changed.
So did the way people treated her.
Richard suddenly discovered she'd always been “extremely talented.”
Sadi ignored him.
Her mother called twice.
She ignored her too.
Chloe sent a text.
I'm sorry about Mom.
That one she answered.
Me too.
Derek contacted her.
Of course he did.
I heard what happened with the paintings. Always knew you were smart.
Sadi stared at the message.
Then deleted it.
Some doors deserved to remain closed.
Madison called instead.
“Can we meet?”
Sadi almost refused.
Then accepted.
Madison looked exhausted.
Her father had hired lawyers.
Claimed he knew nothing about stolen objects.
She didn't know what to believe.
“I feel stupid.”
Sadi shook her head.
“Don't.”
“He's my father.”
“Exactly.”
Madison looked at her.
“Derek says you're trying to ruin my family.”
Sadi laughed.
“Derek always liked simple stories.”
Madison smiled sadly.
Then reached into her bag.
“I found this in Dad's office.”
A flash drive.
Sadi immediately leaned back.
“Do not give that to me.”
Madison blinked.
“Why?”
“Because I am not law enforcement and absolutely do not want to be accused of stealing your father's records.”
Madison stared.
“Then what do I do?”
Sadi called Roman.
Not because Roman owned the problem.
Because his attorneys already coordinated with investigators.
Within an hour, Madison had independent counsel.
The flash drive went through proper custody.
Roman looked at Sadi afterward.
“That was disappointingly responsible.”
“I'm growing.”
“I preferred the woman who publicly accused Arthur during a wedding toast.”
“Rehearsal dinner.”
“Important distinction.”
The flash drive cracked the case open.
Invoices.
Photos.
Private sale contracts.
Messages.
And one document that made Roman stop breathing.
Rosa Rossi had not merely owned the collection.
She had discovered what her husband was doing with it before she died.
Three months before her aneurysm, Rosa wrote a letter to an attorney.
If anything happens to me, do not let my collection become another Rossi bank account.
Roman read the sentence twice.
Then a third time.
Sadi stood beside him.
“You think her death wasn't natural.”
May you like
Roman didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
