Chapter 6 - THE MAN BEHIND THE CHAMPAGNE
Richard Carrington had built a reputation as a philanthropist.
He funded hospitals.
Universities.
Museums.
He appeared on magazine covers beside words like visionary and legacy.
Now I knew his name appeared in my mother's sketchbook beside the date Gabriel's younger brother died.
Gabriel arranged a meeting with Detective Ellison and Naomi.
He handed over copies of the relevant documents.
The investigators began reviewing old records.
I watched Gabriel carefully.
“You knew Carrington?”
He nodded.
“Of course.”
“Did you suspect him?”
“Not until now.”
I stared.
“He was at the gala.”
“Yes.”
“And Spencer was trying to impress him.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Which means the arrangement may be larger than Sorelli's debt.”
The possibility frightened me.
Spencer hadn't simply made a desperate bargain.
He might have been recruited.
Used.
Or manipulated by people who had been hiding the same secret for decades.
That afternoon, Naomi received an email from Spencer's attorney.
He wanted to negotiate.
He offered to withdraw his allegations against me if I returned certain restoration materials.
Naomi refused.
Then Detective Ellison called.
“We found the storage facility footage.”
My heart raced.
“Did it show Spencer?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
“But he wasn't alone.”
The footage showed Spencer entering the facility with a woman wearing a dark coat.
Her face was partially obscured.
But the investigators identified her through access records.
Her name was Vivian Carrington.
Richard's daughter.
I stared at the photograph.
Vivian was thirty-five.
A respected art dealer.
A woman who had attended my studio opening two years earlier.
She had complimented my work.
Bought a small painting.
Asked questions about my mother's background.
I felt sick.
“She was investigating me.”
Gabriel looked at the photograph.
“Yes.”
That evening, I remembered something else.
Vivian had once asked whether I still owned my mother's sketchbooks.
At the time, I'd thought she was interested in artistic inheritance.
Now I understood.
She had been looking for evidence.
I sat alone in the garden.
Gabriel joined me.
“Are you okay?”
I laughed bitterly.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
I looked at him.
“Why did you bring the painting to my studio?”
He hesitated.
“Because I suspected Isabella had left something inside it.”
I stared.
“You used me.”
Gabriel lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
The word hit harder than I expected.
“You knew I was her daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And you brought me a painting connected to her death.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
He nodded.
“I thought I could protect you by keeping you uninformed.”
I stood.
“That's what Spencer thought too.”
Gabriel flinched.
I stepped back.
“You don't get to decide what truth I'm allowed to know.”
He looked at me.
“I understand.”
“No,” I said. “You understand now because I caught you.”
I walked away.
And for the first time, I realized that Gabriel's protection had come with its own kind of control.
May you like
Different from Spencer's.
But still control.
