Chapter 8 - Whispers in the GalleryThe art world in Boston had a long memory and very short patience for scandal. Two days after the suspicious wire transfer flagged our system, I found myself walking through the sleek, minimalist corridors of the Newbury Street Gallery—the very establishment Marcus had funded with embezzled corporate capital five years ago.
The gallery had been rebranded under new management following the receivership auction, but the minimalist white walls and avant-garde sculptures still carried the faint, bitter scent of Chloe’s expensive taste. I was there to meet with the gallery's new curator regarding a corporate acquisition of contemporary pieces for Rhodes Capital’s executive floor, but my real objective was information.
"Evelyn Mercer—excuse me, Evelyn Rhodes," a smooth, cultured voice cut through the quiet hum of the gallery.
I turned to find gallery director Victor Vance—no relation to Chloe, though they had run in the same exclusive social circles—approaching me with a cautious smile. He held a glass of sparkling water, his designer spectacles catching the gallery track lighting.
"Victor," I acknowledged, keeping my expression neutral. "I trust the transition of ownership has been smooth?"
"Relatively speaking," Victor sighed, taking a delicate sip of his water. "Though certain... echoes of the previous administration tend to linger. In fact, that's rather why I was hoping our paths would cross."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Go on."
Victor glanced around the empty corridor before lowering his voice. "About a week before the federal seizure, Chloe came by here. She wasn't packing art, Evelyn. She was clearing out the private back office. She took several encrypted hard drives and a physical ledger hidden behind the wall safe."
"A physical ledger?" I asked, my pulse quickening. "What was in it?"
"I couldn't say for certain," Victor admitted, looking genuinely uneasy. "But she mentioned something about a 'safety net'—insurance in case Marcus turned on her during the plea negotiations. She left town heading south. Miami, or perhaps the Caribbean. But she left a trail, and someone with your access could easily follow it."
"Why are you telling me this, Victor?" I asked directly. "You and Chloe used to attend the same charity galas."
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Victor gave a bitter, humorless laugh. "Chloe bounced three months of my gallery operating fees before she skipped town. People who survive in this business don't protect sinking ships, Evelyn. They save themselves."
I thanked him for his time and walked out onto Newbury Street, the cold autumn wind hitting my face. Chloe had a physical ledger. That explained how the Swiss wire had bypassed federal monitors—it was tied to accounts that existed entirely outside the digital banking networks Marcus had used for his tech startup. She wasn't just hiding; she was holding the keys to whatever hidden reserves Marcus had stashed away before the collapse. And if she intended to use them to buy off witnesses or fund an appeal, she was putting my entire family back in the crosshairs.
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