To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Five: Expert in Beauty

"Portrait of a Lady" by Gustav Klimt (1916-1917), stolen 1997, recovered 2019 - value $60 million

Chapter Five

Geraldine called them that night.

Surprisingly, they agreed to start first thing the next morning. I couldn't help but wonder if their schedule was so open because of the scandal, that maybe it'd blown a hole in their calendar too, and not just their business.

I'd refreshed my memory after talking to Lena, flipping through news articles detailing the downfalls of a state representative, a disgraced ex-businessman, and the CEO of Greystone Security. Less reported, but still mentioned, was the widespread and connected corruption revealed in the state attorney general's office. Apparently, the attorney general himself hadn't been part of it, but I wasn't sure I was convinced. The articles didn't exactly inspire trust in our government.

My research heavily strengthened my doubts about the company, solidifying more and more with every article. Greystone had found itself embroiled in a political, convoluted mess in the past summer. It was enough to inspire uncertainty, at the very least. Their former CEO had been the definition of corrupt; he'd partnered with government officials in skeezy underhanded deals, and the aftershocks had rippled down to form cracks in the very foundation of the company. Even if Greystone was no longer Greystone, if a new name graced their building and badges, they were the same limping shell of what they once were. Rebranding could change a lot, but it couldn't change everything.

From what I understood, someone named Reed Sterling had been offered the CEO position in hopes of alleviating the power vacuum left behind. He was the one who'd worked with Lena, and undeniably the obvious choice for the role, yet he'd declined the promotion. In fact, he'd left the company altogether. It wasn't clear why, and while it could've only been a wish to distance himself from the poisonous reputation of the company, it seemed a bit suspicious to me.

Instead, a team leader had gotten the crown. I wasn't afraid to admit I knew very little about the legal details around transitioning and re-emerging companies, but I was sure it was boring and complicated. August might know, and would surely jump into a long winded explanation of legal rights and the process of rebranding if asked, but I wasn't eager to explore the nitty gritty.

There wasn't a lot of information about Simon Gatz online to soothe my suspicions, either. He was potentially a wild card, and my misgivings grew with every blank detail.

The next morning, I quietly made my way into work through the back door. I had no desire to confront the reporters still out front—especially once they caught wind of the way we were increasing security. Whitehill was already a star of the news, and the imminent announcement of new security protocols could go a lot of different ways. I wasn't sure announcing that particular security company's involvement would instill confidence the museum was protected, or that we wouldn't lose anymore works; if anything, there was a high likelihood it'd make us more of a laughingstock. Of all the companies to choose, the one rocked by a scandal a few months ago wouldn't be my own top choice. I'd personally avoid said company if my priorities were driven by fear of a thief's return, or fueled by a desire to patch tattered reputations.

But I trusted Geraldine.

She knew what she was doing, or if she didn't, she was incredibly skilled at faking it. That was good enough for me. She wouldn't let the museum fall.

I was only at my computer for twenty minutes before August texted me.

They're here. Come meet the cavalry.

I snickered, knowing August was just as unsure as I was. Lena did say most of the old team was still there, so I knew at least some of them were competent, but that didn't mean everyone was. We'd just have to see what level of competency the rookie CEO brought to the table. In all honesty, the last thing I needed was a Nancy Drew-wannabe messing with things he shouldn't. I needed the museum to recover public and artist relations so I could assuage the negative feelings that slithered and curled in my chest. They reared their head like a viper and spewed venom whenever I was at Whitehill. Stress didn't feel like an adequate way to describe it.