As they reached the paved road and turned back toward the city, Miles felt a tingle of what he supposed was apprehension, but almost felt like fear. Everything about Diana Hartwell aligned with what they were looking for in a killer. If they were right, they were on a crash course with a devious murderer.
But if they were wrong…well, Miles had no doubt that he’d be back in Virginia at this time tomorrow while a killer remained at large.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Diana Hartwell moved through the charity auction's well-dressed crowd like she belonged there. Her museum curator credentials hung from a silk lanyard that marked her as both host and authority. Crystal glasses clinked softly as donors sampled wine and examined the silent auction items arranged throughout the Golden Gate Museum of Natural History's main hall.
The afternoon had been a predictable success. Wealthy patrons writing checks to salve their consciences while maintaining the very systems that created the problems they claimed to care about. Diana had watched them bid on African art while they’d no doubt ignored the homeless encampments outside the museum doors. She listened to them discuss affordable housing over champagne that cost more per bottle than minimum wage workers earned in a day. Slightly buzzed, they’d leave the auction and head to dinners where they’d drink more, spend more money, and solve nothing.
Now, as the crowd began to thin and conversations shifted toward departure logistics, Diana spotted her target near the California Gold Rush display. Mayor Thomas Callahan stood alone, studying a collection of mining equipment behind protective glass. His security detail maintained a respectful distance that wouldn't interfere with his public image should a photo opportunity arrive.
Perfect.
Diana approached with the confident stride of someone who belonged in this space, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor. She'd chosen her outfit carefully—professional and authoritative without being threatening. It was simple yet elegant pantsuit that made her look approachable andsomehow confident. The mayor looked up as she neared, his politician's smile automatically engaging.
"Mayor Callahan," she said, extending her hand. She put on a bit of an acting performance, as if she was awed and nervous to be in his presence. "Diana Hartwell, curator of geological exhibits. I wanted to personally thank you for that wonderful speech about the city's homeless initiative."
Callahan's handshake was firm, practiced. "Ms. Hartwell, the pleasure is mine. This is a remarkable institution you help run here. The fundraising total exceeded our projections, as I’m sure you heard."
"Your words were inspiring," Diana continued, her voice carrying just the right note of admiration. "The way you spoke about creating opportunities for our most vulnerable citizens—it takes real leadership to tackle such complex issues."
She watched his chest swell slightly at the praise, knowing full well that his policies had systematicallyworsenedhomelessness throughout the city while protecting the development interests that had donated to his campaigns. Some of those were the very developers who had destroyed her family's livelihood decades ago.
"Well, it's about finding practical solutions," Callahan said, settling into his familiar talking points. "We can't just throw money at problems. We need strategic partnerships with the private sector."
"Absolutely." Diana's smile never wavered. "Speaking of partnerships, I have something that might interest you. I maintain a special private collection in our mineral wing—pieces that aren't part of the public display. Some truly spectacular specimens from California's mining heritage."
Callahan's eyebrows rose with interest. "That sounds fascinating."
"I was thinking it might make the perfect backdrop for some campaign photography. The symbolism would be powerful—a leader who understands the golden foundation our city was built on." Diana gestured toward the darkened corridor that led to the museum's research areas. "If you have a few minutes, I'd love to show you the collection."
The mayor glanced toward his security detail, but Diana had anticipated this. "It's just through the mineral wing. Your team can follow at whatever distance makes them comfortable."
Callahan chuckled softly and shook his head playfully. “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll just be a second, gents. Hold positions here, would you?”
Both guards nodded, but Diana saw that one looked clearly uneasy about it. But he said nothing, only giving a slight nod in response.
"I'd be honored to see your collection, Ms. Hartwell," Callahan said.
They began walking through the museum's corridors, past darkened exhibit halls where emergency lighting cast long shadows across display cases. Diana's heels echoed in the silence, punctuated by the softer footfalls of the security team maintaining their professional distance.
As they entered the mineral wing's research area, Diana felt the familiar calm that came with approaching completion. The laboratory space she'd prepared waited ahead, equipped with everything she needed for her work. The mayor followed trustingly, his security team now removed entirely. Diana restrained a smile, delighted that Callahan thought he was in control, that he was on his way to what would essentially be nothing more than a great photo opportunity.
She supposed she’d be caught this time, though. Such a high-profile target, in such a high-profile setting. But that wasfine with her. As long as her work was done, as long as the Elementalist was pleased.
As they drew closer to the end, she looked back toward Thomas Callahan—a man who hoarded public resources while people suffered on the streets outside his office windows. A man who spoke eloquently about helping the vulnerable while ensuring his wealthy donors remained protected from any real change. A man whose policies had turned her city into a monument to inequality.
How fitting that he would become her final masterpiece in gold. The element that had built San Francisco would reclaim it, one corrupt soul at a time.
Behind them, the chatter of the event faded into nothing, and Callahan’s team waited obediently for him to return. After all, they had no reason to suspect anything. She was just a museum curator sharing her passion for California's golden heritage.
And by the time they realized what was really happening, Thomas Callahan would understand the true weight of gold.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Miles and Vic burst through the museum's main entrance, their badges already out as they approached the security desk. The Golden Gate Museum of Natural History hummed with activity from the charity auction, well-dressed patrons moving between exhibits while servers carried trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres. It was a casual sort of gathering, cushioned by the odd hours between afternoon and evening.
"FBI," Vic announced to the uniformed security guard behind the reception desk. "We need to find Diana Hartwell immediately. She's a curator here."
