Page 57 of Don't Tell

It will not be enough. The version of the story he believes he has is not true. He has been waiting his entire life to hear from the man who took his father apart, and that man is sitting at this desk in this office.

I'm going to have to tell him.

Not today.

I open my laptop.

I sign two contracts and take a call from a collector in Berlin and let myself be charming for nine minutes. I drink the coffee James has put on my desk without me asking.

At noon, James knocks.

"Mr. Nightingale."

"Yes?"

"Mr. Brandt has responded."

I look up. "Already?"

He nods. "Forty minutes after I sent the scans."

I sit back.

Eli Brandt has been a friend for half a decade. He has one of the best eyes in the Bay Area and a small, clean gallery in Hayes Valley.

"What did he say?"

James reads from his phone.

Cade. The work is unusual. Rough in the right ways. I would very much like to meet your artist. As it happens, there is a private viewing at the Cresswell next Thursday. Davies collection, emerging California painters. I'll be there. You're invited every year and, as I recall, have declined each time. If you bring her, I can meet her quietly and professionally without it being a setup. Best, E.

I'm quiet for a long second.

"Confirm with him."

"Yes."

"Put me on the guest list."

"Of course, Mr. Nightingale."

I take out my phone and text him myself.

Cade

She'll be there. Thank you.

I close the laptop and pick up my keys.

I go back to the Cresswell.

15.Suzanne

I'm at the front desk, pulling delivery slips for the tenth floor when she walks in.

Lila.

She's in a dress that costs more than my rent for the quarter, heels that should be impossible to walk on the marble of this lobby, and a small bag the color of a blood orange. She crosses the room like she has the right to be here. Carmen is on a phone call. Frank is at the concierge desk. The two of them have not seen her yet.