“Okay, okay,” I grumble, kissing her on the forehead. “Message received, loud and clear.” I check my watch. “I should find Clee. You know what to do?”
“Yes, Dad, I know. Nowgo. Scram, or you’re gonna miss the show. She’ll never forgive you for that.”
I’ve never seenthe love of my life look so starry-eyed.
We’re standing in the middle of the display room with glittery gold details on the walls and a sparkling chandelier overhead, lost in the crowds and the glamor.
I can’t tell if she’s more awestruck by the turnout or the setting.
Clee’s red lips fall open as she stares at everyone. There’s a bubbling glass flute in her hand, but she barely touches her champagne.
People love her stuff.
And why the hell wouldn’t they?
That’s the part I had unshakable confidence in. There are folks here from across the whole damn world.
The Hera Egg is a big draw, displayed proudly in the center of the room. People crowd the glass case, marveling at the newly refurbished treasure. They worked miracles with the repair.
It’s not perfect—never could be after I shot it to bits—but the fragments wound up being bigger than they seemed.
Jasper Fairfax owed me a favor for saving his ass. He felt awful about helping the wolves into our lives, despite having a literal gun to his head.
So, after the dust settled, he connected us with restoration experts and paid the bill. People with unholy talent. They did an unbelievable job repairing ninety percent of the ruined egg.
From a distance, the thing looks nearly as perfect as it did the first time I ever saw it.
All the cracks that were too big to be filled are now lined with gold.
Cleo says it’s a lot like some fancy Japanese art technique. All I know is it’s goddamned beautiful, this broken marvel made whole. The golden imperfections add to its soul, glowing under the soft lights.
I squeeze Cleo’s hand until she looks up at me.
“Amazing, amazing,” she whispers.
“Never had any doubt it would be, Clee.”
“But Holden—seriously. Look at it.”
“Seriously,” I repeat. “People aren’t just here for the egg, you know. They won’t shut up about your art.”
I raise her hand to my lips as she laughs.
Then she looks over the scene and finally sips her champagne with a soft smile. “I know. My stuff has done okay, but—”
“More than okay, liar,” I interrupt gruffly.
Ever since the heist and the attention it brought, her textured art has exploded.
Not in a small way either. There are viral videos all over the internet with millions of views.
They’ve brought her fame, respect, and a nice haul of money. Not that either of us need it.
First time in my life I can say that, and I still can’t believe it.
My girl’s done mighty well for herself, staking her name on her own terms. Same for me as I slowly hack away at getting my consulting biz off the ground.
I landed my first big client a couple months ago, Enguard Security from California, a premier firm looking to start up a satellite branch in New York and Boston. They want to know the lay of the land and decided I’m the right man for the job.
