“He values the opinions ofallhisemployees.”
“Last time I checked, my mother and I were just as much his family as you are.”
I scoff. “Sure. You’re his nephew. I am his only son.” I turn to Alice. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay.” She smiles at me, but it’s tinged with regret.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths silently. I shake my head. She has nothing to be sorry for.
“I’d better be off, or I’ll be late.” I flash them both a warm smile but narrow my eyes a fraction when they land on Oz and find him smiling at me like the cat who got the cream.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sin
A Vessel of Dreams
I drove straight from The Wizard’s apartment to my parents’ house.
On the way here, my convictions ran the gamut.
I should ignore what I saw in his apartment. Pictures of people wearing what looks like contraband don’t prove anything.
I’m chasing something dangerous, complicated, and very likely to fail.
Investigative journalism is a shark tank, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my career surrounded by people I don’t trust.
And yet… every time I think about what I walked away from, what I gave up on, an intense flare of panic comes to life inside of me.
If I don’t extinguish it quickly, I’m afraid it could consume me.
I sit on the stairs leading from the garage to the kitchen and open the box full of the non-digital research. “Oh, wow.” There’s a small gold-colored flash drive on top. I could cry. This is the backup to everything that was on my computer. I thought it was gone. I tuck it back in the box and pull out the first file.
I pull out the document on top and read it.
“Most of us visit museums when we want to see rare, priceless works of art or ancient artifacts. But the .1% of us who can afford it prefer to have a privateaudience with the pieces the rest of will only ever see in pictures.
The collection of art and cultural antiquities is worth $50 billion dollars annually. Most of this occurs in reputable auction houses and private estate sales. There is a well-known black market for rare paintings, but when it comes cultural artifacts there is a dark and ugly underbelly to the black market that is an open secret in the art world. The key to stopping it is identifying who is funding it.”
I’d forgotten how passionately I believed in this project. Not just because I wanted awards and promotions and recognition. I wanted to have an impact that will outlive me.
The way my life crumbled made me think the universe was trying to tell me something. I was convinced my dreams had been a delusion of the grandest scale. I took this job because I thought I was done.
But now…I know his name. I know where he lives. I have those pictures. I can expose him. If I can find a way to get an invite to one of his auctions I could expose them all.
It’s because of people like him that the elephant population is still endangered. He’s the reason a whole generation of people is growing up without being able to worship in their sacred temples that were plundered.
I have to stop him.
I need to be less reckless. Even if I hadn’t broken in to get it, none of what I got from his apartment could be used in court.
I Google the name Ozwald Annan and don’t get a single hit. He’s my guy. The only people with no digital footprint are dead or have something to hide.
I’m going to drag him and everyone who’s helped him out of the shadows.
On Monday, I’ll confirm his attendance before I pitch the story to Kathy and ask for a press pass.
Pleased with my plan, I throw my research file back in the box and drag it out to my car to take home when I leave on Sunday.
