Page 114 of Brutal Truths

What has he done to my dear, sweet granddaughter?

“I knew I could count on you, Quentin. You really should reconsider joining me once I take over.”

Quentin shrugs. “She should’ve picked me over that fucker she ran off with in the club.”

His uncle smacks him on the back. “No one fucks over a Drake and gets away with it. Not even a pretty little cunt like her.”

“Damn straight,” the young man says, following his uncle out. The door closes hard behind them, the sound echoing through the gallery.

For a moment, I don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Then it all rushes back in at once. Air fills my lungs too quickly, my heart pounding so hard it feels as though it might give me away.

Then the handle rattles.

I shrink deeper into my high-back chair, pulling my legs in to make myself small, certain someone is about to come through that door.

Except no one walks in.

Time stretches. Too long, not long enough. I can’t tell which.

After several drawn-out minutes, I force myself to move. I have to protect my art before they come back to steal the rest.

My failing memory prompted me to sell my business to Silas, and to prepare me for a moment I hoped would never come. I put measures in place to protect my collection. Quietly. Carefully. No one knew.

Having once been a thief, I was determined to protect what was mine from any potential plunderers.

I move toward the sculpture I created for just such an occasion. The twisted metal leaves little to the imagination. It’s not the sort of piece most men linger on. Most go out of their way to avoid any sculpture of a penis, unless they’re gay. Touching one is even less likely.

Since most thieves are men, I chose the most unlikely place to hide the wall-activating mechanism inside one. It’s not obvious. No one could find where I’ve hidden it without sincerely appreciating the beauty of this sculpted penis.

And most turn a blind eye. Pretend it isn’t there. Don’t dare to linger too long.

Making it the perfect hidden-in-plain-sight safeguard for my lovely art.

Reaching inside, I stroke the long metal rod several times until it releases the hidden panel at the base. Once it’s open, I enter the code and step back, watching as the walls come to life. Panels sliding outward and turning until each piece is sealed safely out of reach.

I wait until everything settles before closing the hidden door on the sculpture, making sure everything looks untouched. The room feels different now. Quieter. Protected. And I allow myself to breathe before moving toward the exit.

Carefully, I ease the door open, checking the hall. If I see anyone, I’ll engage the safe room’s lock, ensuring they can’t re-enter.

The coast is clear.

The dark hall swallows me as I quicken my pace towards Rico’s room, my thoughts a whirlwind. He won’t like this, not at this hour, but he needs to know what’s happening. And then Isabel. I need to find her, bring her to the gallery to hide until the police arrive.

I don’t bother knocking. I push open his door slowly and step inside, gently shutting it behind me.

That’s when Rico’s voice cuts through the quiet. Firm. Familiar. “What are you waiting for?”

I clamp both hands over my mouth and slip inside his closet, retreating into the darkness. From here, I can see everything, but no one can see me.

No time to think. The man from earlier, Drake, lifts the gun and fires.

Rico’s body jerks, then collapses.

For a moment, nothing makes sense. The sound, the movement, the stillness that follows. It all feels wrong, as though my head refuses to accept what I’ve just witnessed.

I try to scream, but my body won’t let me. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I can only watch.