Chapter 6 - DINNER WITH THE ENEMY
By seven the next evening, the Continental looked as though nothing terrible had ever happened beneath its chandeliers.
The marble had been polished until every light doubled beneath the guests’ shoes. White orchids climbed from crystal centerpieces. A quartet played near the windows while servers moved through the ballroom with champagne. Outside, the storm had passed, leaving Manhattan sharp and glittering under a cold sky.
Sadie stood in a private dressing room two floors above the event and stared at herself in the mirror.
The museum’s borrowed black dress fit perfectly.
That made her dislike it.
She had spent most of her life trying to disappear inside practical clothes, archive rooms, conservation labs, and academic arguments so obscure that even other academics occasionally fled from them. Tonight she was expected to walk into a room containing a man who had assaulted her and another man who may have ordered it, then behave as if the most dangerous thing in her hand was a speech.
Lina adjusted the tiny transmitter hidden near Sadie’s collar.
“You touch this twice if you want out.”
“I know.”
“Three times if you see Nolan before we do.”
“I know.”
“Once if—”
“Lina.”
The security officer stopped.
Sadie looked at her reflection.
“If I start listing emergency codes, I’m not going downstairs.”
Lina softened.
“That would not be unreasonable.”
“No.”
Sadie picked up the leather portfolio.
“But I’m going anyway.”
The dressing-room door opened.
Callum entered.
He wore a black dinner jacket with no family pin.
Sadie noticed that first.
Then she noticed the way he looked at her.
For once, Callum Russo had no immediate answer.
Sadie raised an eyebrow.
“That expression is not reassuring.”
“I was deciding whether this is a terrible plan.”
“You decided that yesterday.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
“Because of the dress?”
“Because Victor is dangerous.”
“He was dangerous when I was wearing museum shoes.”
Callum’s jaw tightened.
“That is not funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
He stepped closer.
“You do not have to prove anything tonight.”
Sadie met his eyes.
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because yesterday I spent ten minutes wondering whether I should lie about a painting to make a violent man leave me alone.”
Her voice stayed steady.
“I hated that feeling more than I hated him.”
Callum said nothing.
Sadie continued.
“And because if Victor has done this for years, somebody else will eventually stand outside another building holding another report. I would rather he learn tonight that experts are harder to frighten than he thinks.”
Callum studied her face.
Then he extended his hand.
“Ready?”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
“Good answer.”
She took his hand.
They entered the ballroom together.
Conversations shifted around them like wind around stone.
Callum was accustomed to that. Sadie was not.
She felt eyes move over her from table to table. Museum trustees recognized her. Collectors whispered. Two journalists turned openly toward them. And near the bar, a silver-haired man Sadie knew from the bribery list looked at Callum, then quickly away.
The trap was already working.
At 7:42, the foundation chairman introduced Sadie as the specialist responsible for evaluating a newly discovered old master study from the Russo collection.
At 7:44, Victor Russo arrived.
He did not sneak in.
He walked through the center doors with a smile.
Victor was younger-looking than Sadie had expected, handsome in the polished, expensive way that made strangers assume warmth before he spoke. He wore a midnight-blue tuxedo.
And on his lapel was the Russo pin.
The same silver circle.
The same R.
Sadie’s pulse jumped.
Callum felt her hand tense around his arm.
Victor saw it.
His smile widened.
“Cousin.”
Callum did not move.
“Victor.”
Guests nearby pretended to be fascinated by their drinks.
Victor turned to Sadie.
“Miss Vale. I’ve heard so much.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
Callum glanced at her.
Victor laughed.
“Oh, I like her.”
“You’ll like her less in twenty minutes,” Callum said.
Victor’s smile stayed in place.
“Still dramatic.”
“You set fire to a warehouse.”
A flicker.
Tiny.
Gone.
Victor lifted his champagne.
“Then I hope you told the fire marshal.”
He moved on.
Sadie exhaled.
“That was not subtle.”
“I’m tired.”
“Of strategy?”
“Of family.”
At eight fifteen, Sadie stepped onto the small stage.
Behind her, a screen displayed an infrared scan of the Caravaggio study.
She began with history.
Technique.
Paper fibers.
Iron-gall ink.
Stylistic comparison.
She spoke for six minutes before saying the sentence Victor had come to hear.
“In my professional judgment, the work is authentic.”
A wave of murmurs moved through the ballroom.
Sadie continued.
“But the drawing contains something more important than attribution.”
Across the room, Victor went still.
Callum watched him.
Sadie clicked to the next image.
The old Russo inventory symbol appeared on the screen.
Several guests turned toward Callum.
Victor set down his glass.
Sadie said, “This mark links the drawing to a private storage system used by the Russo family for nearly a century. That discovery has allowed us to identify a sequence of undocumented transfers involving multiple works.”
Now the room changed.
Not curiosity.
Alarm.
A man from the insurance list stood and quietly headed for the exit.
Marco intercepted him near the hallway.
Victor did not move.
Sadie continued.
“For legal reasons, I cannot discuss those works tonight. But the evidence has been preserved and shared with independent counsel.”
That last part was a lie.
A useful one.
Victor’s face finally lost its ease.
Then Sadie saw Nolan.
He stood near the kitchen doors.
Dark suit.
Silver pin.
Watching her.
She touched the transmitter three times.
Lina moved.
Nolan turned away.
Sadie finished the speech without changing pace.
Applause came late and uncertain.
Callum crossed toward Nolan.
Victor stepped in front of him.
“Enjoying yourself?” Victor asked.
“Move.”
“Always so serious.”
“Move.”
Victor leaned closer.
“You think she saved you?”
Callum’s eyes narrowed.
Victor’s voice dropped.
“She just made herself impossible to ignore.”
Callum shoved past him.
Nolan had disappeared through the kitchen.
Sadie came off the stage.
Lina reached her first.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Sadie.”
She looked toward the service hall.
A waiter had dropped a tray.
Glass covered the floor.
Beyond it, a black door swung slowly closed.
Callum and Marco ran through.
Sadie followed before Lina could stop her.
The corridor behind the ballroom was narrow and bright.
They turned one corner.
Then another.
At the loading dock, Nolan stood beside a delivery van.
He held no gun.
His hands were raised.
Marco aimed at him anyway.
“Down.”
Nolan looked at Callum.
“You want Victor?”
Callum stopped.
Nolan smiled without humor.
“Then lower the weapon.”
Marco did not.
Nolan slowly reached into his jacket.
“Don’t,” Marco warned.
Nolan froze.
“Inside pocket. Phone.”
Callum nodded once.
Marco took it.
The screen displayed a live video.
A room.
A chair.
A frightened elderly man tied to it.
Sadie recognized him.
Dr. Peter Haas.
The retired conservator who had taught her during graduate school.
Her mentor.
Her friend.
Sadie’s face drained of color.
Nolan looked at her.
“Victor wanted insurance.”
Callum took one step toward him.
Nolan shook his head.
“If I don’t call in seven minutes, Haas moves.”
“Moves where?”
Nolan’s eyes met Sadie’s.
“To a place nobody finds him.”
Sadie could barely breathe.
Callum’s voice became deadly calm.
“What do you want?”
Nolan looked past him toward the ballroom.
“Not what I want.”
Then he removed the Russo pin from his lapel and dropped it onto the wet concrete.
“What Victor wants.”
He stepped on it.
The metal bent beneath his shoe.
May you like
Then he looked at Callum.
“And I’m done giving it to him.”
