Chapter 5 - THE BROWNSTONE|
I expected to be taken back to my suburban house under armed guard. Instead, Roman’s black armored SUV pulled up outside a grand, five-story limestone brownstone in Beacon Hill.
"This isn't my home," I said, looking out the tinted window at the wrought-iron gates.
"Your home is currently surrounded by Miles's creditors," Roman said smoothly as the driver opened my door. "Word travels fast when a high-society scammer gets dragged into a cellar. You stay here tonight."
"I need my laptop and my ledger keys," I insisted, stepping out into the cool midnight air.
"Dominic is already retrieving them," Roman replied, holding a black umbrella over my head as we walked up the stone steps. "You will have everything you need in twenty minutes."
The front doors swung open, revealing an interior that took my breath away.
Marble floors, high vaulted ceilings, and hung on the walls were original master paintings that had vanished from public view decades ago.
"A 1904 Impressionist landscape," I murmured, stopping in front of a stunning canvas in the grand foyer. "The stolen Vance collection. It vanished from London in 1998."
Roman stopped beside me, handing his wet coat to a butler. "You recognize it?"
"I know every provenance file in Western Europe," I said, turning to look at him in awe. "This piece was thought to be destroyed."
"It was saved," Roman corrected softly. "By someone who appreciated its real value."
He stepped closer, looking at the painting, then down at me.
"You're not just an accountant, Claire," Roman said. "You're a master."
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"I was a ghost," I corrected him quietly. "Miles made sure nobody saw who did the work."
"Well," Roman murmured, his gray eyes locking onto mine with intense focus. "Miles is no longer in your way."
