Chapter 3 - Everett’s CollectionThe next morning, Kiara called the attorney who managed her father’s estate.
Miriam Cole had known Everett for twenty-two years.
When Kiara explained what police found, Miriam became silent.
“How many pieces?”
“We don’t know.”
“Do not move anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Do not let Loretta back into the mansion unsupervised.”
Kiara stared at her coffee.
“She’s my mother.”
“I know exactly who she is.”
Something in Miriam’s tone made Kiara look up.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Miriam.”
“Inventory first.”
Within hours, an independent art conservator and appraiser arrived with permission from Kiara and coordination with investigators.
The results were devastating.
Eleven pieces from Everett’s documented collection appeared questionable.
Three were obvious modern reproductions.
Five could not be immediately authenticated.
Three were missing entirely.
The estimated insured value of the affected objects exceeded $2.6 million.
Kiara stood in the library while the appraiser examined the silver horse.
“What is this one worth?”
“The authentic piece?”
“Yes.”
“Last appraisal was ninety-four thousand.”
“And this?”
He lifted the reproduction carefully.
“Retail decorative value? Maybe six hundred.”
Kiara almost laughed.
Loretta had slapped a child twice over a vase worth perhaps $180.
Not that the value would have mattered if it had been $180,000.
But the cruelty had been built on a lie.
Malik had not destroyed a family heirloom.
He had broken evidence.
Miriam arrived shortly after noon.
She carried Everett’s original collection inventory.
Kiara flipped through photographs.
The vases.
The horse.
The clock.
A landscape painting.
A carved Federal-era side table.
Her childhood existed in those pictures.
“Who legally owns this collection?”
Kiara asked.
Miriam looked surprised.
“You know the answer.”
“I thought I did.”
“Everett Heritage Trust.”
“And beneficiaries?”
“You during your lifetime, with certain distributions permitted. Malik receives the remaining trust property at thirty.”
Kiara nodded.
“And Loretta?”
“Your mother has a limited annual income provision and the right to live at Briarwood while you permit it.”
“Nothing else?”
“No ownership of trust artwork.”
“Could she sell any of it?”
“Absolutely not.”
Kiara looked around the library.
“Could I?”
“Not casually. Significant dispositions require independent trustee approval.”
“So someone selling these pieces would be stealing from the trust.”
“Yes.”
Malik entered quietly with Kiara’s sister, Nia, who had stayed with him overnight.
He immediately looked toward the fake silver horse.
“That’s the one.”
Kiara crouched.
“The one Grandma boxed?”
He nodded.
“But it’s here.”
“It looks like the one you saw.”
Malik frowned.
“The old one was darker.”
The appraiser turned.
“Darker how?”
“Like dirty silver.”
The man nodded slowly.
Real antique silver would show patina.
The reproduction had been artificially darkened but not convincingly.
Malik had noticed without knowing what he noticed.
“Did you see anyone take the box?”
“The glasses man.”
Kiara pulled up photographs from family charity events.
Accountants.
Attorneys.
Estate staff.
Dealers.
Malik shook his head through seven pictures.
Then Kiara remembered a man Loretta had introduced at an auction gala months earlier.
Julian Pike.
An art consultant.
She found his website.
Malik pointed immediately.
“Him.”
Kiara felt cold.
Julian Pike had appraised several pieces for insurance purposes after Everett died.
More importantly, he had recently sent Loretta invitations to private auctions.
Kiara had assumed they were friends through the museum board.
Miriam looked at the photograph.
“I know him.”
“How?”
“He approached Everett years ago.”
“For what?”
“To broker a private sale.”
“Did Dad use him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Miriam hesitated.
“Everett didn’t trust him.”
Kiara stared.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because it never became important.”
“It seems important now.”
Miriam sighed.
“Julian was accused in a civil suit of misrepresenting provenance on several decorative objects. It settled.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“And Mom knew?”
“I don’t know.”
Kiara looked toward Malik.
He was staring at the fake horse.
Then he said something quietly.
“Grandma called him Jules.”
Kiara turned.
“What?”
“The man with glasses.”
“She called him Jules?”
Malik nodded.
“They were talking in the garage.”
“About what?”
Malik’s face tightened.
“I don’t remember.”
“That’s okay.”
He thought.
Then:
“She said the insurance people were coming soon.”
Miriam and Kiara looked at each other.
“What insurance people?” Kiara asked.
Malik shrugged.
Then added:
“Grandma said everything had to look right before they came.”
The room became silent.
Miriam slowly closed the inventory binder.
“If Loretta sold originals and substituted reproductions…”
Kiara finished the thought.
“…an insurance inspection could expose everything.”
Unless Loretta had another plan.
A staged loss.
A theft claim.
A fire.
Something that would explain why genuine pieces were suddenly gone.
Kiara looked at the shattered fake vase.
May you like
Her mother had not merely panicked because Malik broke something.
She had panicked because he broke the illusion.
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