Chapter 5

The penthouse was a mausoleum of glass and steel. Minimalist furniture, sharp edges, and absolutely no warmth. It looked exactly like Kevan Sanders.

The housekeeper, a stern woman in a crisp uniform, showed Iona to her room on the second floor. "Mr. Sanders's bedroom is on the first floor. He prefers not to be disturbed."

"Understood," Iona said.

The room was enormous, but the only things waiting for her were two cheap suitcases. Harmon House had sent her belongings. No jewelry, no designer clothes. Just the rags of her old life.

She unzipped the largest bag and pulled out a battered cardboard tube. Inside was a 17th-century Dutch landscape painting she had bought at a flea market for fifty dollars. The canvas was cracked, the paint peeling. But she knew what was underneath.

Her phone buzzed. It was Brenda Hollis. Her adoptive mother.

"Iona!" Brenda's voice was a lifeline. "Are you okay? I'm going to kill those Harmon bastards! Where are you?"

"I'm safe, Mom. I moved out."

"Come home! Your room is ready. Nathan and Sean are furious. Kyle wants to go over there and punch Eric in the face."

Iona smiled, a real smile that hurt her cheeks. "I'll visit soon. I promise."

After hanging up, she opened her laptop. She logged into an encrypted email server. One new message.

It was from an anonymous address, a contact known only as 'Mr. Collier,' her liaison to the hidden world of high-stakes art restoration.

"Silas," the email read. "Heard you got into trouble. Need me to bury someone? I have favors owed all over Europe."

Iona typed back: "I can handle it. But I need to work. Keep an ear out for jobs in New York."

She needed money. Real money. The kind that couldn't be frozen by Preston Harmon.

She called the housekeeper. "Is there an empty room I can use as a studio? Somewhere with good light."

Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed. A text from Kevan.

Approved.

Iona set up her workspace in a spare room overlooking the park. She laid out her tools-the scalpels, the solvents, the magnifying glasses. She carefully unrolled the Dutch landscape.

She was going to strip away the lies, layer by layer. Starting with this painting.