Chapter 7

Iona held the scalpel like an extension of her hand. The room smelled of turpentine and rabbit-skin glue. She wore magnifying loupes, her breath slow and steady.

She worked for two days straight. She carefully dissolved the top layer of the Dutch landscape. Beneath the dull greens and browns, a different color began to emerge. A vibrant, golden ochre.

Her heart rate spiked. She scraped away another millimeter of grime.

A face stared back at her. A woman with golden hair and sorrowful eyes. The brushwork was unmistakable. The thick impasto, the dramatic chiaroscuro.

It was a Rembrandt. An early, undocumented masterpiece.

Iona sat back, her hands trembling slightly. This painting was worth millions. It was her war chest.

She took high-resolution photos and wrote a detailed report, analyzing the pigment, the canvas weave, and the brushstrokes. She uploaded the encrypted file to a secure server, then sent a message to her contact, Mr. Collier, with a single line of code-a specific reference to a lost 19th-century pigment analysis technique. It was a signal only a handful of people in the world would understand. It would bypass gatekeepers and go straight to the top.

She finally stepped out of the studio, her muscles stiff, paint smudged on her cheek. It was midnight.

The living room lights were on. Kevan Sanders sat on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up, his eyes trailing over her messy hair and paint-stained clothes.

"Harmon froze your accounts," he said flatly. It wasn't a question.

"I know," Iona replied.

Kevan reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black credit card. He placed it on the coffee table. "No limit. I don't want the press writing about Mrs. Sanders being broke."

Iona stared at the card. It represented total dependence. It represented being kept.

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "No, thank you. I'll handle it myself."

Kevan's hand froze on the glass. His eyes narrowed, genuinely shocked for the first time since she had met him. A woman with zero dollars to her name had just turned down a blank check.