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Conrad Sweeney sat behind his large antique mahogany desk, hands folded calmly before him. His executive officer would arrive soon. She had many fine qualities—strength, determination, fierce loyalty. But the greatest of them might be punctuality.
Prudence Hancock strode into the office and glanced at the painting hanging on the wall behind him, illuminated by a spot lamp. “New Van Gogh?”
He raised a finger to his lips.
“Sorry. Acquired through the usual channels?”
He nodded, smiling slightly.
“Does it seem a pity that so few people have the opportunity to admire the vast array of art you’ve acquired? Seriously, this is the best collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings in the United States. MOMA looks thin and spotty compared to what you have.”
“When the time comes,” he replied placidly, “when the trails are cold and my museum is built, I will share my beauties with the public. But that will come later. Much later. When the trivial questions of provenance are far less problematic.”
“Because you’re constantly covering and re-covering your tracks.”
“Indeed. Do you have a report on the Harrison Coleman matter?”
She did not sit, though there were two chairs opposite his desk. Instead, she stood at his side, hands behind her back, like a dutiful lieutenant in the presence of a commanding officer. “As you predicted, Pike turned us down.”
“Pious fool.”
“May I ask what the point was? You knew he would refuse.”
“One goal was to tell Pike he’s on my radar. You see, he thinks he’s winning. With the Valdéz woman. With the mayor, who he saved first and bedded second. He can’t see the big picture. Yet. I wanted him to know that the chess game is still in progress. And I will be watching every move he makes.”
“He probably already knew that.”
“Perhaps. But you know, Prudence—no one is completely predictable. Especially a loose cannon like Pike. There was always a remote possibility he would agree to our proposition and accept our assistance.”
“And then?”
“Then he would work for me. But it will work out, in the end. You’ll see. The bounty of the mysterious Mr. K has made Pike somewhat immune to the usual inducements. If money is not the best persuader...then we’ll go in a different direction.”
“You have enough dirt to lock Pike away. Revoke his license. Put him completely out of commission.”
“Perhaps. But he and his team are not amateurs. Mr. K would spare no expense to defend Pike. No, better to keep weaving the web and wait for the proper moment.”
“You heard about the comments Pike made at the courthouse today? Practically accused the DA of being corrupt. That’s not going to help Belasco’s mayoral run.”
“Yes, my little spies reported it almost immediately. And there were reporters in that room.”
“I think you need to be...more aggressive with Pike.”
“And you’d like to be in charge of that, wouldn’t you?” He smiled. “I will. When the time is right.”
“Belasco has been a good friend to you. And he’s likely to be the next mayor, if Pérez goes for the Senate seat.”
“And she will.”
“Because you’re filling her campaign coffers. In secret. Through your holding companies.”
“How well you know me.”
“And once she’s out of the mayor’s office?”
“Then we destroy her.”
“Jazlyn Prentice will go after the DA spot.”
“I have no problem with her, beyond her inexplicable fondness for a certain defense lawyer. I predict she’ll shake that off in time. And if not...well, we can take her out of office as easily as we put her predecessor in.”
Prudence removed a manila envelope from her briefcase. She pulled several black and white photos out of it. “I have a man surveilling Pike at all times.”
“Because...?”
“Because I know how much you hate him. And I know eventually you’ll make your move. I will make sure we’re ready.”
For once a bit of softness crept into his face. “You are a very good soldier, Prudence. A very good...person.”
“I try to be.”
“You make my work so much simpler. I appreciate it.”
“It’s a pleasure to work for you, sir. Forgive me for saying so, but there are a lot of people running around patting themselves on the back, preening about their good works. Politicians like Pérez. Blowhards like Pike. But you do your work in the shadows. Fame finds you, not the other way around. What you do matters. What you do lasts.”
“You flatter me, Prudence.”
“You deserve it, sir.” She turned again to peer at the Van Gogh. “Am I the only one who thinks this Dutch master is overrated?”
He pursed his lips. “Thick lines. Globs of paint. You can tell he never had much formal training. Draws like a kindergartner.”
“And yet...”
“The alleged drama of his life overwhelms artistic judgment. As far as I’m concerned, he only managed one good painting in his understandably troubled life. And now I have that painting, thanks to Octave Durham. Even the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam couldn’t find this one. Because I have it. And now that Durham is safely in Dubai where he can’t be extradited—they never will.”
“You get everything you want, don’t you, Dr. Sweeney?”
“In time.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Yes. In time.”