When Vivian entered the L'Éclat Gallery half an hour later, her senses were immediately accosted by the stark modernity of the place. It was small and slightly intimate, but the very design and grandeur of the place spoke both of wealth and an unequivocal appreciation for the avant-garde. The walls were a pristine white, interrupted only by bold splashes of color from abstract paintings that defied traditional interpretation. Each piece was spotlighted with surgical precision, casting dramatic shadows on the polished concrete floors. Sleek sculptures of chrome and glass commanded the center of the room, their reflective surfaces playing tricks on the eye, bending light and space in ways that felt both disconcerting and fascinating.
Sterling stood a pace behind her, his analytical eyes scanning the room, cataloging details with the methodical discipline of his former military training. Vivian could feel the weight of his skepticism like a tangible force.
“You look confused,” she muttered to him as they made their way deeper inside.
“I mean…look, I appreciate art. I’ve gotten teary-eyed at seeing some of the true masterpieces, you know? But I have a hard time getting into abstract stuff. And the chrome sculptures…yeah, that’s not my thing. You ever steal things like this?”
“Yes, actually,” she said with a guilty smile. “Maybe I’ll share some stories with you later. Like much later, when we know Garnett completely trusts me.”
The smile on Sterling’s face indicated that their banter could go on for another several minutes. However, a small woman approached from a standing desk to the right. She was maybe in her early thirties and dressed like she was expecting to hit the runway later in the day.
“Are you the INTERPOL agents who made the appointment earlier?” she asked.
Both Vivian and Sterling showed their IDs. “Yes, we are,” Sterling said. “Is Ms. Tremblay available yet?”
“She is. And she’s expecting you.” The woman’s voice was peaceful and as cool as the gallery itself. “This way, please.”
They were led through what turned out to be just an entryway gallery and then down a stunted hall. There, they passed through a doorway camouflaged by the wall's seamless design, entering an office that managed to be both minimalist and plush. A massive desk of dark wood dominated the space, flanked by leather chairs that looked both intimidating and comfortable at the same time. Behind the desk, an enormous canvas depicted the Paris skyline in streaks of blue, navy, and yellow.
Gloria Tremblay rose from her chair to greet them, her presence as commanding as the artworks that adorned her gallery walls. She extended her hand, her grip firm and assured. "I’m Gloria Tremblay,” she said. “I understand you need to speak with me. And you are INTERPOL agents, correct?”
“We are,” Sterling said, showing his badge. “Agents Sterling and Fox.”
"Thank you for seeing us," Vivian replied, matching Gloria's confidence with her own cultivated poise.
"Of course," Gloria said, gesturing toward the seats before her desk. "I have to say, it’s not every day I entertain INTERPOL officials. What can I do for you?”
As they settled into the chairs, Vivian leaned forward, her keen eyes fixed on Gloria's face as she carefully spoke French to the woman in what she hoped did not feel like a forced manner. "We're looking into some troubling events that might be connected to an auction house you’ve dealt with in the past. Serenity Auctions, to be exact. What can you tell us about your experiences with them?"
Gloria's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of surprise registering before she composed herself. “Oh, that was such a mess,” Gloria said. "Yes, I was one of the handful of gallery owners who got conned by them. Thankfully, I lost very little money, but still…”
“Did you have any direct dealings with the owners?” Sterling asked.
“Yes, I did. Both Simon and Thomas were stand-up men, deeply passionate about art. They brought a lot of business to the gallery for a while." Her brows creased ever so slightly. "I was shocked when I heard the allegations."
"And what did you hear about the allegations?" Vivian probed, her mind already racing through possibilities.
Gloria perched on the edge of her seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Serenity Auctions," she began, her voice laced with a tinge of regret, "was a facade for deceit." She paused, locking eyes with Vivian, ensuring her emotions were conveyed. "They sold forgeries, masterful fakes that duped even the sharpest of collectors. And it wasn't just the fakes. They resorted to blackmail at the end. Tried to silence anyone who dared to expose them." She tapped her fingers on the surface of her desk, betraying an undercurrent of anxiety.
"Can you elaborate?" Vivian asked, keeping her tone steady.
"When whispers began, they turned vicious. Threats, incriminating evidence planted against those who could unmask their operation. It was art crime morphing into something much darker. I don’t know if anyone proved it, but the only reason they weren’t arrested outright was because they had something very bad on a person of high standing. I always assumed some sort of deal was reached; they’d simply disband and stop working and no one would make a stink about it. Of course, if that’s true, they did disband and carried whatever evidence they had on others with them. Simon Federline, of course, killed himself as I’m sure you know. It’s sort of a shady tale of caution and woe that galleries and collectors still tell."
"Dark enough that it might lead to murder?" Vivian ventured, watching Gloria closely.
“I just don’t know.”
Vivian's mind raced. "The surviving owner, Thomas Stone…have you spoken to him at all ever since you dealt with them?”
"No, not a single time. Not that I would want to, of course. From what I understand, he sort of disappeared after the scandal broke. He disappeared from the public eye after Federline killed himself.” Gloria paused here, and with a bit of a thoughtful glare, asked: “Does this case you’re working on involve the murder of Elena Rivera?”
Vivian's fingers unconsciously traced the sleek chrome frame as she nodded. “Yes, it does. And two others have also been killed.”
“My God. And you think…do you think Serenity Auctions is somehow at the center of it?”
“We don’t know,” Sterling said. “That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
“Ms. Tremblay, would you happen to know the names of anyone else who worked with Serenity Auctions?” Vivian asked. “Did Elena perhaps ever deal with them?”
“If she did, I was never aware of it. But I never knew Elena well…I knew of her, but that’s about it.”
“What about Cassandra Holt and Natalie King? Do those names sound familiar?”
“They both do. But I never met Natalie. Heard nice things about her, though, and I…oh my God...are they dead, too? Have they been killed?”
“Yes. All in the same manner.”
Gloria nodded but her eyes were slightly hazy from shock as she digested what she was hearing.
“Do you happen to know if they ever worked with Serenity?” Sterling asked.
“I…um…I know Cassandra did. I never heard it directly from her but there were mutual friends of ours that I heard it from after the fact. Probably right around the time Simon Federline killed himself. I think she did some freelance work for Serenity right when they were really getting going. Before the scandal hit."
"Freelance work?" Vivian repeated, her mind spinning with this new connection.
"Appraisals, verification of provenance—that sort of thing. She had a keen eye, Cassandra." A shadow crossed Gloria's expression, a cloud passing over her otherwise composed features.
"Did you ever sense any hostility between Serenity Auctions and either Cassandra or Natalie?"
“Oh, I didn’t know enough about Cassie to be that much in the know. And, as I said, I only knew she’d worked with them after the fact. I’m sorry….truly. I wish I could be of more help. Believe me, if I knew something that could explain such tragedy..." Gloria's words trailed off, and she looked away, as if the burden of knowledge—or the lack thereof—weighed heavily upon her.
“No need to apologize,” Vivian said. “This has actually all be very helpful.” She wasn’t sure if this was exactly true or not, but it seemed like the sort of thing Gloria needed to hear at that moment. As she said it, she wondered if it might be worth their time to dig deeper into Cassandra's involvement with Serenity Auctions; there might be more beneath the surface of freelance work and professional nods across auction rooms.
"Thank you, Ms. Tremblay," Sterling added, standing up and offering a polite nod. “I think that will be all for now.”
Vivian rose as well, feeling the weight of Gloria's unspoken concern. She extended a hand, her grip firm, echoing the resolve in her voice. "Ms. Tremblay, you've been a huge help."
Gloria's eyes held a flicker of surprise, as if she wasn't convinced she'd done anything of significance. She nodded, a small but genuine smile curling at the edge of her lips, visibly eased by the affirmation. "I do hope it leads you to some answers.”
Me too, Vivian thought. And I think those answers might just start with Thomas Stone.