Chapter 135
Lance
The silence that fell over the table was absolute. Even Felix seemed momentarily at a loss, his carefully maintained composure showing the first real cracks of the evening.
I stared at Eleanor, my mind racing. What the hell was she doing?
Arthur's interest was now fully engaged, his posture shifting forward in his chair. "Napoleon? What does Napoleon have to do with Monet's water lilies?"
Eleanor's smile deepened, and I realized with a jolt of something between admiration and alarm that she was enjoying this. "Do you remember the deep red mineral stones Napoleon brought back from his Egyptian campaign? The ones called 'Pharaoh's Blood'?"
Arthur's eyes lit up with the particular gleam he got when someone touched on one of his historical obsessions. "Of course. It became the basis for Imperial Red—the signature color of the First French Empire. Napoleon was obsessed with it." He set down his wine glass, fully engaged now. "The exact composition was considered a state secret. There are letters from Josephine describing how he'd spend hours in his study, examining samples by candlelight."
"Exactly." Eleanor's voice took on a storytelling quality, each word precisely chosen for maximum impact. "The formula for creating that particular shade was supposedly lost after Napoleon III's defeat. But legend has it that the last remaining piece of the original stone was hidden at Giverny—Monet's estate."
Felix made a sound of disbelief. "That's impossible. Napoleon and Monet existed in completely different eras. They had no connection whatsoever." He looked around the table, clearly expecting others to join him in dismissing this obvious fiction. "Where are you even getting this information?"
Eleanor didn't even glance in his direction, her focus remaining entirely on Arthur. "I'm not the one making these claims, Felix. It's all detailed in the exhibition's background materials." She gestured toward her phone. "Check Twitter yourself. Everything's been disclosed except the actual image of the painting."
Her voice dropped slightly, taking on an almost conspiratorial tone. "According to the documentation, Monet was nearly blind in his final years. He ground that last piece of 'bleeding stone' into pigment and used it to paint this final water lily series." She paused, letting the words settle. "Midnight Crimson Water Lilies. The only time Monet ever painted in red."
The silence stretched for three full heartbeats before Arthur spoke, his voice rough with something that might have been emotion.
"If that's true..." He reached for his wine glass, his hand not quite steady. "A painting that represents the intersection of my two greatest historical interests—Napoleon's legacy and the evolution of French artistic achievement..." He trailed off, but the hunger in his eyes spoke volumes.
Noah and Brooks exchanged a glance, their earlier confusion transforming into sharp commercial interest. Noah leaned forward, his voice taking on the enthusiastic tone of someone who'd just spotted an opportunity.
"Mr. Lawson, if this painting holds such significance for you..." He glanced at Brooks, who nodded encouragingly. "Well, we'd be honored to attend tomorrow's exhibition. And if the piece proves as remarkable as described..." Another meaningful pause. "We'd consider it a privilege to acquire it as an early birthday gift. A token of our appreciation for your guidance and wisdom."
Arthur's expression suggested he was trying to appear reluctant even as his eyes gleamed with acquisitive interest. "Oh, that's hardly necessary—"
"We insist," Brooks cut in smoothly. "An artwork of this historical importance, potentially the last work of a master, with direct ties to Napoleon?" He smiled broadly. "The investment value alone would be extraordinary. But more than that, it would be our honor to facilitate such an acquisition for someone we hope to count as both a mentor and friend."
I watched Felix's face cycle through several expressions in rapid succession—surprise, calculation, and finally settling on barely concealed fury. His gaze darted between Noah and Brooks with something approaching betrayal, clearly recognizing that they'd just shifted their allegiance in the most public way possible.
But before Felix could formulate a response, Marcus Holland spoke up, his media magnate's instincts clearly recognizing the shift in the room's power dynamics.
"If the Lawson family is taking an interest in this exhibition," he said smoothly, "then the Holland family would be remiss not to make an appearance as well." He smiled at Arthur with professional warmth. "After all, an event of this cultural significance deserves proper attention from New York's leading families."
Eleanor nodded graciously, as if Marcus had simply confirmed something she'd been thinking. "Precisely. This painting isn't merely art—it's a statement of position, of cultural literacy, of understanding what truly matters in our circles." She looked around the table, her gaze touching each person in turn. "Those who attend will be making a declaration about their place in New York society."
Felix's jaw was so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "This is absurd. It's one painting, possibly with a fabricated provenance story designed to generate exactly this kind of frenzy—"
But Arthur wasn't listening anymore. He was staring into the middle distance with the expression he got when he was already mentally composing the story he'd tell about his next acquisition.
"Lance." His voice cut across Felix's objection with casual authority. "You'll accompany me to this exhibition tomorrow."
Something in my chest lurched—satisfaction and alarm in equal measure. "Of course, Grandpa."
"I want to see this painting for myself." Arthur's voice carried that particular hunger reserved for rare acquisitions. "A Monet in Imperial Red—if it's authentic, it's priceless."
He paused, and something shifted in his expression—sharper than collector's greed, closer to genuine curiosity.
"But I also want to meet this Vance girl." A small smile played at his lips. "This kind of audacity—calling an exhibition 'The Funeral,' generating buzz from a bankrupt name..." He shook his head slowly, almost admiringly. "It reminds me of old Peter Vance. He had that same flair for the dramatic, that instinct for making people pay attention." His eyes gleamed. "I want to see if the granddaughter inherited more than just his company's debts."
Felix's wine glass hit the table with slightly more force than necessary.
I kept my expression neutral, but my mind was racing. Arthur wanting to meet Serena—and comparing her favorably to her legendary grandfather. This could be either the best possible outcome or an absolute disaster.
"I'm sure she'd be honored by your attendance," I managed.