Chapter 241

Chapter 241

The man didn't ask any more questions. He just nodded. "Tomorrow afternoon."

The next afternoon, Vivian arrived at Raymond's estate.

Raymond was sitting in the same spot in the living room. He was wearing almost the same clothes as the day before — a dark shirt with two buttons undone at the collar.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and looked her up and down.

"Who are you?"

"Vivian Perkins. Antique appraiser. I heard you need someone who knows what they're looking at."

Raymond leaned back against the sofa and kept his eyes on Vivian's face for a long moment.

"You know Ellis?"

"Yes."

Raymond smiled, with a hint of scrutiny in it. He picked up the glass on the table and took a sip. "Ellis left just this morning. Told me he needed to think it over. You showing up now — are you here for him, or for yourself?"

"I need to see the goods." Vivian didn't take the bait. Her answer was short and direct. "Once I've looked them over, I can tell you what's real and what's not. I can also help you sort everything out. My condition is that you let me see all of it."

Raymond held her gaze for a moment, then shifted his eyes to a decorative piece in the corner of the room.

"You came alone?"

"Yes."

"Does Ellis know you're here?"

"No."

Raymond was quiet for a moment. "Tomorrow afternoon at three. Someone will come pick you up."

Vivian didn't linger. She turned and walked toward the door. When she pushed it open, a gust of wind blew in.

After she got in her car, she noticed someone standing behind a second-floor window in dark clothing. She glanced up once, then looked away and started the engine.

That afternoon she checked into a small hotel in the city.

She sent Arthur a message: [Let me know when things are wrapped up.]

After a short wait, Arthur replied with a single word: [OK.]

Vivian took out her notebook, opened it to a blank page, and wrote down what she'd seen that day.

She kept it brief — just a few lines noting the basic features of silver drinking vessels and her impression of the decorative piece in the living room.

The next afternoon, someone came to the hotel to pick her up.

Vivian pulled open the car door and got in the back seat. The driver confirmed her identity, then started the engine.

The car moved through the city and out toward the outskirts. The surroundings grew more and more sparse — buildings thinning out from dense to scattered, then giving way to low factory buildings and abandoned warehouses.

The car stopped in front of one of the factory buildings. Vivian got out and followed the driver down a corridor. At the end was a metal door. Beyond it was a large room.

Metal shelves lined the walls, holding wooden crates and packages of various sizes. Some were already open, revealing partial outlines of objects inside. The rest were sealed, wrapped in waterproof sheeting and foam.

Raymond stood in the middle of the room with his back to the door. When he heard it open, he turned and glanced at Vivian. He didn't say anything — just tilted his chin toward the nearest row of shelves, signaling that she could start.

Vivian walked over to the shelves and put on white gloves. She picked up the nearest piece and set it on the workbench. It was a small silver drinking vessel. She held it up to the light to examine the casting marks on the base and the thickness of the walls, then turned it over to check the distribution of corrosion and the lines of the decorative patterns. When she was done, she set it down and picked up another piece from the next shelf. She didn't rush to any conclusions. Instead, she worked her way through most of the items on that row to get a general sense of their shapes and features, then went back to take a closer look at the ones that had caught her attention.

Raymond stood a few steps behind her. He moved around occasionally, but mostly just stood there watching in silence.

When Vivian had gone through everything on that row, she pulled off one glove and turned to face Raymond. "Some of them are genuine. A few show signs of repair. And some are fakes."

She paused, her eyes moving to the sealed packages on the other shelf. "I'll need to open the rest before I can say anything about those."

Raymond looked at her, his gaze resting on her face for a moment. "You'll see the rest tomorrow." He turned and walked out of the room. His footsteps faded down the corridor, and the metal door swung shut behind him with a dull thud.

Vivian stayed in the room a little longer. She put the glove back on, walked over to the sealed packages, and crouched down. She pressed gently on one of them through the waterproof sheeting.

Something hard and solid pushed back — whatever was inside was substantial. She couldn't tell exactly what it was, but the shape suggested something close in style to the pieces she'd already examined. She didn't open the package, and she didn't stay long. She took off her gloves, put them in her bag, and walked out.

The corridor outside was darker than the room. When she stepped out of the factory building, the same car that had brought her was still parked there. She got in, and the driver started the engine without a word, heading back the way they'd come. Neither of them spoke the whole way. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the tires rolling over the road. Vivian leaned back in her seat and watched the factory buildings and trees blur past the window, running through everything she'd seen that day in her head.

Back at the hotel, she sat on the edge of the bed, took out her notebook, and filled in the details of the pieces she'd examined. She was thorough — brief notes on each item's features, level of corrosion, and decorative style. At the end she wrote one line: "Six sealed packages. Visual estimate suggests similar period and style to the opened pieces."

She closed the notebook and put it back in her bag. After sitting for a moment, she took out her phone and messaged Arthur, asking how far along things were.

Arthur replied a little while later. Almost done, he said. Don't worry.

Vivian read the message and didn't reply.

She knew Arthur was trying to protect her. The thing was, she was trying to protect him too.

The next afternoon, Vivian got into the dark car again. The driver was different this time — a woman in her mid-thirties with a short ponytail and a tattoo on her arm.

The car moved through the city and out toward the outskirts, taking a different route this time. The road was narrower, full of potholes, and the bumps kept throwing Vivian against the window.

First came scattered houses along the roadside, then open stretches of empty land, then rows of abandoned factory buildings with rusted corrugated roofs.

After nearly fifty minutes, the car stopped in front of a building with no windows. The outer walls were grey concrete, covered in a web of cracks.

The female driver got out and walked straight toward the entrance.

Vivian grabbed her bag and followed. They went down a corridor where the light flickered in and out — several of the overhead tubes had burned out.