Chapter 71
Serena
Dr. Reeves pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, pressing it into Harrison's hand with a knowing smile. "I haven't seen you this moved in twenty years, Harrison." Her voice softened. "Though I understand it. Feeling history come alive through an object—that's the dream of every art historian, isn't it? The moment when the artifact stops being just a thing and becomes a witness."
Harrison nodded, dabbing at his eyes without shame. "Exactly. Exactly that."
Dr. Reeves stood, moving around the table to grasp my hand in both of hers. Her grip was warm, firm, grounding.
"Miss Vance, I think our presence here today has exceeded any expectation we had when we arrived." Her smile was genuine, unreserved. "Not only have you demonstrated flawless professional capability, but we've discovered something far more valuable—a genuinely exceptional talent."
Harrison tucked away the handkerchief, his composure returning as he pulled a business card from his wallet. "Indeed. I'm the chair of the Art History department at Columbia and the director of collections at the Morgan Library." He pressed the card into my hand with both gravity and warmth. "If you ever need guidance, references, or opportunities—please don't hesitate to contact me. The field needs minds like yours."
The other consultants rose as well, each approaching to shake my hand with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Dr. Reeves lingered, her grip lasting a beat longer than professional courtesy required.
"Seriously," she said quietly, for my ears only. "Christie's. When you're ready."
Then they were gone, filing out of the boardroom with an air of people who'd just witnessed something worth remembering.
As if I—not Lance, not the board, not the billion-dollar acquisition—was the most important person in the room.
Wesley's voice cracked through the moment like breaking glass. "Wait—what? You're just... leaving?" He half-stood, confusion and indignation warring on his face. "The presentation isn't even finished! There are hundreds more pieces to review—"
He turned to Lance, desperation bleeding into his tone. "Uncle, you can't just let them—"
Lance's gaze cut to Wesley with surgical precision, cold enough to freeze blood. "Did you not hear what they just said?" Each word landed with deliberate weight. "They've confirmed Miss Vance's expertise beyond any doubt. Further testing would be redundant and, frankly, insulting to professionals of their caliber."
Wesley's mouth snapped shut, his face cycling through emotions—shock, frustration, something that looked almost like panic.
Felix's hand landed on Wesley's shoulder, the gesture superficially paternal but his grip tight enough to leave marks. His face had gone carefully blank, but that smile remained—stretched too wide, devoid of any genuine warmth.
"Miss Vance's performance was exceptional," he said, his voice carrying that same honey-over-steel quality. "Truly beyond reproach. I don't think anyone here could question her abilities now." He turned to Wesley, and something sharp flickered in his eyes. "You could learn a great deal from her, nephew. Dedication. Preparation. Actually doing the work instead of relying on your name to carry you."
The barb was aimed at Wesley, but it felt like Felix was really speaking to Lance. Testing. Probing for weakness.
Lance didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he turned to address the remaining board members, his expression settling into that mask of professional authority.
"Does anyone else have concerns about Miss Vance's capability to handle the Grey Estate acquisition?"
Silence stretched for a beat. Then Morrison cleared his throat, actually smiling—a rare sight that transformed his usual severity into something almost grandfatherly.
"None whatsoever. I'll admit I had doubts when this presentation started, but—" he gestured at the now-blank screen, "—that was genuinely impressive work. The kind of due diligence that ensures our investment capital is deployed wisely."
Ms. Chen nodded enthusiastically. "Agreed. Having someone of Miss Vance's expertise managing this acquisition gives me far more confidence in the project's success. We're not just buying art—we're ensuring we understand exactly what we're buying."
Lance's smile was small but satisfied. "Then we're in agreement." His gaze found mine, holding for a moment that felt too long, too intense. "Miss Vance, you're dismissed for now. I'll have IT investigate your missing data and recover what was deleted. Expect a full report by end of day."
I pulled the USB drive from the laptop, the small device feeling heavy in my palm despite its insignificant weight. This useless thing that had almost ended my career before it began.
"Thank you," I said, keeping my voice professional even as relief flooded through me in waves. "I'll await your findings."
I was three steps from the door when Felix's voice rang out, light and casual and absolutely calculated.
"Lance, cousin, I have to say—" he leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxed confidence, "—your eye for talent is truly remarkable. Out of hundreds of candidates, you chose her." He paused, letting the emphasis hang in the air. "That's either incredible instinct or incredible luck."
Lance's smile vanished like someone had flipped a switch.
The room's energy shifted immediately—that brief moment of levity evaporating into something tighter, more dangerous.
I stopped at the door, my hand on the handle, suddenly very aware that I should leave but unable to make my feet move.
Felix's smile widened, sensing blood in the water. "I'm genuinely curious, cousin. What was it about Miss Vance specifically that caught your attention? What made you so certain she was the right person?"
The question hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Every board member in the room suddenly became very interested in their phones, their notepads, the view out the window—anywhere but the confrontation unfolding before them.
My pulse hammered in my ears.
Felix raised both hands in a gesture of mock innocence, his laugh echoing through the suddenly tense room. "Professional capability, of course! I mean, she's Yale-educated—impressive credentials. But so are thousands of other candidates." He leaned forward, his eyes glittering. "Yet somehow you just knew. Gave her this massive project within days. It's almost like you two are on the same wavelength. Like you can read each other's minds."
The implication was crystal clear. How did you know she was this good unless you already knew her? Unless there was already something between you?
I felt my face flush, anger and panic warring in my chest. I opened my mouth to defend myself, to cut through Felix's insinuation—
Lance stood.
The movement was unhurried, controlled, but something in his posture made everyone in the room go very still.
"When you've been in this business as long as I have," he said, his voice carrying that particular quality of absolute certainty, "you develop an instinct for recognizing genuine talent versus mediocrity dressed up in expensive credentials."
He moved around the table with measured steps, each one deliberate. "Miss Vance had something most candidates don't—hunger. Real hunger. The kind that only comes from people who've been overlooked, dismissed, told they don't belong."
His gaze swept the room. "Those are the people who work hardest. Who refuse to fail because they've spent too long being told they would."
Something warm bloomed in my chest despite the tension.
"So yes," Lance continued, "I saw potential in Miss Vance immediately. And I was willing to give her an opportunity to prove herself. That's not favoritism—that's recognizing talent before your competitors do."
Felix's smile never wavered, but something cold flickered in his eyes. He stood as well, gathering his things with exaggerated casualness.
Felix rose smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. "Well said, cousin. Very inspiring." He moved toward the door, then paused, glancing back with studied casualness. "I hear Miss Vance will be attending Arthur's birthday celebration in two weeks?" His smile sharpened. "Our grandfather has such... particular standards about the company we keep at family events."
My stomach dropped.
Lance's expression didn't change, but I saw his jaw tighten.
Felix's laugh was light, dismissive. "But I'm sure it will be fine! After all, talent always wins out in the end, doesn't it? Regardless of background or... other considerations."
He headed for the door, Wesley trailing behind like a kicked puppy. Just before they left, Wesley spoke—ostensibly to Felix, but his voice carried perfectly across the room.
"Grandfather does care about pedigree though, doesn't he? Family heritage, social standing—all those traditional values." He glanced back at me. "I wonder how he'll react when he actually meets her."
The door closed.