No single photo could do this collection justice, so none are attached, but this chapter's featured art is the "Parthenon Sculptures", made between 447BC and 432BC to adorn the Parthenon, stolen from Greece by Lord Elgin (given permission from the ruling Ottoman Empire), and currently housed by the British Museum—who say they are the rightful owners because Parliament said so; that a full reconstruction can't be done anyways because half of the original sculptures were destroyed (half of what survives is in Athens, the other half in England), and other museums have pieces of decor too so they're not the only ones... in my opinion (and others), they were taken from their rightful place and belong in Greece (and shouldn't be called the "Elgin Marbles", because he was the one who took them, not the one who made them!)

Chapter Forty-Two

There were very few moments of calm. The moments that could be considered calm were always isolated, single islands in the current, and they never lasted long. My life was always changing.

There was no exception—even now.

For starters, the government finally made their last move. For the FBI, key things hadn't changed; the painting was still missing, the clues were still slim to none. The investigation would keep going for as long as the Widow remained unaccounted for. Except, there was only so long they could afford to chase me, especially when it seemed fruitless. The investigation had been slowing for months. It was time to put things to rest. It was time to seal the door on one lifetime, and reach for the knob of another, even if others remained static.

"After almost five months of little progress made by the FBI, led by their fairly-new Art Crime Team, the world remains searching for answers regarding 'The Weeping Widow'. In the case of the internationally-loved painting, stolen last September and estimated to be worth over nine figures, inside sources tell us a breakthrough on prime suspect Eleanor Vaycker's finances has offered new insights."

The click of my lawyer's laptop was loud as she cut off the reporter. At its silence, someone else spoke up.

"Now that we're all caught up with the daily news, shall we begin?"

Agent Gallick's demeanor was still one I admired. One could be on the wrong side of the sword and still respect the might of the woman who swung it. She sat with an air of haughty ease across from me, walled in by her team, as I was walled in with mine.

On my side, my offensive coordinator smiled at her question. She had a coldness rivaling Gallick's; her own sharpened sword in hand. Ms. Filbright cocked her head as she put her computer away. "I'm sorry, is there another pressing matter you wish to attend to, Agent Gallick? We only hoped to illustrate a rather unfortunate point here: your office seems to have quite a 'loose lips' situation on their hands."

Don't all government offices have a hole or two? Ah, I should be careful. Don't want my tin hat to show.

"Loose lips sink ships, isn't that right?" Mr. Worton, my other lawyer, chimed in. "I'm not sure how many more ships your team can afford to sacrifice, Agent. For future reference, we'd prefer if the press didn't barrel down our intern before we've had our morning coffee."

"Yes, poor guy. Guess a Harvard degree doesn't hold much weight against a stampede, does it?" Ms. Filbright sighed. Ignoring the agents, she turned to her partner. "First the art activists, now this. A raise might be in order for the young man's troubles, Harold."

"The topic on hand," Gallick cut in, annoyance sharp in her eyes, "is your client's agreement to another questioning, and a few required points of clarification along the order of a financial probe."

I scoffed. The box of a room we sat in could be found on the east side of the judicial system's downtown office, stuffy and bland. It did little to bring my battered mind to ease. There was only so long I could sit on my hands or bite my tongue.

"Agreement?" I was incredulous at her choice of words. "That's an interesting—if not misleading—choice of words. If you require agreement from me, then you've wasted your time."

"Ma'am, please." The FBI agent beside Gallick raised a condescending hand, already flexing a falsely-tepid expression of so-called power. Leaning back in his chair, he looked like a vulture that'd preened a little too much; a buzzard sitting snobbish at the top of a tree. The man—whose name I couldn't remember—was a sniffle of an agent compared to the effortless command of his partner. Yet, he didn't seem to know that unflinching fact. "Let's be reasonable here," he rumbled.

"Reasonable?" A customer-service laugh ricocheted from Ms. Filbright in the stiff space. She clicked the pen held between her folded hands and set her sights on the sham of an agent.

Meanwhile, Mr. Worton looked around in feigned surprise. He was known for his dramatics, wearing out the patience of the opposing counsel until their aggravation yielded results. All within the bounds of the law, of course.

"Oh, he wants to be reasonable!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea, what have we been doing all this time?"

"I believe our client has been perfectly reasonable, agents," Ms. Filbright snipped. "Above and beyond, in fact. Let's recount the facts, shall we? First, she's touted a suspect for a devastating theft, with suspicion entirely built on the basis of her presence at a museum she works at—a location covering roughly four acres of ground, if I'm not mistaken."

"Well—"

"Despite the camera showing Ms. Vaycker in her office before and after the time of the crime, with hardly enough time to pluck a highly secured painting off a wall, let alone hide it—if enough time at all—she's believed to have done so with apparent ease," Ms. Filbright said, viciously calm. "Because of that, she's been dragged through the mud and left with a reputation that is... unpleasant, shall we say? Or do you prefer unsavory?"

"Whatever you prefer, ma'am."

"And even so, despite those allegations, she's been nothing but cooperative with the investigation. Let's drop the pleasantries. You're looking for a scapegoat to cover your team's incompetence. The evidence against her is circumstantial at best, biased at worst, and ridiculous either way."

Mr. Worton nodded. "And, of course, it was followed by a ludicrous investigation of her finances, during which time an unprecedented move was made to freeze her assets and leave her with no direct means of covering her expenses."

"A move Judge Holspear allowed given the highly unusual set of circumstances," Gallick reminded. "And which revealed some questionable financial activity."

"Well, we look forward to hearing it, agent, as the FBI has provided nothing but shaky basis for the continued harassment of our client."

Gallick was unbothered. Her smile was still piercing. "A priceless work of art was stolen. It remains missing. We are under no obligation to share the sensitive progress of our investigation with you or your client, unless the next step is to pursue prosecution, at which time the federal attorneys become involved. "

"And is it?" I asked. "The next step?"

My voice was low, a sharp contrast to the bouncing tones of Mr. Worton and the cold pitch of Ms. Filbright. My throat had tightened. My heart had shriveled.

Agent Gallick was evaluating me again. I'd always seen her as a predator, and predators took time for strategy, evaluating the best way to fell their prey. So I did the same. I met the headstrong gaze of the woman before me. She was as impressive as ever. The dark flowery blouse beneath her suit offered a look of sweetness her eyes did not agree with, but she was polished and perfect. Framed by the tired beiges of a formal room, or more accurately a dressed down interrogation closet, she was a shiny button on a linen coat.

She was silent, still considering me. I refused to even blink.

Finally, Agent Gallick leaned forward in her chair, linking her hands and holding my gaze. "Eleanor, I have to say, I'm impressed," she complimented.

I gritted my teeth. She wanted to blindside me, confuse me, surprise me. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

"Me, agent? What have I done to earn your praise?"

"Praise? No." She shook her head. "I wouldn't go that far. But you've found a way to surprise me. That doesn't happen often in my line of work. You haven't gone about this in a way any of us would've expected, or as others before you have."

"I gave you your time to investigate," I reminded. I leaned forward too, aware of my lawyers silent signs to stand down. If I pushed any further, their silence would lose control. But I couldn't stop, so I forced myself to cool instead, reaching for the tact of diplomacy. "Agent Gallick, I brought my lawyers here today so we could approach this together, in the hopes of finding a solution. My goal is to leave with clarity for all parties. I want to move on with my life."

"That sounds desirable, Ms. Vaycker. Let's begin then. We can start with a rundown of prior events, so we're all on the same page."

Agent Gallick gestured to the agent beside her, who began the most laborious drone in history.

"On the morning of September 27th, between the hours of midnight and one AM, Eleanor Vaycker was the last remaining Whitehill employee on scene, outside of the four-person security team. All security was documented to be at their stations at the time of the event. From 1:13 to 1:26 AM, the Lieftenwold security system, model "DLG1966", was set to a remote, continuous loop. Data analysis by federal teams have indicated this was a backdoor hack by a person, or persons, with extreme skill paired with inside opportunity."

Backdoor hack, front door entry, fire exit escape.

"The security system has a number of overrides in place, accessible and open for use by a few members of the Whitehill family. At this time, we are not at liberty to discuss which override was used, but in combination with the technical expert's ability, the system was set to a loop until 1:26. At that time, the security system was allowed to come back online at full capacity; the loop ended and the system caught up to real time. The painting was no longer in place. This triggered a series of alarms when the system recognized a change in the pressure sensor within the painting's enclosure."

He flipped a page, eyes scanning. "System-wide alarms went off, at which time, no third-party individuals remained on site. Eleanor Vaycker went from her office directly to the exhibit in question, seen on cameras arriving at 1:27 AM. At 1:30, Ms. Vaycker was joined on scene by security members Eugene Costello and Nicholas Brunting. The first responding city officers arrived on site at 1:32, six minutes after the alarm alerted authorities."

"By your own documentation, as well as the documentation of said security system, there is no indication my client was in any way involved in this crime," Ms. Filbright argued. "You are accusing her of theft by way of—what? Her dedication to her job that had her working late? Her closeness to a family she's known for over a decade, that you are now accusing her of betraying?"

Agent Gallick wasn't looking at her, she was looking at me. However, she still addressed my lawyers. "Eleanor Vaycker is a close friend of the Whitehill family, seeming to have assumed the role of a surrogate granddaughter to the head of the family. As such, Ms. Vaycker was given open access to all parts of the museum and offered freedoms not commonplace for employees of her age, experience, or title. It wouldn't be a reach to assume she'd have the ability to gain access to the system overrides and provide them to others, who then assisted in the crime."

"The key word there being 'assume'. And who is this team you speak of? Do you have any evidence Ms. Vaycker had contact with anyone who fits the criteria of a potential partner, or contract criminal?"

"Nothing in her online presence suggests suspicious activity or communication—"

"As expected—"

"However," Agent Gallick continued, raising her voice, "that does not mean contact did not occur, especially in this day and age. While we are currently investigating who may have aided in the theft, we are not able to share that information with the public at this time."

Yeah, there's a lot you're not sharing. This whole thing is flimsy. Do you even know what you're doing?

"You are basing your investigation under the presumption our client is guilty, Agent Gallick," Mr. Worton said. "Your job is to pursue all possible leads until you are led to a suspect—yet you seem to be working backwards. You have no evidence she was involved in anything outside of legal bounds, in any scope, and no evidence to tie her to this crime other than her presence at the museum the night of the event. If, for hypothetical reasoning only, she was involved in this crime, why would she choose to be present that night? If your belief is she only provided access to the security system, why would her presence be necessary? Or smart in the slightest, for that matter?"

"I believe she did more than that, Mr. Worton. I suspect she stayed late for a reason; I believe your client helped a team of criminals steal 'The Weeping Widow' and was there that night to ensure their success. And while I recognize the absurdity of a thief allowing herself to be caught at the scene of the crime, my job is not to question the specifics of a thief's mindset. You were correct in your original statement—my job is to find the stolen painting and its perpetrators."

It was my turn to speak. I did so with a deadpan I'd mastered. "Let me get this straight, agent. You believe I betrayed a family I've known for years that, as you said, have been closer to me than my own, by stealing the security system's information. Then, somehow got in contact with an elite group of criminals, and provided that information so they could steal the painting," I recounted, monotone at first, but louder when I continued, "And—what, let myself get caught at the scene of the crime? All based on me being there that night? What the hell is wrong with this department? How bad were your budget cuts? That sounds like a badly written one-act! Why would I let myself get caught?"

"Why did you go straight to that exhibit?"

"Excuse me?"

Agent Gallick's eyes were hard, but glimmering, a shark catching the smell of blood. "There are four main exhibits and multiple smaller setups throughout the museum. There are famous and valuable works in all of them. The alarms went off across the entire building, but when they went off, you went directly to that exhibit. You went directly to the Widow." She leaned closer. "In our initial questioning, you said you saw the broken glass—but you couldn't have seen it unless you went down the hall to the entrance of the exhibit. So why there, Ms. Vaycker? Why that exhibit?"

I glanced at my lawyers first. Ms. Filbright gave the slightest of nods.

With permission to answer, I cleared my throat. I explained it as simply as I could. "The Widow is the diamond, Agent Gallick. When someone breaks into your house, you don't look to see if they took the silver first. Sure, silver's valuable, but you check the jewelry before anything else. You look for your most valuable possessions, your diamonds, before you worry about the silver. I went to the Widow first for that reason. If someone was going to steal something, they're going to steal what they can sell, or go straight for the grand prize."

"Has the FBI investigated the other individuals who were there that night?" Ms. Filbright asked. "Four other people were in the museum when the theft occurred. Can we trust all four have faced the same level of scrutiny Ms. Vaycker has?"

"Every employee has undergone investigation, and we continue to do so. All four members of security were additionally subjected to more in-depth questioning, like Ms. Vaycker," the other FBI investigator said, "but so far, there have been no indicators of involvement from other employees present that night."

"So while you know there was almost certainly inside help, you and your team have no idea who that person may be. You have no idea where the painting is, or how it was taken from the museum in less than thirteen minutes." Mr. Worton shook his head. "I think it's time you move your unsubstantiated witch hunt elsewhere. My client would like to begin repairing the damages this has done to her life. After five months of unparalleled investigation, which has seemed more like harassment, my client has had enough."

"We performed a financial investigation given the suspicious circumstances and your client's unique position in the museum," Agent Gallick reiterated. "While the FBI recognizes Ms. Vaycker's familial ties and position, it further complicated her finances. It takes time. Not to mention, we found suspicious activity that prolonged the investigation. If this has brought hardship upon Ms. Vaycker, we apologize, but our jobs require we leave no stone unturned. I'm sure Ms. Vaycker and the Whitehills can appreciate our dedication to finding the missing Widow."

That was a dirty move; Agent Gallick wanted to appeal to my passion to excuse her punishing actions. I'd always appreciated organizations like the FBI's art crime team, there were multiple across the globe, but it was easy to appreciate authority and defend their actions when their sights weren't set on yourself. When that trust was broken, when it became clear their actions weren't motivated by safety and justice alone, it was irreparable. I no longer sung praises for the protection of gun after I'd stared down a barrel.

"What suspicious activity would you be referring to?"

My legal team began pulling out folders, shuffling papers, and taking notes. The defense's foundation would begin to be laid before the offense even took aim.

"For complete transparency, and to address your previous accusations, let me preface by explaining some points of conflict. As you all know, Ms. Vaycker is no stranger to cushion and prosperity. However, the origins of additional prosperity had to be brought into question," Gallick said. "Even employed by a prominent family such as the Whitehills, an exorbitant salary would be unheard of given the field and position—but her tax returns confirmed her salary to be in the six figure range."

That snark was unnecessary.

"Which would allow a set bracket of expected returns and amounts," Agent Gallick continued, "but her family ties, investments, and portfolios additionally widened that bracket and allowed some generous leeway for bank activity. The extended time for the investigation can be explained considering her wide assortment of accounts and transactions, as it takes time to trace each one. Fortunately for her, most of her financials were accounted for."

"Good to hear."

"Some, however, caused concern—particularly a series of deposits going back five years from an offshore account. None of them were from reported methods of income, or associated with known family relations."

"And the amounts?" Mr. Worton asked. "As you're well aware, the Patriot Act requires tracking of all deposits over certain amounts to be reported by banking institutions—particularly when those deposits are made from overseas. If Ms. Vaycker had violated that in any way, or failed to properly report any of said deposits, she'd have faced fines and we'd be talking to a very different branch of the FBI right now. Tell me, what was concerning about these particular deposits?"

"Their high amounts, convoluted origins, and unknown purpose. They were reported enough for them, but not for us. Here is an itemized list of all unidentified transactions we require clarification on."

"And when you get clarification?"

"Given there are no more surprises, Eleanor Vaycker will be cleared for this specific path of the investigation."

I scoffed again. The way she'd phrased that answer had been a little too 'read the fine print' for me.

"And her finances?" Ms. Filbright pressed.

"As I said, provided there are no additional reasons for concern, her accounts will be relinquished to her own control. Any investigations independently undertaken by her banks will be at their own discretion."

Great, so my accounts could still be frozen, just not because of the FBI.

My lawyers paused for a moment. The formidable team of 'Worton, Filbright, and Associates' had an impressive ability between them: they were so synched, little had to be said aloud for them to reach agreement. They deliberated, shuffled papers, and briefly gave initial verification to the documents Agent Gallick had provided.

Then they passed them to me, so I could see the deposits in question.

When I saw them, I almost laughed. They were high dollar amounts, but their origins weren't shady.

"These can all be accounted for," I informed. "I can tell you, and so can your team once they finish digging, that these weren't bribes or rewards from international thieves."

"Oh?"

"You'll find these are through Italian banks, though I don't know the details enough to give account specifics, other than who they belong to."

Agent Gallick leaned in. Her partner readied himself to take notes. "We know they are from Italian banks, Ms. Vaycker. Who is the money from, and what is it for?"

I tapped the paper, pushing it towards her. "That money is from accounts tied to the Loretti family. You'll find the money is from Jacopo Giorgio Loretti, and it's his tangled finances that make it so hard to pinpoint. He's my friend Lena's granduncle. I assume you're familiar with the extensively tiered empire of Loretti Luxor, an internationally recognized designer brand?"

Ms. Filbright smiled deviously and leaned down to reach under her chair. Her smirk stayed intact as she placed her handbag on the table—a gorgeously authentic Luxor bag worth more than either agent's monthly paycheck. It paid well to be legal counsel for the rich; the designer handbags and red-bottomed heels were part of the package.

Agent Gallick eyed the bag. "And these transactions are from Mr. Loretti to you... for what purpose? Surely you understand how this looks, Ms. Vaycker. A prominent Italian figurehead pays an American museum employee large sums of money over the course of a few years, until a priceless painting is stolen—at which time the payments stop. This isn't our first international case, nor is it the first time we've found illegal art in the hands of European aristocrats... both the legal and underground sort."

"What a brazen accusation to make, agent. We'd caution you against any more," my lawyer warned.

"Check any tabloid you want, Agent Gallick," I said. "Look for Lena Loretti and her so-called crew; you'll find I'm one of them. Along with Aly Wrene, Willa Sadgeo, Mikka Plechipo, Isla Vrexham, and others. Just recently, we went out for dinner together to celebrate Mikka and Isla's places in fashion week. We hadn't seen Aly since she finished touring, so it was a big reunion."

"Your point, please."

"Lena and I are friends. And like friends do, I did her a favor. I helped her when her family finally lost their minds from too much time in Hollywood, or from too many of its vices—if you know what I mean," I emphasized. "It's not my story to tell, but they cut all ties with her. There was nothing outside of camera angles; they tried to ruin her. So I helped her out! A lot of us did, in our own way, even the Whitehills. I helped financially. And when Lena got back on her feet, she wanted to pay me back. I said no. Then, apparently her granduncle found out about all of the drama and went nuclear on her parents, and he refused my refusal. He's been sending me money for years despite my protests. That, and first pick of anything I want before it hits the runway." I dangled my own bag for her, and even the label of my jacket. Neither would be hitting the markets for a long time.

"And you still don't think that's strange?" Agent Gallick's partner muttered.

"Have you ever met an elderly Italian man who—with no children of his own—doted on his brother's family and eventual grandkids? Have you ever tried to tell him 'no'?" I demanded. "The money usually goes into my charity donations, anyway. I mean, the man was alive when Shirley Temple was singing about animal crackers; there wasn't a lot of negotiations to be had with him. He bought four tigers last year—he wasn't exactly eager to hold onto his money."

Agent Gallick half-scoffed, half-laughed. I wasn't sure what was so funny about what I said.

I said I give the money away, anyway. It's not like I keep it. Why is she acting like I just said something ridiculous?

"The money stopped a few months ago—"

"R.I.P. Mr. Loretti," I snapped. "Forever in our hearts."

"And our closets," Ms. Filbright added. "Perhaps you didn't hear the news; Mr. Loretti passed away last fall. The upcoming MET Gala plans to honor him for his contributions."

"For our records, then, Ms. Vaycker. We'll need a concise statement explaining these deposits. The rest is still being sorted with the aid of your family's accountants, but," Agent Gallick paused like the words were foul tasting on her tongue, "it looks like your finances are all in order. Given the current state of the investigation... well, I'd say you have little else to worry about. As long as you've been forthcoming and honest, that is."

"Glad to hear it!" Ms. Filbright say brightly. "However, while my client has nothing to worry about—"

"—you'll find your agency does, agent," Mr. Worton finished.

"I beg your pardon?"

Maybe we should wait for them to officially clear me before we launch the counterattack...

"We have evidence your team used public pressure to maliciously prosecute our client. You've skirted the line of defamation at best, and crossed it at worst. But we'll let the courts decide."

"We intend to launch our own investigation into your agency's clear bias against our client due to her familial origins and social status." Ms. Filbright gathered her papers and stood. "Until next time, Agent Gallick."

Just like that, I stood, and followed; we walked out like we'd burned a city down. I didn't care. I was glad to be done. I didn't look back.

The sun was meek over the parking lot. I stood beside Agatha, keys in hand. We were alone in the lot, but I kept my voice quiet; I was too afraid to scare it away, or jinx it.

"Is it over?" I asked.

Ms. Filbright nodded, her sharp edges smooth and kind now. "Almost. You've made it through the hard part. It's all easy riding from here."

"What about the public?"

She smiled. "You've kept your social media blackout, huh?"

I shrugged. "I had to. I went back once, and, well..."

"I understand. But that means you missed a lot. Things got a little rocky again after the Ponting rumor," she admitted. I felt my stomach twist, but she rushed to reassure me. "But it turned around after the fundraiser! A lot of pictures went up. There was some love triangle nonsense about you and August Whitehill, and that security guy, but it was overshadowed by the positives. Also, some nonsense about Lena Loretti and August, and you being part of that triangle, but that was minor, too. In fact, a lot of the negatives were minor. Overall, the internet loved you."

"They did?"

"The dress, the jewels, the dances. Truly, you made a good choice with that dress; my PR team is loving all the edits of you online. At first, I was worried the jewelry would worsen the perception of you as overprivileged, but it seemed to work in your favor," she conceded. For a moment, I forgot she was a lawyer. She stared at me thoughtfully, not nearly as intimidating as she was during the interrogation. "You know, I think people see you as more of a classy, timeless heiress trapped under the thumb of society's perception of you—which works in today's times."

"Huh." I didn't know how to wrap my mind around any of that.

"You did good, Eleanor. Go home. Ride the wave. The hard part is over."

I nodded. Her smile was sincere, and so was her reassurance when she squeezed my arm and got into her car. I waved, watching my busy lawyer drive away, while I repeated her words like a mantra I wanted to adopt.

The hard part is over. The hard part is over. The hard part is over.

Then again—how did she know which part was the hard part? Wouldn't that only be known in retrospect?

But I let it go, and I heeded her words.

I went home to hold the man I called mine, and tell him of my victories.

I highly encourage you to do your own research into the sculptures mentioned at the top of the chapter! Your opinion may be different than mine—that's okay. It's a controversial subject, and to me seems like the epitome of the current conversations of rightful ownerships and the repatriation of works looted, stolen, or taken (legally or otherwise) from other countries in the past. Opinions differ. Just don't take my word for it alone! A lot of what I said and the reasonings the British Museum provided were taken directly from their website, but summed up in my own words. In my opinion, the excuses are flimsy. That's all they are—excuses.

My opinion is: bring them home. Fill the empty spaces, as best we can. Return the lone caryatid to her sisters, to Athens, where she belongs. Stop calling them the Elgin Marbles—he doesn't deserve it.

- H

P. S. Who thinks Eleanor was involved in the theft at this point? Has anyone's opinions changed? I'm so curious! Also my next book will not have any lawyers. Why do I keep doing this to myself??