Chapter 7 - THE REVELATION
Damian’s smile vanished. He glanced at the paintings, then back to Anna. "Grab her."
Two guards lunged forward, pinning Anna’s arms behind her back. She didn't fight them. She just stared dead into Damian’s eyes.
The royal buyer looked alarmed. "Mr. Blackwood, what is the meaning of this? Who is this woman?"
"Just a disgruntled former employee, Your Highness," Damian said smoothly, recovering his composure. "She’s unstable. Remove her immediately."
"Wait!" Anna shouted, her voice ringing with absolute authority. "Your Highness, you are about to pay four hundred million dollars for a fraud. And worse—for the evidence of a murder."
The buyer held up a hand, stopping the guards from dragging Anna away. "Let her speak."
Damian took a threatening step forward. "Your Highness, this is absurd—"
"I said, let her speak," the royal commanded, his tone brook no argument.
Anna took a deep breath. "The man who painted these canvases did not paint the landscapes you see before you. He painted the masterpieces buried underneath. Damian Blackwood stole them twenty years ago, on the night he burned down the Morgan Gallery and killed my mother."
Preston laughed loudly. "She’s insane. Look at her. She’s a broke waitress making up fairy tales."
Anna ignored him, looking directly at the buyer. "As a collector, you know Bellamy's atrium is equipped with multi-spectrum lighting for authentication purposes, yes?"
The buyer nodded slowly. "Of course. UV and infrared."
"Turn on the UV lights," Anna said.
Damian’s face paled. "Absolutely not. The UV degrades the pigments—"
"If they are authentic Muski works, the pigment is stabilized," the buyer countered, his eyes narrowing at Damian’s panic. He gestured to his own security detail. "Switch the gallery lighting to Ultraviolet."
"Don't touch that panel!" Preston screamed, lunging for the royal’s guard.
But he was too slow. The guard slammed his palm onto the main control panel.
The warm, golden gallery spotlights instantly cut out.
The room plunged into darkness for a split second before the heavy, violet glow of UV lamps snapped on, flooding the room in eerie purple light.
Immediately, a violent hissing sound filled the air.
The enzymatic gel Anna had applied reacted to the UV radiation instantly. The buyer gasped.
Right before their eyes, the fake, beautiful landscapes on nine of the twelve canvases began to literally melt. The acrylic paint bubbled, cracked, and slid down the canvases like colored tears, pooling onto the pristine marble floor.
Damian let out a strangled cry of horror.
As the top layers dissolved, the true paintings underneath were revealed. They were breathtaking. Brutal, emotional, sweeping strokes of charcoal, crimson, and deep, midnight blue. They were indisputably the work of a master.
But it wasn't just the art that was revealed.
Across the center of the nine exposed canvases, written in thick, luminescent titanium-white paint—a pigment that glowed brilliantly under UV light—was a massive, sweeping message spanning across the collection.
STOLEN BY DAMIAN BLACKWOOD. HE BURNED THE MORGAN GALLERY. HE HAS MY BLOOD.
And in the bottom corner of every single canvas, glowing like a beacon, was the crescent crossed by three vertical lines.
The room fell into a silence so profound it felt like a vacuum.
"No," Damian whispered, stumbling backward. "No, this is a trick."
"It's no trick, Damian."
Everyone turned toward the glass doors.
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Standing on the other side, flanked by four federal agents from the FBI’s Art Crime Team, was Elias. He looked battered, exhausted, but his eyes burned with the fire of a man who had just reclaimed his soul.
"My name is Elias Muski," the old man said, his voice carrying through the glass. "And I am taking my life back."
