THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE SCREAMED AS HIS BLEEDING MAID DESTROYED A PRICELESS MASTERPIECE—BUT WHEN HE PLAYED THE HIDDEN RECORDING, HER SMILE VANISHED.

Lydia Keene did not meet me in a deserted warehouse. She met the investigators in a municipal conference room with her attorney present, after negotiating conditions for sharing documents that might contain privileged information. I was not invited, and I was relieved.

Anika later told me only what she was authorized to share. Lydia had worked briefly in her father's office after college. During a records transfer she had found a box labeled NORTH QUAY — CLOSED. Inside were returned payment notices, board correspondence, and a memo directing clerks to classify outstanding beneficiary claims as completed for the annual report.

She had kept copies because the classification looked wrong. For years she tried to convince herself the matter had been resolved. When The Winter Orchard appeared at the museum, she recognized the old project name and decided someone needed to see the records.

"So she wrote to me," I said.

"Yes," Anika replied. "She thought you would pay attention because you'd already challenged a false description of a painting. She now understands leaving notes at your home was frightening and inappropriate."

Lydia sent me an apology through counsel. I accepted it without pretending the notes had been harmless. She could have contacted the museum directly. Fear explained her decision but did not make it a good one.

The documents she supplied helped Selma reconcile several entries, but the financial review remained complicated. A portion of the reserve had been transferred legitimately to a successor fund. Other sums had been paid to administrative vendors that were not authorized to receive beneficiary assistance. One set of invoices lacked supporting services.

Lydia's evidence suggested Graham knew of the missing receipts before the annual report was finalized. His attorney disputed the interpretation. The investigators would evaluate the documents, interview relevant people, and determine what action the law supported.

I worked on the catalog while all this unfolded. The daily tasks were almost soothing: verify dates, correct titles, reconcile subject headings, and make sure interview restrictions traveled with digital files. An archives instructor praised a finding aid I'd prepared and asked whether I had considered applying for a paid internship at a public records library.

I had, secretly. The position would require moving across the city and reducing my hours at the art center. It also meant leaving the museum investigation just as it became more visible.

I showed the application to Mom first.

"You want it," she said.

"I do."

"Then apply."

"What if Mara needs me?"

"Mara is a professional. She will manage."

She was right, and I knew it. Still, it took me three days to submit the form.

Luca celebrated by bringing inexpensive flowers from the grocery store. "I thought you'd prefer these to an elaborate arrangement," he said.

"I prefer that you remembered I wanted to apply without offering to call the director."

"That was harder than choosing flowers."

We laughed. I put the flowers in a jar because I had never owned a vase I liked.

Then we talked about something we had avoided. His reputation still frightened some of my friends. The Moretti family remained linked, fairly and unfairly, to businesses where influence and intimidation had once been treated as ordinary practices. Luca had begun disengaging from several opaque partnerships, but that work did not happen overnight.

"I won't ask you to ignore that," he said.

"Good. Because I can't."

"If my life makes yours smaller, tell me."

I looked at him. "I will. And you need to be ready to hear it."

"I am trying to be."

It was not the grand declaration he might once have made. It was better.

The next week the public records library offered me an interview. I wore a navy jacket I'd bought secondhand and carried a portfolio of cataloging work. Nobody asked whom I dated. They asked how I would handle contradictory descriptions of an object, and I had enough experience to answer without referring to the Moretti family at all.

I left the interview feeling like a person who had earned the right to be considered.

That afternoon Selma called with a preliminary reconciliation figure. It was substantial, but smaller than some people expected. She would not publish it until the bank confirmed the remaining accounts and the beneficiaries' current legal representatives were identified.

Rosa agreed. "We don't need another false number," she said. "We've had enough of those."