Page 3 of Power and Possession

I thought I would instantly feel at ease when I found the security team, but now I felt worse. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this. These men didn’t look like they could take out a rogue squirrel, let alone an intruder.

The guard closest to me dropped his feet off the desk and placed them back on the ground, as if he’d been caught misbehaving. He folded up the newspaper noisily and looked at me expectantly.

“I was outside by the pool, and I saw someone in the forest on the right-hand side of the garden.”

The guards exchanged a look, and I could tell right away they weren’t going to take me seriously. It was a look I got all the time whenever I tried to tell my father something he didn’t want to believe.

The guard monitoring the security cameras spoke. “Look, Miss Phillips, we’ve been watching the cameras all night and there has been nothing of concern. Don’t fret about anything, deary.”

I instantly hated him. I hated his stupid accent and the condescending way he called me deary. I hated his misogynistic undertones, from the disrespectful nickname to the way he instantly dismissed my concerns.

“I know what I saw.” I folded my arms in front of my chest, trying to give him my scariest New York stare down. To my surprise, it actually worked, and he dropped his gaze.

The other guard stood up. He wore a name tag pinned to his jacket. Edgar. Such a perfect name for a security guard on a massive estate in England. “Everything is fine. We have motion sensors that trigger the cameras. Nothing was tripped.”

“Maybe they knew how to avoid them. Maybe—”

“I’ll take a look around, just to make you feel better. Butit’s a waste of time. This estate is secure.” Edgar grabbed his flashlight and brushed past me.

Relief hit me like a fresh ocean breeze. “Thank you.” I knew what I saw. I just needed someone to believe me, and then I could file a report with the police.

Edgar huffed, obviously out of shape, as I followed him down the long staff hallway and into the kitchen. He flipped on the kitchen light and unlocked the French doors. I stayed inside, my nose pressed up against the glass as I peered into the darkness.

He spent all of three minutes at the edge of the forest before he came back in. “Nothing out there. You must have seen a deer. You haven’t been here very long; deer are a common sight. Do you have deer in America?”

I wanted to slap him. Not only did he insult my sex, but my nationality. Just like all the male professors I’d had at Cambridge who underestimated my intelligence. Just like all the men who were in my father’s social circle. No wonder my mom clung to her fantastical world of book boyfriends.

“Yes, we have deer.” My annoyance must have been clear on my face, because he turned around and headed out of the kitchen.

As soon as I heard his footsteps fade, I grabbed a knife from the block next to the double sink, and tripled checked the French doors before heading back up to my borrowed room.

Chapter Two

Steele

My men opened the crate, and I stepped back and took in the contents. I kneeled down against the concrete, not caring if my Brioni suit got dirty—I’d just buy another one. I held the blacklight up against the painting, checking the details and making sure it was the real deal. After Tony fucked up and accepted a piece of trash replica, I’ve inspected every single piece of inventory that’s come into my docks. It was annoying, and I had better shit to do, but I wasn’t about to let that happen again. I would have been able to spot that piece-of-crap fake a mile away.

I looked up and down the canvas, noticing the wet-on-wet technique. This piece was iconic of the Northern Renaissance. Intense in color, the figures seemed to almost glow. It really was a masterpiece. And authentic. There was no doubt about it. Down to the strokes making up the fur on the little dog, everything about this piece was legit. I only hoped the forgery we replaced it with would hold up under the same scrutiny. So far, out of all the pieces I’d amassed, no one had spotted the fakes we left behind.

In the beginning, I used to be moved by every single piece of history that came into my hands, but I quickly learned to appreciate them in the moment, before shipping them off to their next owner. These treasures would trade hands many times, and sometimes the transition was bloody. I was just grateful to be their keeper for a moment in time. In a way, it was better than owning them. No matter how many times you told yourself it was yours, pieces like these came with consequencesand, more often than not, they owned you.

Stepping back, I nodded to Cooper and turned away from the dock. I could hear the men behind me closing up the crate, getting ready to load the priceless piece of artwork into an armored vehicle, where it would be taken to the airport and guarded heavily until it exchanged hands again. The new owner would experience the unique adrenaline of possessing something no one else could have. Sadly, the artwork would most likely end up sitting in some combination vault or secret underground bunker, and it would never again see the light of day. But, to men who acquired these pieces, possession was all that mattered.

I buttoned up my gray suit jacket and straightened my tie as I walked from the dock to the massive warehouse. Not only did I smuggle in priceless pieces of art and history, I also operated a regular exporting and importing business, which helped shelter my illegal activities.

I could hear Cooper following behind me, but I ignored him as I made my way to the temporary office that was set up at the far end. I did my legal business in a high-rise in Paris, but Cooper managed the warehouse on site for me. Not only did I control what came in and out of both France and England, I also owned several art galleries worldwide. It was the perfect cover, and it helped me get in touch with individuals who were more than willing to assist me here and there in exchange for insane amounts of money or help procuring their own sought-after obsessions. Through my enterprises, I’d hand-picked many board members at museums across the globe. So many were in my employ across the world I could no longer keep track without detailed records.

I reached the office where Cooper spent a good portion of his time. File cabinets housed all of the legit records for the boring items that came through the warehouse. The real, juicy paperwork was kept securely on my estate in the French countryside. Cooper’s desk was cluttered and stacked high with papers, a lone laptop sitting in the middle. Several partiallyopened boxes sat stacked in the corner, their packing material sprinkled on the office floor. I riffled through the one on top until I found what I was looking for. A box of Cubans. I grabbed a couple, and then changed my mind and took the entire box.

Cooper didn’t say a word as I pillaged our product. That was one of the nice things about being in charge of an empire–I could take whatever I wanted.

I gently kicked at one of the boxes. “You need to clean up this mess,” I said to Cooper.

He followed me like a stray dog as I made my way out of the warehouse, my dress shoes echoing on the pavement. My driver was parked right out in front, and I smoothly slid into the backseat of my town car. Cooper followed behind me, entering from the opposite side. He was silent, not wanting to piss me off when he could sense my foul mood. I had every right to be angry. Cooper had vouched for the wrong middleman, and when news got out that I had been swindled, by an American of all people, I’d lose my standing in my world.

Finally, I broke the silence.

“How did the trade go down?” I picked at a piece of lint on my sleeve, seemingly disinterested. I knew the answer. My men were the best of the best.