The Gallery

The gallery smelled faintly of old paint and polished wood—that distinct blend of time and money. The afternoon sun poured through tall windows, catching faint motes of dust that drifted lazily through the vast, open space.

Lex stood near the entrance, hands in his coat pockets, gaze trailing along the edges of the third floor's exhibits.

His great-grandmother's legacy had been built here, in this old Soho factory she'd converted into a haven for art, a place where history and wealth were preserved for generations.

On the first two floors, the auction house thrived, its antique wood floors worn smooth by decades of foot traffic. A place were people could enjoy art and antique. The next two floors were reserved for working artists, each studio filled with the hum of creativity and promise.

The top two were mostly open to the public, one an evolving museum of her private collection, the other reserved for rotating exhibits. Then there was a private space at the top—that held the most significant treasure, her personal art collection, carefully curated for the generations.

Lex walked through the familiar halls, stopping briefly in front of a framed Warhol, the image of Marilyn Monroe smiling back at him. He could almost hear his great grandmother's voice, describing how she'd acquired it back when the artist's fame was still just talk.

Rachel William, the gallery manager was walking the floor. She looked up as he approached, offering a smile tinged with concern.

"Mr. Latham," she greeted him. 

Lex nodded, his voice calm but firm. "Rachel, do you have time for a full tour?"

She nodded, setting aside the papers she was reviewing. "Of course. Let's start with the auction house."

They moved through the building, Rachel giving him the rundown as they went. The space was running exactly as his grandmother had envisioned—everything by the book, everything protected under the terms of the trust. The rent from the working artists covered operational expenses. The auction house, as always, generated a rainy day fund.

"As per Lady's will, everything is in good order," Rachel said, leading him into the quiet, expansive gallery. "We've had some dips in traffic, but the space still holds value. The auction house is performing well enough."

Lex nodded, already aware of the changing dynamics of the market. What concerned him, though, was what Rachel hesitated to say next.

"There's something I need to tell you, Mr. Latham," she said quietly, glancing at him before lowering her voice. "Your uncle Barnie... he's borrowed some pieces."

Lex's brow furrowed. "Pieces?"

Rachel handed him a list in a folder, her fingers lingering briefly on the paper before she pulled away. "Ten pieces of Warhol, including some from his Marilyn Monroe series. And three original Picassos. They're high-value works, Mr. Latham."

Lex scanned the list, his mind calculating the numbers quickly. The Warhols alone were worth millions, and the Picassos were in a league of their own. It made sense—Barney was always quick to use anything of value to get what he wanted. But Lex wasn't prepared for what she said next.

"He borrowed them in March, Mr. Latham. It's now July. I haven't heard from him. We've tried contacting him multiple times, but he's avoiding us. I'm worried."

It was a sloppy move.

Lex's jaw tightened. "You're sure?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes. We've checked the records. These pieces have been gone since March."

Lex folded the list and tucked it into his jacket. "I'll handle it."

Rachel hesitated, then spoke again, her voice low but urgent. "The trust functions as your great grandmother wanted, Mr. Latham. We have our rules but this is a family run legacy trust."

Lex gave her a brief smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I understand."

He pulled his phone out and call the family Lawyer. 

Elias Marr.

Lex answered. "Barnie's poking the gallery, Blindsighted us again. I need details."

Elias let out a soft breath. "I'll be there in twenty."

Lex ended the call and slipped his phone back into his coat, letting his eyes drift across the exhibit walls.

Barnie didn't circle assets unless he was hungry.

And that usually meant desperation.

Lex glanced toward the far end of the floor, where Trent stood near a sprawling abstract canvas, arms crossed loosely as if he wasn't just waiting—but watching. He expected this type of bother a bit latter but Barnie was never that predictable.

Lex smirked faintly, stepping toward him. "Enjoying the art, Trent?"

Trent didn't flinch, his gaze lingering on the painting. "It's nice. Would look better in my apartment."

Lex chuckled softly. "I'll let you borrow it. As long as you're not planning on taking the whole floor."

Trent finally turned to face him, his grin half-amused but sharp. "You know how Barnie is. Always looking for ways to 'optimize.'"

Lex arched a brow. "Optimizing a gallery? Sounds beneath him."

Trent shrugged. "Maybe. But I hear he's been spending more time with collectors. Russians, mostly."

Lex's smirk thinned. There it was again.

"So he's after the art."

Trent let the silence hang between them for a beat too long.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Trent met Lex's gaze evenly, but there was a flicker of something deeper—a hesitation Barnie wouldn't approve of.

Before Lex could press, the elevator chimed faintly. The doors slid open to reveal Elias, stepping onto the third floor with a briefcase tucked under his arm.

His gaze swept the space quickly before settling on Lex.

"Lex."

Lex nodded toward him. "Let's take this upstairs."

Elias's brow lifted slightly, but he didn't argue.

Lex led the way to the elevator.

Trent lingered behind, but Lex didn't stop him. If he wanted to hear what came next, he was welcome to follow.

The sixth floor was untouched.

Soft light filtered through arched windows, casting long shadows across unused space. The room stretched wide and open, the faint scent of varnished wood lingering from events long past.

Lex stopped near the center, folding his arms as Elias set his briefcase down on a marble table.

Elias clicked it open, drawing out a thick folder marked with the Latham family seal.

Lex didn't speak.

Elias flipped through the pages with the ease of someone who had spent far too much time guarding secrets like these.

Finally, Elias pulled a worn, yellowed document from the stack and laid it flat.

"Here." He tapped lightly at the header. "The original division of assets."

Lex stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he scanned the writing.

His great-grandmother's name filled the top line, delicate cursive script running across the page.

Elias traced his finger down the columns of assets. "The building belongs to the trust. That's shared property—Barnie can't sell it outright."

Lex's gaze flicked up briefly. "But he can move the art."

Elias hesitated.

"Yes."

Lex exhaled slowly.

Elias continued. "The first three floors—the public gallery spaces—are part of the shared holdings. Barnie has a claim there. But this floor—" he gestured around them, "was specifically left to you."

Lex's brow lifted slightly. "Me?"

Elias smirked faintly. "Your great-grandmother didn't trust Barnie with the more… unique pieces. She reserved this floor for private showings and events. It was locked away after her death."

Lex's gaze drifted toward the far end of the room, where large crates sat untouched beneath white sheets.

"What's in the crates?"

Elias's smirk deepened. "Modern art. And a collection that includes three Monets and Six Picassos. Your great-grandmother had an eye for investment."

Lex's hands slipped into his pockets, quiet amusement flickering behind his eyes.

Of course she did.

"Barnie can't touch any of it," Elias added, snapping the folder shut. "The moment he tries, the trust locks his access to the building and resolve his claims. He'll be cut off"

"I talk to the manager, Barnie move two Picassos and ten Warhol."

Lex's smirk as he hand Elias a folder. Elias opens it, reads it and put it into his briefcase. "I'll have the gallery's legal standing reinforced by the end of the week. But Lex—keep an eye on Barnie."

Lex's gaze flicked back toward the crates in the corner.

Barnie could circle all he wanted but Lex was holding the game.