-The art of Power

Lex stood over the carefully arranged scrolls, his sharp gaze moving methodically—sorting, deciding. This wasn't just about selling art. This was a power move. A statement.

Across the room, Jonathan was flipping through the guest list, his eyes scanning faster than most people could read. Then—without a word—he pulled out his phone and made a call.

Lex raised an eyebrow. "Didn't take you for the impulsive type, Jonathan."

Jonathan ignored him. He stepped toward the window, his posture straight, his voice low and deliberate—each word chosen with the precision of a man who knew exactly how much weight they carried.

Jason and Noah exchanged glances, but Lex didn't react. He kept sorting through the pieces, trusting Jonathan to move the chessboard the way he always did—quietly, but decisively.

Finally, Jonathan ended the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He adjusted his cuffs with a look of complete satisfaction.

"Alright. I added two more names."

Lex smirked. "Who?"

Jonathan sat down, tapping his fingers against his knee—thoughtful, controlled. "One is Professor Xu Jianhong—China leading expert in traditional calligraphy. If we're selling pieces by Mei Lei and Lei Yongzhi, it's only right we have someone of his stature present."

Lex's gaze flickered with interest. "Not bad. And the second?"

Jonathan's lips curled slightly. "Elliot Glass."

Jason frowned. "Who the hell is Elliot Glass?"

Jonathan chuckled, the sound dry, almost amused. "One of the most influential contemporary artists alive. Net worth? Half a billion. His pieces? In every major museum worth mentioning. But more importantly—he's a known art hoarder." He turned to Lex, his voice cool, assured. "He once outbid a Saudi prince for a single Basquiat."

Lex exhaled, nodding slowly. "That's… unexpected."

Jonathan shrugged, smoothing his cufflinks. "You wanted buyers who understand value. Elliot Glass doesn't just understand art—he dictates what the next billion-dollar piece will be."

Lex considered that for a moment. Then he smirked. "Alright, Jonathan. You surprised me."

Jason scoffed, leaning back. "Oh great, now we got critics and artists coming. Who's next? The damn Pope?"

Lex chuckled, rolling up the final scroll. "If the Vatican calls, tell them they can bid like everyone else."

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. His smirk was slight, but there was an unmistakable glint of knowing satisfaction in his eyes.

"Alright, Lex. We've uncovered lost calligraphy, billion-dollar modern art, and your childhood masterpieces." He tapped the table. "But where the hell are the Picassos?"

Lex raised an eyebrow. "Impatient, are we?"

Jason snorted. "Man's been damn near fainting over every other painting in this house. If he sees a Picasso, we might actually have to call a doctor."

Jonathan ignored him, his gaze steady, sharp. "I just find it interesting that we've seen priceless Chinese and contemporary works, but not a single major European piece."

Lex smirked, pushing away from the table. "Alright. Let's take a walk."

He led them down the grand hallway, past the study and tea room, toward a section of the house that was rarely used. The doors here were heavier, the lighting softer—as if even the house itself knew this was different.

Lex stopped in front of an unassuming wooden door. No grand displays. No visible security.

Jason frowned. "This it? No biometric scanner? No armed guards?"

Lex smirked, twisting the brass handle and pushing the door open.

The room was cool, climate-controlled, the air carrying the faint scent of aged oil paint and varnish. The walls?

Covered.

Picasso. Matisse. Modigliani. A Velázquez study tucked in the corner.

In the center, a Picasso portrait, its abstract strokes and bold colors instantly recognizable.

Jonathan froze. His mouth opened slightly—then closed. His hand gripped the doorframe.

Jason leaned in. "Aw, hell. He's gonna faint again."

Jonathan let out a shaky breath, his usual composure cracking for the first time. "Lex. Do you understand what you have here?"

Lex smirked. "I have a pretty good idea."

Jonathan slowly stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room like a man seeing the divine. He stopped in front of a smaller Picasso, fingers hovering just shy of the frame.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "This… this is from his Blue Period."

Lex nodded. "One of the lesser-known works. Grandma didn't like his later styles as much, so she collected from his earlier phases."

Jonathan turned, eyes wide. "She had a preference?"

Lex chuckled. "She had opinions, Jonathan. And money to back them."

Jason shook his head. "Latham, I swear, this ain't a house—it's a damn museum."

Noah, still filming, let out a low whistle. "How many pieces are in here?"

Lex tilted his head, thinking. "Maybe… forty? Fifty?"

Jonathan made a choked noise. "Fifty?"

Lex shrugged. "Give or take."

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. Then—for the first time since stepping into the room—he looked directly at Lex.

Lex smirked at Jonathan's shell-shocked expression, then turned toward the hallway. "Come on. That was just the warm-up."

Jonathan let out a disbelieving laugh. "There's more?"

Lex smirked, amused but not surprised. He turned, moving toward a larger cabinet in the far corner. Unlike the others, this one was reinforced—a deep vault built into the structure of the house itself.

Lex pressed his thumb against an old brass panel, then slid a key into the lock beneath it.

A soft click.

The door eased open, revealing a temperature-controlled storage space, lined with sealed crates and fireproof cases.

Jonathan inhaled sharply. "Oh my God."

Jason threw his hands up. "Of course. Of course, there's a vault. Why wouldn't there be a goddamn vault?"

Lex ignored them, stepping inside. He reached for a crate labeled in elegant, faded script.

Vivian Maddox Private Holdings.

With careful precision, Lex unlatched the case and lifted the first canvas. The second the fabric peeled back—

Jonathan staggered. His fingers dug into the doorframe.

A Caravaggio.

Not a copy. Not a study.

An original.

Jonathan's voice was barely a whisper. "Lex. What the hell is this collection?"

Lex chuckled, reaching for another crate.

Jonathan swallowed hard. "Lex. How deep does this go?"

Lex unlatched the next sealed case, his movements smooth, unhurried—like a man already in control of the chaos he was about to unleash.