Loved Pieces

Lex moved past the vaulted storage, leading Jonathan, Jason, and Noah to another section. The air felt different here—not just wealth, not just power, but something else entirely.

Something personal.

Jonathan had just barely recovered from the historical documents and lost masterpieces, but when Lex unlocked the next door, he felt himself tense up again.

The room was smaller, less like a museum, more like a private retreat.

Jason whistled. "Alright, Latham. What's behind door number three?"

Lex smirked. "Vivian liked to collect the Old Masters, sure. But she hoarded modern art."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Define hoarded."

Lex stepped inside, motioning to the carefully arranged racks, each containing framed canvases wrapped in protective covers.

He pulled the nearest one free, unwrapping the silk cover.

The moment the painting was revealed, Jonathan froze.

The brushwork, the composition, the sheer energy of the piece—

"Lex." His voice was hoarse. "This is a Rothko."

Lex nodded casually. "Yeah, Grandma liked his work."

Jonathan turned, eyes darting to the other frames, suddenly realizing. "Oh my God."

Lex pulled another one.

A Pollock.

Another.

A Basquiat.

Jonathan took a stumbling step back. His hands shook slightly. "Lex. How many of these are there?"

Lex tilted his head. "A couple hundred."

Jason gaped. "Bro. A couple hundred?"

Lex smirked. "The boxes you saw before? Those were the ones she liked."

Jonathan turned, his breathing uneven. "And these?"

Lex exhaled, his voice just a little softer. "These are the ones she loved."

For a moment Lex stood in the center of the room, his eyes trailing over the vibrant colors of a Basquiat, the chaotic strokes of a Pollock, the raw emotion of a Rothko.

They were all still here. Untouched. Preserved. Safe.

But in the first timeline?

He had lost them. All of them.

The brownstone—this entire collection—had been destroyed in a fire. The paintings, the scrolls, the archives, the music… ashes.

Lex's fingers tightened slightly around the silk cover of a painting, but his face remained unreadable.

He didn't say a word.

Instead, he forced a small smirk, shifting his focus back to Jonathan.

"Take your time. Explore."

Jonathan, still in complete shock, gave a quick nod before diving into another stack of canvases, his expert hands carefully peeling back layers of history.

Jason, meanwhile, wandered further into the room, his fingers running along the edges of an unmarked wooden cabinet.

Then he paused.

"Uh… guys?" Jason's voice was hesitant.

Lex and Jonathan both turned.

Jason pointed at an old steel door, built into the side of the gallery wall. "I think I found something."

Lex's brows furrowed. "That wasn't Vivian's."

Jonathan stepped closer, eyeing the heavy-duty lock. "It looks… older than the rest of the vaults. This wasn't part of her storage."

Lex's eyes narrowed. Slowly, he reached out, running his fingers over the worn brass plaque near the handle.

The engraving was simple. Unassuming.

R.L. Private Archive

Lex froze.

Jonathan and Jason exchanged glances.

"R.L.?" Jason asked. "Who the hell is R.L.?"

Lex's throat felt tight.

He knew exactly who it was.

Roger Latham.

His father.

Jason leaned in. "I think it was old records or something."

Lex exhaled slowly, his heartbeat steady but heavy.

"There's only one way to find out."

He reached for the handle of the steel door and twisted. It didn't resist. It was unlocked.

As the door creaked open, a faint scent of old paper, aged leather, and something metallic filled the air. The room beyond was dark, untouched by time.

Stacks of wooden crates, sealed metal boxes, and archive shelves lined the walls.

Jonathan, already tense from everything else they'd uncovered, exhaled sharply. "Lex… what the hell did your dad keep in here?"

Lex didn't answer. He stepped inside, eyes scanning the room, searching.

Jason, standing just outside the threshold, took a single glance at the shelves—

And promptly collapsed.

Face-first.

For exactly three seconds.

Then he jerked back up, gasping. "Nope. Nope. I'm out. I'm done."

Jonathan blinked. "Did he just faint?"

Noah, still filming, chuckled. "Three seconds. That's a new record."

Lex smirked, glancing over his shoulder. "Jason. Get up."

Jason groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Nah, I just saw at least fifty locked crates. I'm done."

Lex chuckled. "Then sit down and hydrate, because we're opening them."

Jason groaned louder. "I hate this house."

As Lex focused on the locked metal case, Jason—who had been determined to stay out of trouble—made the mistake of opening another nearby crate.

Inside, were stack of aged folders, bound with red twine. The covers were stamped with names—some instantly recognizable.

Miles Davis – Sessions

Billie Holiday – Arrangements

Radio Jazz Archives – Private Recordings

Jason's brain short-circuited.

"Guys." His voice cracked. "What the actual hell is this?"

His breath hitched flipping through the pages—some were handwritten scores, others marked with annotations and personal notes.

One folder, tucked deeper inside, held something different. He pulled it out carefully, his fingers trembling.

Roger Latham – Original Compositions & Collaborations

Jason's stomach dropped. "Lex."

Lex, still fiddling with the combination lock, raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Jason turned, holding up the folder. "Your dad… was writing music."

Lex's entire body stilled.

Jonathan and Noah snapped their heads around.

Jason slowly opened the folder, revealing pages upon pages of handwritten sheet music. Some were fully formed, entire songs mapped out with careful precision. Others were scribbled melodies, lyrical ideas, notes on collaborations.

Lex stepped forward, staring at the familiar handwriting.

His father's work. His passion.

Music he had never known existed.

Jason exhaled, shaking his head. "Dude… your dad wasn't just investing in artists. He was one."

Lex's fingers grazed the edges of the pages, silent.

Noah, still filming, whispered, "We just found Roger Latham's life's work."

Lex's jaw tightened. Dad had left him more than just money