4.4Naming the Terms

Lex didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let the weight of the offer settle in the room, let the interns shift nervously, let Evangeline watch him watching her.

Nine figures. Minimum.

A dedicated Maddox-Latham Wing at the Met.

It was as close to permanence as the art world allowed.

Lex exhaled slowly, his smirk lingering. "Generous."

Evangeline didn't flinch. "It should be."

Lex leaned back, fingers drumming against the desk, gaze unreadable. "And what exactly does 'on my terms' mean?"

Evangeline folded her hands neatly in her lap. "We negotiate duration. We negotiate the pieces included. We negotiate the degree of exclusivity." A pause. "And, of course, we ensure that your family's name is positioned exactly as it should be."

Lex exhaled through his nose. Smart.

It wasn't just money. It was control. Narrative.

He glanced at the still frame on the screen—Vivian and Mei Lei, talking as a seven-year-old Lex painted between them.

A legacy, preserved.

His fingers stilled against the desk.

Then, calmly, he looked back at her.

"We'll discuss specifics." His smirk sharpened slightly. "But the Met doesn't get exclusivity."

One of the interns visibly tensed.

Evangeline, however, simply smiled.

"I thought you'd say that."

Lex's smirk widened. "Then you already know—I intend to rent to Europe as well."

Evangeline exhaled, shaking her head with something like exasperated admiration. "Of course you do."

Lex leaned forward, all confidence now, all control.

"So let's start negotiating."

Lex met Evangeline's gaze, watching as the realization settled in. "That's what the Chinese wing is going to be about."

He gestured toward the paintings spread across the tea room—the work of three different lifetimes, bound by ink, by technique, by something deeper than just talent.

"Same art. Different generations."

Evangeline exhaled, her fingers still hovering over Mei Lei's calligraphy. "I think I read about this in an exhibition catalog once…" Her brows furrowed slightly. "But these three artists—they were from the same family, right?"

Lex smirked faintly. "You're catching on."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."

Lex arched a brow. "Is it?"

Evangeline turned back to the scrolls, studying them with a new level of understanding. This wasn't just a remarkable collection—it was an unbroken artistic lineage.

She straightened, already shifting into work mode. "I'll need an expert on this. Someone who specializes in Chinese calligraphy and painting. We'll handle this exhibition separately from the modern pieces."

Lex nodded. "Good. That's the only way it should be done."

Then before they could door to the tea room swung open, and Jonathan walked in, carrying an unreasonable amount of coffee.

Lex smirked as the appraiser set the cups down with a thud, looking between him and Evangeline with the tired resignation of a man who knew exactly what he was walking into.

"I had a feeling," Jonathan muttered, rubbing his temple. "Figured I'd come armed."

Lex grabbed a cup, taking a slow sip. "Good instincts."

Evangeline took one as well, nodding toward the scrolls still spread across the table. "We're separating the modern collection from the Chinese pieces. The Met needs to bring in an expert for this."

Jonathan hummed, stretching his shoulders. "Makes sense."

He turned to Lex, voice sharp but casual. "Alright, let's talk details."

Lex set his cup down. "Provenance on the modern stuff is airtight. Everything's documented—purchases, auction records, gallery logs."

Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, we're good there. Should be an easy negotiation."

Evangeline arched a brow. "And the Chinese collection?"

Jonathan exhaled, tapping his fingers against the table. "That's a different story. We don't have traditional provenance records—not in the way you'd expect. But—" he gestured toward the seals, the inscriptions on the scrolls, the small, intricate red stamps marking generations of artists. "We don't need them."

Evangeline frowned slightly. "Why?"

Jonathan smirked. "Because these pieces authenticate themselves."

Lex leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

"Take my word for it, Devereaux. The Chinese collection—especially Ling Jun—is more than good." His voice was smooth, certain. "It's untouchable."

Jonathan coughed—loudly.

Evangeline barely reacted, but Lex shot him a sharp side glance.

Jonathan cleared his throat, taking an exaggerated sip of coffee. "Right. Untouchable."

Lex smirked, but his fingers tapped lightly against the table, a silent warning—Ling Jun—was after all sitting right in front of them.

Evangeline, for all her sharpness, hadn't made the connection yet.

But the Chinese collectors, the museums, the scholars?

They all knew.

And out of respect, no one was saying a word.

Jonathan exhaled through his nose, setting his cup down.

"The authentication process will hold up. The seals, the calligraphy analysis—it's all more than enough." He shot Lex a knowing look. "No one's going to question its legitimacy."

Evangeline tapped a nail against the table, thoughtful. "Then we move forward."

Jonathan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah. But next time, Latham—maybe warn me before you throw words like 'untouchable' around."

Lex chuckled, sipping his coffee. "Where's the fun in that?"

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple like he was already bracing for a fight. "Alright, Latham. Here's my suggestion."

Lex arched a brow, waiting.

Jonathan gestured vaguely toward the absurd amount of art they had just uncovered.

"We put, let's say, a hundred pieces on loan. But the stuff in the shed?" He exhaled sharply. "Please, for the love of God, sell it to the Met."

Evangeline smirked, watching the exchange like it was free entertainment. "I take it you have strong feelings about this?"

Jonathan pointed at Lex. "Your attic? Yeah, I have nightmares about that too, but at least that's mystery pain. That shed? It's pathetic compared to the pieces Vivian actually loved."

Lex sipped his coffee, amused. "She didn't hate them."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "No, but they weren't vaulted, were they?" He let that hang for a second before driving it home. "You know where the real collection is."

Evangeline blinked, new interest sparking in her gaze. "The vault?"

Jonathan nodded, sighing heavily. "The pieces Vivian actually loved—those? Climate-controlled, security-monitored, stored with the kind of care people give crown jewels." He shot Lex a knowing look. "And your sentimental ass won't even let yourself view them."

Lex's smirk barely faltered, but something in his posture shifted. "They're fine where they are."

Jonathan scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. And the shed?"

Lex exhaled, setting his cup down. "Fine. The Met can have first bid."

Jonathan let out a dramatic sigh of relief. "Finally. I might sleep tonight."

Evangeline grinned. "I'll have the paperwork drawn up."

Lex just leaned back, his smirk returning. "Good. But don't celebrate yet, Devereaux. We haven't talked numbers."

Evangeline's smile sharpened. "Oh, Latham. I was hoping you'd say that."

She reached into her leather portfolio, pulled out a crisp contract, and slid it across the desk toward Lex.

"The Met's offer. It's already been sent to your lawyer, Elias Marrs."

Lex raised a brow, but she wasn't finished.

She reached into the folder again—this time, pulling out a check.

Not a promise. Not an estimate. An actual, signed check.

She set it down next to the contract, her smirk unmistakable. "The signature is valid. This is the check."

Lex exhaled through his nose, amused. "You really don't play around."

Evangeline leaned forward slightly. "Neither do you."

Jonathan let out a low whistle, picking up the contract to skim through. "Damn. You weren't kidding when you said generous."

Lex picked up the check, rolling it between his fingers. It wasn't just high—it was strategic. A number big enough to ensure no other museum could match the bid outright.

His smirk widened. "You're locking us in."

Evangeline didn't deny it. "I'm securing history."

Lex flicked the check lightly against the desk, thinking.