Page 22 of His Untouchable Heart

The officer paused in front of a door near the end of the hall. On it, a simple plaque readJudge Diego Valencia. I knocked once, then stepped aside.

“Go on in.”

I pushed the door open, my heart already beating a little too fast.

Valencia sat behind an immaculately polished desk, hands folded, gaze steady. He looked like a man with all the time in the world—and no interest in wasting any of it.

“Mr. Moreau,” he said with a polite nod. “I appreciate your promptness. I tried to call you last night and got no answer.”

“Sorry. Thought it was a telemarketer.” I took the chair across from him.

He didn’t bother with small talk. “Let’s get straight to it.”

I waited for the blow—some veiled reference to Gabrielle, a warning cloaked in legalese. But when Valencia finally spoke, it wasn’t about her at all.

“What’s the current status ofA Lady and Gentleman in Black?” he asked as if he were inquiring about the weather.

It took me a second to catch up.

“The Frans Hals?” I asked, frowning. “It’s under review, like the others. Provenance research is ongoing. No red flags so far, but we haven’t completed the cross-checks yet.”

Valencia nodded slowly, like he already knew that part. “Yes, well… according to my sources inside the Monuments Men & Women Foundation, there are no surviving claims to the piece. No heirs, no restitution petitions. Nothing that would legally impede a sale.”

I kept my expression neutral, but my pulse kicked up a notch.His sources? The foundation wasn’t in the habit of leaking internal research—especially not to sitting judges.

“If that holds,” he continued, “it’ll likely be cleared for public auction.”

I gave a cautious nod. “Eventually, yes. If no rightful owner comes forward.”

Valencia leaned back slightly in his chair, fingertips tapping once against the armrest before stilling.

“In that case,” he said smoothly, “I’d like to place a private bid. Discreetly, of course. Through the appropriate channels, if and when the time comes.”

I blinked.

Was he serious?

A judge directly overseeing the restitution process wanted to buy one of the recovered pieces.

“I—” I caught myself before I said something I couldn’t take back. “You understand that would raise certain… concerns.”

“Not if it’s handled properly,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm. “There’s no law against it, Mr. Moreau. Not if the piece is deemed free and clear for auction. I’m merely expressing interest. Quietly. In advance.”

“And if someone else expresses interest more publicly?”

His lips curved faintly. “Then I’ll compete like anyone else.”

A lie.

He had no intention of playing fair. This wasn’t about the love of art—it was about influence. About acquiring something rare before the rest of the world even knew it was up for sale.

“I believe in preserving cultural heritage,” he added, as if that settled things. “I'd hate to see a piece like that disappear into a vault or, worse—fall into the wrong hands. My offer would be generous.”

I said nothing. Not agreement, not protest. Just sat there while the air between us turned colder.

Then his tone shifted just slightly—a soft warning under the surface. “Of course, others are circling that vault. Individuals are less forthright. I trust you understand the value of… keeping the right company.”

The message was clear: whatever game was being played, I wasn’t the only one invited to the table.

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