Page 58 of His Dark Desires

Mara hands me her tablet. I scroll through a cascade of negative press: suspicious financial dealings, allegations of plagiarism, bitter testimonials from former students. Each story lands right on time, each accusation supported by evidence that seems to emerge organically. My AI systems track the spread of information across social media platforms, confirming optimal reach and impact among the art world's most influential voices.

The maître d' appears silently at my elbow to refill my wine glass. Its complex bouquet mirrors the layered destruction of Daniel's reputation, notes of triumph mingling with the satisfaction of watching him crumble.

Messages stream across Mara's tablet screen, all nails in Daniel's professional coffin. My wine breathes in the crystal glass, its deep crimson matching my mood.

"Another desperate plea from the Whitman Foundation," Mara says, her fingertip sliding across the screen. "They're requesting immediate verification of provenance for his entire collection."

Daniel's frantic response begs for more time, claiming he can explain the discrepancies. The foundation's curt reply leaves no room for negotiation.

"The Klein Gallery just pulled his spring showcase," Mara continues. "That's the third cancellation today. His former students are particularly... vocal."

I take a sip of wine. "What are they saying?"

"Everything from favoritism to harassment. The testimonials are quite detailed." She takes the tablet and scrolls through a series of posts. "The art community is completely turning against him. Even his most loyal supporters are distancing themselves."

The maître d' comes back with the dessert course, a delicate chocolate soufflé that steams when I break its surface. The aroma fills my nostrils as I observe the ripple effect of Daniel's destruction through the industry's upper echelons. Those who once championed him now scramble to erase any association.

"Harrison Walsh just removed Daniel from his upcoming charity auction," Mara notes. "Cited 'concerns about authenticity and reputation.' He specifically mentioned not wanting to risk his relationships with other collectors."

I savor a spoonful of soufflé. The message is clear to anyone paying attention—cross me and doors will close. Opportunities will vanish. Reputations will crumble.

"Sir," Mara's voice drops lower, tension creeping into her usual composure. "We've been getting some attention from investigative journalists. They're looking for connections..."

I lift my hand, cutting off her concern. ATLAS has already flagged these inquiries, tracking their digital footprints across servers and databases. Every transaction is buried under layers of shell companies. Communications route through encrypted channels and disposable accounts. The evidence leads nowhere—or rather, everywhere except to me.

"Show me the coverage patterns," I say.

Mara pulls up a visualization of how the stories spread. Seemingly independent revelations build on each other: gallery owners sharing concerns in private messages that mysteriously become public, anonymous sources providing documentation at the right times, critics who once praised Daniel's work now discovering "troubling patterns" in his technique.

"The Klein Gallery statement is gaining particular traction," Mara observes. "Their reputation for integrity makes their doubts especially damaging."

I nod, pleased at how the pieces fall exactly where I positioned them. To the art world, Daniel's downfall appears as organic as a fruit rotting from within, inevitable once the first bruise appears.

"Sir, his latest message..." Mara hesitates. "He's becoming increasingly unstable. Threatening to expose 'the truth' about various industry figures."

"Let him." I finish my wine, savoring its lingering notes. "Who would believe him now?"

I signal the maître d' for another glass of wine, maintaining the rhythm of an ordinary business dinner. The sommelier approaches with deference, presenting the bottle for my approval before pouring.

"And the teaching position?" I ask.

"The university placed him on immediate leave pending investigation. Their board of trustees received an anonymous tip about improprieties with students."

"That will be all," I tell Mara, my fingers drumming against the pristine tablecloth. The evening has dragged on long enough.

Mara shifts her weight, her tablet clutched against her chest. The subtle furrow in her brow betrays her unease with how thoroughly I've dismantled Daniel's life. I ignore her concerned expression and signal for the check.

"One more thing," I say, adjusting my cuff links. "Order flowers for Sophia. Something elegant but not overstated. She must be devastated about her friend's... unfortunate circumstances."

Or maybe I should have said "ex." Sophia has no use for a friend like that.

Not with me around.

Chapter 19

Sophia

I stare at the ceiling, my phone's glow casting shadows across the expensive wallpaper. Another notification pings: another headline about Daniel. "Renowned Artist Accused of Plagiarism." The words blur together with all the others: fraud, misconduct, ethical violations.

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