Page 44 of Afraid to Hope

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled just as forcefully, not breaking eye contact. Natasha’s hands dropped to her lap and her voice was pure steel. “It appears that my grandfather was one of the signatories, one of the bastards you referred to, and the manifest is written is his handwriting. I’d know that small, tight script anywhere.”

Chapter 22

“Pépé’s signature… It’s the second one.” Natasha’s composure cracked as her index finger brushed over tight black cursive. “Here. Henri Louis Allamel. This is…” Her lips fought to form the next words. “I don’t know what to—” She stuttered, shaking her head, wiping furiously at her eyes.

Bane jumped from the desk and took her hand, pulling her from the chair and gathering her close. “Maybe you’re mistaken.”

“I know his handwriting, his signature.” Her words were muffled against his chest.

“Emmet needs to be informed.”

She pushed off his chest angrily and stepped back. “No.”

“What the hell? Nat, he needs to know.”

“I will handle this myself.” Her eyes glittered, daring him to argue with her.

“Come on. Think this through,” he said. “No one expects you to handle this yourself. At the very least, Emmet needs to see what we have discovered. Nat, there’s the strongest possibility that this is tied to current events.”

Snatching the agreement and journal from Bane’s hand, she fired back, “I am not sharing this with the director.”

“If you don’t, I will,” he said tersely.

“Well, you can’t.” She held them up, and waved them at Bane, her knuckles blanched from gripping the document and leather book so tight. “This was my grandfather’s property and now it’s mine,” she said, her voice strident.

“Dammit, Nat. Do you understand the predicament that keeping these a secret could put you in? How it could jeopardize any future assignments? Sharing this information”—he motioned at the document and journal she held—“could impact the turnover of billions of dollars of looting annually. We might be able to break their back, or at least cut off a supply chain. I have no idea how Morocco views something like this, but I suspect it won’t fly with AFRIPOL or INTERPOL. No way, not with the UNESCO and Hague Conventions in place. Think. You’re reacting emotionally to the fact that your grandfather was one of the founders of the American.”

“We don’t know that he was a founder, Bane.”

“Come on. He sure as hell was. The proof is in the pudding.”

Natasha snapped at him and stepped closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you have the proof. You’re holding it. You believe one of the signatures is his. We skimmed over the agreement and the attached signatures and only perused the manifest. There might be more in what we found. Clues, family names. Hell, there might be more in the desk.” Bane paused and sighed deeply. “Did you look through it thoroughly?”

“I did not. I found these and then I just stopped. I was too stunned,” she admitted.

“Totally understandable.” Bane gestured to the documents. “You have the resources and backing of INTERPOL and AFRIPOL. Reconsider. I’m talking ethics. Besides, I’ll be seen as guilty by association if I back your decision. I will not do it.”

“I do not see how this agreement signed in 1944 pertains to the American and its operations today,” she insisted, shaking the papers in her hand. “Explain that.”

Bane held his hands up. “You’re thinking with this.” He tapped his heart and lowered his voice, intent on defusing their disagreement. “You have a fucking amazing track record at repatriating lost artifacts. I heard about you long before I met you, a near-hallowed reputation. Are you really going to destroy it?”

Her beautiful gray eyes glittered. She slammed her hand on the desk and dropped her head, whispering, “This is my family.”

“I know,” he said softly, reaching out. “And it sucks.” He pulled her in for an embrace. Her body was stiff and unyielding. “Are you going to listen to me?”

Natasha glared at him, her jaw hard and her eyes icy silver. She inhaled a long, shuddering breath and voiced her decision. “I will.”

“Good.”

“Goddammit to hell.” She sank into the desk chair. “What if there are other names, people I knew or people I know, and they are innocent of involvement, like myself?”

“The fact that someone or several someones have rifled through this cabinet indicates that it’s more than likely you’re going to know other players. My gut tells me they were looking for this, maybe more. We’ll go through theriadthoroughly after we get back from our meeting.”

“I’m going to clear Pépé’s name. I cannot emotionally or logically believe he did this willingly.”

“And I will do what I can to help you, but trying to clear him can’t get in the way of our assignment. Okay?”

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