Page 23 of Midnight

Stefan frowned. ‘Because of Yennin.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The way he died. Some people had questions.’

‘Do you know who?’

Stefan shook his head. ‘Aaron didn’t say. I’m not sure he knew really. It was all done anonymously – he shared a few of the emails with me. They were unpleasant, but he has a good legal team. I don’t think he thought it was anything really credible.’

‘I don’t understand. Yennin died in a car accident. The police didn’t deem anyone responsible. It was a tragedy.’

‘I suppose not everyone was convinced.’

‘But … Aaron was nowhere near the car when he died. I don’t understand how anyone could blame him. It makes no sense.’

Because if anyone was partly to blame, it was her. Her own memories of that night were shrouded with guilt. It was supposed to be Yennin’s big evening. The auction of his work. But the artist was notoriously shy, introverted. He hadn’t wanted to attend.

Aaron had insisted, as close to begging as she’d ever seen him. But Yennin would only get in a car with someone he’d met before. Aaron was far too busy on the day to pick him up, so he had asked Olivia to do it. He had made her promise.

But he hadn’t known how fragile her state of mind had been. That day she’d reached rock bottom with her mental health. She’d walked out of her job and forgotten her obligation to Yennin.

When she had shown up a half-hour after the auction had been scheduled to begin – she was still a mess. She already knew she’d let everyone down – her work, her friends, her family – and now Aaron and his prized artist. Yet she’d been surprised to see guests still mingling and sipping champagne in the lobby. Many of them were engrossed in their phone screens. She would have found it amusing – all those people in tuxedos and ball gowns staring at their glowing phones – if she hadn’t been so worried about how Aaron would react to her lateness.

She slipped through to the back, where she hunted for Aaron. Huge paintings were propped up against the walls, waiting their turn on the auction floor. In front of the potential buyers, they’d be handled with white glovesand extreme care. But back here? It was almost painful to see them treated so casually when she knew each one was potentially worth millions. But just how much, the auction itself would determine.

She found him in a small room, where other dealers, journalists and critics were mingling, watching the action unfolding on a small television. The guests were taking their seats, and large screens on either side of the auctioneer would display live updates of the bidding once it began.

‘Thank God, Livi, there you are. Where the hell is Yennin?’ Aaron asked. The moment she got close to him, she saw the sheen of sweat on his brow.

‘He’s not here yet?’

‘No! Wait – didn’t you bring him?’

‘I … I couldn’t. I got swept up at work. I came straight here.’

‘Shit. The auctioneer only gave us half an hour’s grace. It’s going to start without him. I can’t believe this …’

‘I am so, so sorry …’

One of the journalists in the room hissed at them to be quiet. Aaron turned to the screen, his complexion pale. His hands were shaking. The auction fornemigawas beginning.

Aaron tapped his foot as the auctioneer accepted bids, energy fizzing off him like freshly poured champagne. Here, away from the judgemental eyes of his clients, he could be more himself – let the polished veneer slip just a little. She caught a glimpse of the boy underneath and realized how much was at stake. He was so good at hiding the risk, even from her.

‘Holy Christ,’ said the journalist in an overly loud whisper to his companion. ‘Have you seen these tweets?’

Olivia looked over her shoulder, where two men were huddled over their phones. Now she was really confused.

‘Is it confirmed it’s Yennin?’ the other one whispered back.

She looked up at Aaron, but he was entranced by the auction, lost in his own world.

She took her phone out and opened Twitter. She typed in Yennin’s name. There were a few tweets about the auction, but one caught her eye:BREAKING NEWS: Fatal car accident closes down a street in Mayfair.

But it was the tweet in reply that was most concerning:I think it’s that artist. Kostas Yennin.

Olivia blinked, unable to believe her eyes.

A car accident. It couldn’t be true. She nudged Aaron’s shoulder, but he refused to look, his eyes glued to the screen.

---