Page 71 of Broken Pieces
As they are exposing the painting, my face drains of color.
“Let's start the bidding at thirty thousand dollars. Do I hear thirty?”
No. That’s impossible.
Someone raises their paddle and yells thirty.
“I hear thirty. Thirty going once.”
Someone else raises their paddle and yells thirty-one.
“I hear thirty-one. Thirty-one going once.”
Another person raises their paddle as it becomes a tug of war.
Before my two very own eyes is the very first painting I admired on my first day of work. Where Damian told me his first and only love was art.
The painting that was stolen from us.
Everything is moving too fast, my brain is barely catching up to what’s happening.
“Damian,” I say through a gasp, turning to look at him, but find his seat empty instead.
Looking around nervously, I can’t find him anywhere.
What the fuck is going on?
It must be fake. It’s impossible that the Fathom Group got their hands on that painting. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this.
I get up from my seat to walk out of the auction madness, barely registering what’s happening around me, the voice from the auctioneer is far away as anxiety takes hold of me. As I’m walking out of the room, I hear someone yell fifty-three thousand dollars. There’s a full-on tug-of-war over the painting.
Our painting.
Running to the first floor, I find Damian having a very heated discussion with an older gentleman. Getting in earshot of them, I recognize the gentleman as Charles Fathom, current CEO of Fathom Group.
“Romano, you need to calm down. There must be an explanation for this,” Charles says with his hand in the air, trying to calm Damian down.
Damian pushes his chest with one finger. “You will be hearing from my fucking lawyers, Fathom,” he says, then storms out of the building.
“Damian, wait!” I yell after him.
He turns around, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry I disappeared. It’s just… I am so fucking pissed right now, Aria.”
His eyes have a hint of anger, but it subsided significantly as soon as he spotted me. His hands are trembling, from the anger, I suppose. I’m shaken up too, my anxiety looming in the back of my head trying to take a hold overme. But no. It’s my turn to be here for him. Just like he’s been for me. Most importantly, I want to be here for him, and support him in whatever he needs.
My voice laces with hope. “Do we know for a fact that’s our painting? Maybe it’s a fake.”
“I asked Charles where they got the painting, and he was nothing but vague. Refused to provide the code number for it,” he says, typing on his phone rapidly. “I have my lawyers on it, though,” he continues.
I close the distance between us and place one of my hands on his face. “Areyouokay, though?”
He sighs, taking a moment before replying, “Now that you’re here? Absolutely. It will be fine. Nothing we can’t handle. We should probably go, though.”
I nod. “Of course. Let’s go.”
As we’re on our way back to the condo, I have a million questions. This makes no sense. If that is our painting, did the Fathom Group steal it? But even if they did, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to auction it to the public.
Nothing makes fucking sense to me, and looking at Damian, he looks just as confused and lost as me.
