Chapter 3 - SOMEONE HAD BUILT A ROOM INSIDE THE WALL
The estate architect arrived before sunset.
Rebecca Sloan had supervised the gallery renovation four years earlier, before Daniel married Vanessa. She still had the original plans.
Rebecca stood several feet from the damaged silk panel and studied the dark slit.
“That space shouldn’t be there.”
Daniel folded his arms.
“How much room should be behind the silk?”
“Less than four inches. Decorative backing, acoustic material, wiring clearance. That’s it.”
The visible opening appeared far deeper.
Rebecca measured the gallery wall.
Then she went into the corridor behind it and measured the same section from the other side.
When she returned, her face had changed.
“Someone shortened the gallery by almost thirty inches.”
Daniel stared at her.
“A false wall?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After my renovation.”
Vanessa had taken over most interior decorating after marrying Daniel three years earlier.
He remembered several projects.
New lighting.
A wine room redesign.
Closet work.
Custom cabinetry.
He had approved budgets without checking every line.
His mistake had not been giving his wife control over decorating.
His mistake had been assuming management authority and ownership authority were the same thing.
They were not.
A person authorized to spend household money on millwork could still build something Daniel never would have approved if he had known its purpose.
Daniel called Melissa Grant, the family’s outside attorney.
She advised him to document the existing condition before disturbing anything.
The estate manager photographed the tear.
Rebecca documented measurements.
A licensed contractor was brought in.
Only then did they open the access panel.
No person was inside.
The blonde hair was caught around a small recessed brass hinge.
A strip of adhesive near the roots suggested some of it came from taped hair extensions rather than naturally shed strands.
Behind the silk wall was a narrow concealed storage cavity.
Climate-controlled.
Professionally built.
Expensive.
And almost empty.
One object sat inside.
A large flat package wrapped in archival Tyvek.
Beside it lay a leather document envelope.
Daniel recognized the dimensions before anyone opened anything.
The package was roughly the size of one of the gallery paintings.
Melissa stopped him from touching it.
“We inventory first.”
Daniel nodded.
The package was photographed, removed carefully, and placed on a padded table.
The archival wrap was opened.
Inside was a painting.
Daniel looked across the gallery.
Then back at the table.
His stomach dropped.
The same painting was already hanging twenty feet away.
Same coastal cliffs.
Same storm-gray sky.
Same red fishing boat near the bottom corner.
May you like
Two apparently identical versions of a painting called Low Tide, Carmel.
And only one of them could be the original.
