The Feeble Excuse
Phone in hand, I entered the study. He was modeling on his computer, brow furrowed. "James," I held the screen before him, pointing at the transaction. "This 'V.Gallery Services' payment—monthly. What’s it for?" He turned, saw the screen, eyes flickering—a fleeting, almost imperceptible tell—before settling into forced recognition. "Oh! That!" He leaned back, voice unnaturally light. "Just helping out an old friend. His gallery’s cash flow is tight. Temporary loan—he’ll pay it back soon." Old friend? Cash flow? Vivian’s name instantly surfaced. Ms. Vivian, art world royalty, owner of a premier gallery.
The Search for Truth
James turned back to his screen, tapping keys. I stood rooted. Pay it back soon? After nearly a year? The owner of a top-tier gallery needed a fixed ten grand monthly for "cash flow"? Silently, I left.
Back on the sofa, I grabbed my phone and opened a search engine. Taking a deep breath, I typed: Vivian Greene, [City Name], Gallery. Results flooded in. Top link: her gallery’s opulent website. The gallery owner bio stated clearly: Vivian Greene, Founder & Owner, Greene Contemporary Gallery… with several affiliated arts institutions. Her photo showed impeccable tailoring, sharp eyes, elegant poise. Would this woman need James’s ten thousand a month? The phone screen’s glare stung my eyes. James’s "platonic friend" rang like a cruel joke.
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Phone in hand, I entered the study. He was modeling on his computer, brow furrowed. "James," I held the screen before him, pointing at the transaction. "This 'V.Gallery Services' payment—monthly. What’s it for?" He turned, saw the screen, eyes flickering—a fleeting, almost imperceptible tell—before settling into forced recognition. "Oh! That!" He leaned back, voice unnaturally light. "Just helping out an old friend. His gallery’s cash flow is tight. Temporary loan—he’ll pay it back soon." Old friend? Cash flow? Vivian’s name instantly surfaced. Ms. Vivian, art world royalty, owner of a premier gallery.
The Search for Truth
James turned back to his screen, tapping keys. I stood rooted. Pay it back soon? After nearly a year? The owner of a top-tier gallery needed a fixed ten grand monthly for "cash flow"? Silently, I left.
Back on the sofa, I grabbed my phone and opened a search engine. Taking a deep breath, I typed: Vivian Greene, [City Name], Gallery. Results flooded in. Top link: her gallery’s opulent website. The gallery owner bio stated clearly: Vivian Greene, Founder & Owner, Greene Contemporary Gallery… with several affiliated arts institutions. Her photo showed impeccable tailoring, sharp eyes, elegant poise. Would this woman need James’s ten thousand a month? The phone screen’s glare stung my eyes. James’s "platonic friend" rang like a cruel joke.
NEXT >>
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