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Chapter 7 — Truth & Transport
Beneath the Gallery — Small Hours
The echoes of the struggle faded, leaving only ragged breathing and the faint creak of old stone. Josh bound Hale’s wrists with heavy leather straps — steady, thorough, no room for trickery. The curator’s face was ashen, sweat mixing with dust, his fury curdled into sullen defeat. Beside him, the two henchmen lay where they’d fallen, groaning softly.
Leila knelt by the crate, lantern light soft on the golden frame. She ran careful fingers along the carved edges, checking canvas and gilding for any scratch or damage — relief settling quietly in her chest when she found none. Then she gathered the evidence: the ledger, maps, false papers, Hale’s discarded pistol. Everything stacked neatly. Nothing missed.
Pete kept watch at the tunnel entrance, ears sharp. “If Hale’s ring has other members, they may come looking before dawn. We shouldn’t linger.”
Leila rose. “You’re right. But first — we need the full truth.” She turned to Hale, green eyes unyielding. “Who else is part of this? The records show shipments across the North Sea. Who receives the cargo — and what else do they take besides art?”
Hale’s jaw tightened. “I say nothing.”
Josh leaned in, voice low. “This isn’t just art smuggling. That portrait holds family vault secrets. If they fall into the wrong hands, lives will be destroyed. You’re not protecting yourself — you’re protecting men who’d kill to stay hidden. Who are they?”
Silence stretched thick and heavy. Then — defeated, broken — Hale spoke. Names. Routes. Meeting places. It spilled out in a rush. Leila noted every word, committing it all to paper and memory. When he finished, the full shape of the conspiracy was clear. Wider, deeper, and more dangerous than any of them had imagined.
Now came the hardest part. Moving the painting, the prisoners, and the evidence — unseen — through mist-shrouded streets to safety.
Chapter 8 coming soon — the carriage rolls, and something follows in the fog.
