To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Forty-Two: Speak Now or...

No single photo could do this collection justice, so none are attached, but this chapter's featured art is the "Parthenon Sculptures", made between 447BC and 432BC to adorn the Parthenon, stolen from Greece by Lord Elgin (given permission from the ruling Ottoman Empire), and currently housed by the British Museum—who say they are the rightful owners because Parliament said so; that a full reconstruction can't be done anyways because half of the original sculptures were destroyed (half of what survives is in Athens, the other half in England), and other museums have pieces of decor too so they're not the only ones... in my opinion (and others), they were taken from their rightful place and belong in Greece (and shouldn't be called the "Elgin Marbles", because he was the one who took them, not the one who made them!)

Chapter Forty-Two

There were very few moments of calm. The moments that could be considered calm were always isolated, single islands in the current, and they never lasted long. My life was always changing.

There was no exception—even now.

For starters, the government finally made their last move. For the FBI, key things hadn't changed; the painting was still missing, the clues were still slim to none. The investigation would keep going for as long as the Widow remained unaccounted for. Except, there was only so long they could afford to chase me, especially when it seemed fruitless. The investigation had been slowing for months. It was time to put things to rest. It was time to seal the door on one lifetime, and reach for the knob of another, even if others remained static.

"After almost five months of little progress made by the FBI, led by their fairly-new Art Crime Team, the world remains searching for answers regarding 'The Weeping Widow'. In the case of the internationally-loved painting, stolen last September and estimated to be worth over nine figures, inside sources tell us a breakthrough on prime suspect Eleanor Vaycker's finances has offered new insights."

The click of my lawyer's laptop was loud as she cut off the reporter. At its silence, someone else spoke up.

"Now that we're all caught up with the daily news, shall we begin?"

Agent Gallick's demeanor was still one I admired. One could be on the wrong side of the sword and still respect the might of the woman who swung it. She sat with an air of haughty ease across from me, walled in by her team, as I was walled in with mine.

On my side, my offensive coordinator smiled at her question. She had a coldness rivaling Gallick's; her own sharpened sword in hand. Ms. Filbright cocked her head as she put her computer away. "I'm sorry, is there another pressing matter you wish to attend to, Agent Gallick? We only hoped to illustrate a rather unfortunate point here: your office seems to have quite a 'loose lips' situation on their hands."

Don't all government offices have a hole or two? Ah, I should be careful. Don't want my tin hat to show.

"Loose lips sink ships, isn't that right?" Mr. Worton, my other lawyer, chimed in. "I'm not sure how many more ships your team can afford to sacrifice, Agent. For future reference, we'd prefer if the press didn't barrel down our intern before we've had our morning coffee."

"Yes, poor guy. Guess a Harvard degree doesn't hold much weight against a stampede, does it?" Ms. Filbright sighed. Ignoring the agents, she turned to her partner. "First the art activists, now this. A raise might be in order for the young man's troubles, Harold."

"The topic on hand," Gallick cut in, annoyance sharp in her eyes, "is your client's agreement to another questioning, and a few required points of clarification along the order of a financial probe."

I scoffed. The box of a room we sat in could be found on the east side of the judicial system's downtown office, stuffy and bland. It did little to bring my battered mind to ease. There was only so long I could sit on my hands or bite my tongue.