Scene 01
The Auction
FreeThe painting shouldn't be here.
You've known that since it came through the door — the provenance is clean, too clean, the kind of clean that costs money to make. You've been standing in front of it for ten minutes when someone appears at your left shoulder.
"Real," he says. Not a question.
You turn. Blonde, blue eyes, the kind of certainty that comes from either knowing everything or knowing nothing. You can't tell yet which one.
"The documentation says —"
"I know what the documentation says. I wrote half of it." He glances at you sideways. "Don't repeat that."
Something in his expression shifts — amused, assessing, already deciding something you haven't been consulted about.
"You're here alone," he says.
"Yes."
"Interesting." He looks back at the painting. "The back room has three pieces that aren't in the catalogue. Come. Unless you'd rather spend the evening with the documentation."
He starts walking without waiting for an answer.
You follow. That's already more than you planned to do tonight.
