Page 35 of Vow Of Fire

Dante didn’t reply.

I was about to hand over the print-out when a figure at the bottom caught my eye. It looked like a deposit, but it was way too high. I frowned and leaned in to take a closer look.

“What is it?” he asked.

I shook my head. “This payment says it’s for Still Life in Monochrome, but it’s not right.”

“What do you mean it’s not right?” He was frowning too now, his gaze fixed on the printout.

“I remember that piece. It sold at auction for seventy-five thousand, but this is double what it should be.”

Dante didn’t reply. Instead, he took out his phone and started searching for something on it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Googling the painting.”

“That’s not going to help. The buyer was anonymous. They used a local broker and it was all done over the phone.”

He glanced up. “That normal?”

“Yes. International buyers operate that way—like your friend, Malakov. He uses Mikhail.”

At the Russian’s name, or maybe it was the insinuation that Malakov was his friend, Dante’s expression darkened.

“Could this be a money-laundering attempt?”

“I—I don’t know.” I’d never considered that before. “I don’t know anything about money laundering.”

He studied me as if trying to determine whether I was lying or not.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I snapped, my voice cracking. The thought that my gallery was being used for money laundering as well as shipping drugs was too much. “I’m not a criminal. That’s your area of expertise.”

“Then allow me to explain it to you.”

I went still, not sure I wanted to hear what he had to say.

“The art world is perfect for cleaning dirty money. Paintings sell for high figures, and there’s very little regulation. The price is whatever someone’s willing to pay.”

“That’s the nature of the industry,” I said stiffly.

“Exactly,” he confirmed. “So, let’s say I’ve got a million dollars that I can’t deposit without the authorities noticing. Instead, I buy a painting for that amount.” He nodded to the statement. “On paper, it looks legitimate. Then, a short time later, I ‘sell’ it for eight hundred grand to another shell company I own. I take a small loss, but that eight hundred is clean. Taxed and untraceable.”

I felt sick. “And you’re telling me this happens regularly?”

He scoffed. “Galleries, dealers, private collectors. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book.”

My breath hitched as the ugly realization dawned. “Do you do that?”

He didn’t answer right away, but that hesitation was all I needed.

“Oh my God. You’re using my gallery to launder your dirty money.”

He didn’t flinch. “We are, yes.”

The words hit me like a slap. I stared at him, the anger stirring in my belly. “How long?”

“A few years.”