Chapter 3
Washington, D.C.
Smithsonian Museum of Modern Art…
Leo navigated the museum, making his way towards the escalator that would take him to the third storey. He was impatient to make up for the lost time. In the past, coming to the U.S. was as easy as filing a flight plan and making sure his passport was current. Today it was a different story. Given the increased security measures, there had been forms to fill out and approvals needed before he’d received clearance to land his private jet at Dulles National Airport. While Leo understood the need for caution in these troubling times, his impatience to resolve the issue surrounding his brother’s stock was eating at him. I want this over and done with.
He’d hired a private investigator en route to the States, providing him with the address of G. Larsen and asking the man to find out everything he could about the woman in twenty-four hours’ time. Thanks to the lack of time, the private investigator’s report wasn’t all that thorough. Leo had been promised pictures of G. Larsen, but as of yet they had not arrived.
He stepped off the escalator on the third storey of the art museum and walked towards the left gallery, reviewing what he did know about this person.
The ‘G’ stood for Gemma. She was twenty-eight years old. She worked at the Smithsonian Museum in the art restoration department and lived with a man named Damien. The private investigator hadn’t included any work history for him. Leo assumed he was a freeloader and Gemma was carrying the financial burden for them both.
She lived in a rough part of Washington D.C. The report suggested he shouldn’t venture there unescorted due to the high crime rate. The man promised more information for him tomorrow, but Leo wasn’t content to wait. He’d called the museum upon landing at Dulles and was now headed towards the gallery where he was told Gemma Larsen would be working today.
He stepped into a large exhibition room. Glancing around, he saw a group of three women gathered around a table at the far end. Several other visitors were present, including a group of school-aged children and their tour guide. The guide wore a headset and droned in a monotone about the paintings displayed on the walls and the artists who had created them.
Leo took advantage of the other people to draw nearer to the small group of museum employees unobserved. Of the three women, one of them most definitely was not his target. The older woman had graying hair and spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. No way she’s twenty-eight.
The second woman had long blonde hair, pulled up on top of her head in a neat ponytail. When she spoke, Leo cringed at her high-pitched voice. I hope she’s as young as she sounds. Maybe sixteen, seventeen possibly, but clearly still in her teens.
That left the third woman. She had her back to him. The tour group stopped in front of her and Leo mentally cursed, impatient to see what she looked like. She appeared to be very trim, possibly a little over five and a half feet tall. Her auburn hair was pulled haphazardly to the top of her head, secured with a cheap plastic hair clip. Even though the curve of her neck was delicate, her hands drew his attention.
Her long fingers moved skillfully over the area of the painting she was carefully cleaning. She moved her tiny brush in small strokes. He was amazed to see that her nails were completely unadorned. When her left hand came into view, he saw she wasn’t wearing any rings. Was I given the right information?
The report stated Gemma lived with a man named Damien. Leo had assumed that meant she was married. But if this is Gemma, and she wears no ring, is she living with a man without the benefit of marriage?
In Greece, she would be an embarrassment to her family and herself for acting in such a way. What on earth would cause Alexi to give a fortune to a woman like that?
Just then, the woman’s cell phone rang. She pulled the device from her apron and excused herself to walk a few feet away. Leo drew close enough that he could overhear her side of the conversation.
“Aimee? What’s wrong?” Leo could hear the worry in her voice, but then her husky laugh belied that assumption. “Well, I’m happy to know you’ve been thinking about me. Care to share this brainstorm with me?”
There was silence. He observed her from behind a pillar, watching as she listened intently to whomever was on the other end of the call. He could still only see the back of her body.
“Are you serious? Aimee, that’s the most hair-brained scheme I’ve ever heard of. Firstly, I can’t line dance, let alone entice men by swinging around a metal pole. Secondly, I don’t think even exotic dancers can make the kind of money I need inside of three months.”
Exotic dancing? Why does she need lots of money?
Even while Leo was trying to make sense of her conversation, she turned towards his hiding place. He barely contained his gasp of recognition. She was the same woman he’d spent the most memorable night of his life with in Paris two years ago. His eyes narrowed. This is all just a weird coincidence.
He listened a moment longer as she ended her call. “Aimee, you’re my best friend, but this really isn’t your problem. It’s mine. I’ll figure out a way to come up with the twenty grand…I will. I’ll see you later, I need to get back to work.”
Wow! Twenty thousand dollars? Leo looked at her attire and realized that in her world, that was probably a small fortune. In his, it was nothing, a pittance.
Suddenly, an idea came into his mind. If she needed twenty grand, he could write her a check right now—if she’d agree to sign a document transferring the stock certificates back to the family. She didn’t have the certificates yet, so there was a chance she didn’t even know about them. She would not be worried about such a small sum of money if she did. I can accomplish the task at hand and be home before the weekend.
He stepped out from behind the pillar as she turned to go back towards the table and softly called her name. “Gemma.”
She stopped. Her back stiffened momentarily before she turned and stared at him. Her mouth was open wide, shock evident in her eyes. She took a single step towards him, whispering brokenly, “Alexi?” Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed at his feet.
Leo surged forward to catch her. His mind raced at her reaction. She thinks I’m you, Alexi. God! I wish you were here to make sense of all of this. Who is this woman and what were you to her that she would faint at seeing you again?