The spreadsheet was a mess of red annotations. Someone—likely the junior archivist, Dany—had flagged a cascading error. A 19th-century landscape by Beatrix Vion, sold to a Luxembourg collector, had been logged against the wrong inventory code. That code belonged to a smaller Marie Delvaux pastel, which itself had been marked as “sold” twice. And woven through it all, like a ghost, was a name: Dany. Not the archivist. A prior owner. A woman named Dany Moro—Pierre’s own grandmother.
Pierre Moro stared at the subject line of the email for the tenth time: The spreadsheet was a mess of red annotations
His coffee had gone cold an hour ago. The gallery’s end-of-quarter reconciliation was a nightmare of decimal points and shattered provenance. He clicked open the attachment. That code belonged to a smaller Marie Delvaux
His phone buzzed. Beatrix’s estate lawyer, curt as ever: “The Vion canvas was never meant to leave the family trust. Your ‘sale’ was based on a forged transfer document. We’re demanding restitution.” A prior owner