Sharkbait
Inheritance

I dropped the plates I was carrying over, causing them to shatter on the floor.

“WHAT?”

“That’s not all. Look at the one next to it.” The next painting I liked a lot; it was dark, with a group of men in a wooden boat with sails, fighting the big waves tossing it around like it was nothing.

“That one I like,” I said. “Lots of action, lots of brushstrokes.”

“You should. It’s a Rembrandt; The Storm on the Sea of Galilee. It was stolen in the same heist, and is worth an estimated one hundred and fifty million dollars.”

“Fuck me,” I said.

“Holy shit,” Amy added.

“Damn,” Susan said.

I didn’t know what to do, so I picked up the broken plates and swept the floor while I thought. Susan was looking over her son’s shoulder as he checked other websites.

Finally, my stomach growled and snapped me out of my thoughts. “Let’s eat while we think about this. The paintings aren’t going to get up and walk away,” I said.

Luke moved his laptop, and we dug into the food. “We can’t possibly keep these,” Susan said.

“I wouldn’t keep stolen items,” I said. “What did the envelope have it other than a packing list?”

“A will,” Luke said as he handed it over. I read through it quickly as I ate my spicy rice noodles and squid. It was pretty simple for such a fortune. Mr. Alexander Corvinus’ estate was to be split evenly between his wife, Emily, and his brother, Maximillian. Max, of course, died in a tragic fire at his warehouse, meaning Emily would get everything.

The art and antiques in his office and home, though, were willed to one Vicki Lawrence of Coronado, California. Emily gets his fortune tax free as his spouse, while the Feds and California would bend me over and take half of my share.

I handed this to Susan and let her read it. “Will this hold up?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Luke said. “The statute of limitations on the art heist has expired. If you had stolen it, they couldn’t prosecute for it. The FBI investigation was closed out decades ago.”

I had to wonder; if these paintings were stolen goods, then how many other things in my home had been taken? “We need to come clean, and soon,” I said.

“I agree,” Susan said. “Today, we can say we didn’t know and walk away unscathed. The longer we hide them, the greater the legal exposure could be.”

We finished the food, and we all agreed on the path forward. “You need to make the calls, Vicki. The works went directly to you, and you are the listed beneficiary in the will.”

“Fine,” I said. “You should take Amy and Luke back to Hammer’s house. They don’t need to be involved in this.”

“I’m calling Alpha Stephen,” Amy said. “He needs to know. You’re not going to be able to hide this. I’ll get him to send down a few warriors to help protect you and the art.”

Susan agreed. “I’ll call Leo and Adrienne, and have them give the Council a heads up. The shit is going to hit the fan by tonight.”

“It will,” I said.

My first call was to the FBI Field Office in San Diego. “I need to report the recovery of stolen art,” I told the receptionist.

“Hold, please.” A minute later, a male agent in his twenties came on the line. He was clean-cut and athletic, just what I’d expect from the junior guy in the office. “FBI, Special Agent Powell.”

“Agent Powell, I’ve come into possession of at least two pieces of art stolen in 1990 from a museum in Boston. I’d like to turn them in.”

“If you can bring them to the field office, we’ll give you a receipt and take your statement,” he said as he sipped on a cup of coffee.

“You don’t understand. The two paintings I know of already are worth at least five hundred million dollars.” THAT was enough to get his attention; the phone dropped to the desk, and I heard him shouting for others. “Take a look.” I turned the phone so that he could see the paintings, and I explained what I’d learned.

He took my address and told me a team was on the way. I next searched for the number of the museum, eventually getting ahold of a curator.

She fainted when I told her why I was calling.

Her assistant picked up until she was able to talk again. With my address and the video evidence, they promised to retrieve the paintings as soon as they could get a flight here.

My third call was to Boston, using the number on the card she had given me in Dallas. “Vicki! I understand you received your inheritance?”

“You screwed me over, Emily! There’s stolen art in here!”

“Oh, relax, I knew about that. That’s why Alexander willed you all of the art and antiques; you’ll lose a bunch when you figure out what is hot. I hope you don’t mind making millions of dollars, taking a headache away from a grieving widow.”

“Why?”

“There’s going to be enough interest in Alexander’s death without bringing it to my doorstep. When the FBI shows up, I’ll show them his office and private rooms. Nothing but office furniture and records are left now, except for the Sharkbabe room.”

My jaw dropped. “WHAT?”

“Vicki, I had to have some reason why my late husband would gift millions of dollars in art and antiques to a teenage girl he only met twice. Your signed poster has a prominent spot on the wall in that room. Alexander covered the Sharkbabe room walls with photographs of you, and a screen shows your appearances on television on an endless loop. A recliner in the middle is the only furnishing, well, except for the small table with the lube and the tissues.”

Oh. My. God. “Why would you do this?”

“Alexander and I were having marriage problems because he was OBSESSED with you. The FBI will see that, and that explains you being in the will. It’s weird, but it works. I have to go, so good luck!”

“Thank you… I think.” I had to sit down as my head was reeling with everything going on. I wanted to dive down deep and sit there until I was out of air. I’d use the quiet to think in my happy place.

It wasn’t to be.

Sirens were coming closer as I walked towards the garage. I was a little shocked when two Coronado Police cruisers stopped in front of my house, the officers hurrying to my door. I met them on the porch. “Officers?”

“Are you Vicki Lawrence,” Officer Brooks asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“The FBI asked us to secure the scene until they could arrive,” Officer Martinez added.

“You might as well come inside then,” I said as I opened the door.

“We’ve supposed to secure the entrances to the home,” Martinez protested.

“You can do that from inside,” I said. “And don’t call me Ma’am, I start looking for my Mom.”

“I’ll stay here and wait for the FBI,” Officer Brooks said, but Martinez walked in with me.

“Can I offer you a drink? Water? Coke?”

“We’re fine, Ma’am.” Martinez moved to the patio doors, pulling up a folding chair to sit looking out.

It was a good thing that he got that chair. An hour later, twenty FBI agents were inside my home. Susan had retained a lawyer, who sat with me as I gave my statement. “You had no idea you were in the will,” the agent asked dismissively.

“I’d only met Alexander Corvinus twice. I know he was a big fan, and I think he had a crush on me, but we never even kissed. The first I knew about the will was when the semi-trailer parked in my driveway.”

He looked at the manifest I’d provided. “Where did Mr. Corvinus get the art,” he asked.

“I have no idea. I remember some of the antiques were in Alexander’s office in Boston. I’d never seen these paintings before now.”

“It’s likely that Mr. Corvinus kept these private, given how famous the stolen art is,” my lawyer said.

“When I realized the two paintings were hot, I stopped looking up the rest of the stuff and called you immediately.”

He was struggling to believe the story. “So you saw them for the first time less than two hours ago?”

“Not really. When it was delivered this morning, I did a quick check for shipping damage so I could sign the forms. I barely paid attention to what they were, though. There was so much going on.”

In the end, the rest of my week got spent in the company of the FBI, Museum staff, insurance companies, and private owners. Roughly half of the items Emily had dumped on me were stolen, with the rest not registered to any previous owners.

In the end, I didn’t want a damn thing from Alexander in my house. I contacted Sotheby’s Auction House, consigning the remaining items to auction in Los Angeles later in the year. The FBI cleared me of any wrongdoing and even gave me a commendation for recovering the art. Everything made the news, of course, and I gained a lot of goodwill with influential people.

With no criminal charges, the reward money started coming in. The thirteen recovered works from the Gardner Museum netted me twenty million dollars in reward money alone. The rest of the stolen goods gained me eight million more in reward money from insurance companies, paid out as the original owners traveled to my home to retrieve their property.

I spent hours every day with my lawyer, accountant, and investment manager as I got ready to leave for Oregon. My sudden wealth was mind-boggling for a girl who grew up in a Minnesota suburb. I had almost fifteen million in assets now, even after withholding for Federal and California taxes. I signed over million-dollar reward checks to of Amy, Luna Adrienne, and Alpha Steven to thank them for their efforts, and I donated another million dollars to my charitable foundation for shark conservation. My investment manager assured me I could live comfortably on interest income now, without having to touch my fortune. It was heady stuff for a teenager. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“What are you going to do with your newfound fortune,” Amy asked on Sunday as we packed for Oregon. Kai and the boys were soaking in the hot tub after dinner while I was in her bedroom.

“I’m going to buy a boat,” I said. “Something big enough to go open ocean and hang a shark cage from.”

“Wait until after the auction of the rest of the stuff,” Amy said with a laugh. The Sotheby's auction house estimated I'd make another ten million off the rest of the items. “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

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