Imperfect Forgery: (A Dark Romantic Suspense) by G.D. Madsen

Author:G.D. Madsen [Madsen, G.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-03T05:00:00+00:00

Greg returns the next morning just as a different guard unlocks my cell. As expected, Lucas did not disappoint. Although, it was an easy task, considering my legal surname was never on the bogus restraining order. As for the other charges, I could not care less of his methods, as long as they work.

Greg delivers the professor's verdict as we head outside, and for a brief moment, I wish I still had the bunk to sit on.

"Is he certain?" I ask when we get to his car.

"Boy, I have seen it with my own eyes and admired its beauty, just as I am relishing it right now, " Greg cites the professor who personally examined the canvas still stuck in our evidence storage unit.

No wonder Lava was convinced. That damn canvas is the original artwork!

"This makes no sense," I say, opening the passenger side door. "Why would the CEO report the painting stolen? His experts confirmed the canvas was a forgery. Wait..."

I glance at Greg and see the expression matching mine. Suspicion.

"I'll be damned," he finally speaks, gripping the wheel. "The police expert equally confirmed it was a fake. Beltrani's ties indeed run deep. No wonder Lava believed he would always win." Greg loosens his grip. "Nonetheless, I called the FBI as soon as the professor examined the painting, and this time, they rushed in to seize the evidence directly from the storage. The agents also asked the professor to assist them, and he agreed."

"Good. We have a rat among us. We need to find out who picked the expert to evaluate the painting, but first I want to pay one certain CEO a visit," I smirk, "and it will not be a pleasant one!"

A short drive later, ignoring Silverstone's receptionist's attempts to stop us, I kick in the double wooden door, its hinges twisting out of place as it flies open.

Before a single word escapes his mouth, my fingers wrap around his throat, and I slam him against the wall. "You better start talking! Why would you report your painting stolen when it never left your vault?"

"I have no idea what you mean." His face turns beet red, eyes darting frantically between the two of us before he settles on pleading with my friend. "Do something!"

"Sorry, what?" Greg comes closer, holding a hand to his ear. "I can't hear you. My hearing is failing me today. Did you say you were going to confess?"

"You can't do this, you're cops," Silverstone hisses now as my hands tighten around his throat.

"Not anymore." I loosen my hold anyway. Not because I would never stop being a cop, but because dead scum cannot speak. "If you don't start singing, I will demonstrate just how much I am not feeling like a cop today."

"Look, I needed the money," Silverstone rubs his neck as he speaks, his eyes focused on the floor. "The plan was simple. She said we would easily get away with it."

"Who is "she"?" Greg steps in front before I grab the bastard's neck again.

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