Chapter Twenty-One

October 18

Dordogne, France

I t was a spectacular fall morning in Dordogne. Reynard briefly glanced past the two uniformed customs officials standing in his office to admire the stunning show Mother Nature was staging on the property outside. The orchards and woods beyond were flames of red and gold. He’d always loved this estate, but as he neared the end of his life, Reynard found himself savoring these moments.

One of the men cleared his throat, regaining Reynard’s attention. “The surveillance feed was cut, so nothing inside the facility was recorded. But,” He held up a finger. “We captured the truck pulling up and the men getting out. Perhaps some information can be gained from that.”

Last night, armed mercenaries broke into the Marseilles Customs House and stole one thing .

The other official chimed in. “As usual, your purchases were stored in a secure room. The thieves gained entry by blowing the door off its hinges!”

Reynard stifled a laugh at the man’s classically French outrage at a perceived affront. In his mind, he had finished this conversation an hour ago. He knew who had stolen the painting, and he knew why. Reynard was onto the more critical stage of what to do about it.

The first man shifted on his feet and took half a step closer to the desk. “Monsieur, one thing we know. We are completely confident no customs employees were complicit in the crime. This was not, how they say, an inside job.”

Reynard put them out of their misery. “I’m sure you are correct, Gil.”

Gil blew out a relieved breath and returned to his spot beside his cohort.

The other man offered, “We can have what video we did recover forwarded to you. Perhaps your…” he hesitated. “Expertise in… Well, perhaps you will notice something.”

“That won’t be necessary. I know all I need to know.”

Reynard wheeled back from the desk and led the two customs officials to the door, where his man stood in a dark suit.

“Your response to this event has been excellent, gentleman. You can’t be expected to fend off an army. I’m relieved no one was injured.”

“Of course, sir, and rest assured, the other items in your shipment have been fast-tracked and are on their way to you now.”

“I’m grateful for your diligence.” Reynard nodded to his guard, who handed each man a thick envelope. Gil and his associate each pocketed the item without examining the contents.

“Thank you, sir. We will keep you apprised of any news from the authorities.”

“Very good. Ahmed, show them out, please.”

When the office was vacated, Reynard returned to his desk. Opening a lower drawer, he retrieved the file on the painting. It was for Clara, something to convey all she meant to him. The art hadn’t been outrageously expensive, but it was incredibly valuable—something he hoped would lead his daughter to the ultimate happiness. Perhaps she felt undeserving of life’s most precious gift. Maybe selflessness was in her DNA. Whatever the reason, Reynard wanted Clara to have something for herself. He loved her more than life, and his dying wish was that she never want.

He couldn’t give her that true joy, but he could set her on a path. That painting was the first step. And now Lucien Kite had stolen it.

What a wonderful saint of a man.

Reynard released a laugh so hearty his wheelchair rolled. That little weasel had unintentionally provided him with the perfect way to bestow his gift upon Clara. What better way to give his daughter a present than to ask her to steal it?

With a devilish grin, Reynard dialed Clara’s number.