Chapter 3
The USB showed how June became suspicious.
One clip captured a courier arriving shortly after midnight.
No company markings.
No scheduled work order.
Meredith opened the side door herself.
The courier carried a flat shipping case into the gallery hall.
Twenty minutes later, he left with another case.
June had exported the recording before it disappeared from the security archive.
Another video showed Meredith entering the home office and printing condition reports.
Afterward, the printer tray contained a discarded page.
June photographed it.
The estate inventory number matched Lydia’s second-most valuable painting.
But the description ended with:
FACSIMILE STUDY — NOT FOR RESALE
June did not know what that meant.
The estate’s art conservator did.
“A facsimile study is a reproduction.”
Caleb stared at him.
“There’s a reproduction hanging in my house?”
“Possibly.”
The authenticator came early under police-supervised conditions.
He examined the first painting.
Then the second.
Then asked everyone except law enforcement and estate counsel to step away.
Hours later, preliminary conclusion:
Two of the five works were not original.
Excellent reproductions.
Professionally produced.
Correct frames.
Artificially aged surfaces.
Enough to fool an ordinary visitor.
Not enough to fool technical examination.
Caleb’s face hardened.
“Where are the originals?”
Nobody knew yet.
Then June’s USB supplied transportation records.
A photographed shipping label listed:
Keller Heritage Logistics LLC
Authorized household property coordinator:
June Keller
June stared.
“I have never heard of that company.”
The address was a commercial mailbox twelve miles away.
The company had been registered four months earlier.
Manager:
J. Keller.
The estate attorney asked June:
“Did you form an LLC?”
“No.”
“Authorize anyone to form one?”
“No.”
“Sign art transportation documents?”
“No.”
The signature on the photographed form looked like hers.
Good enough that Caleb would have believed it.
June’s face changed.
“That came from my employment paperwork.”
“How do you know?”
“The K curls wrong. I stopped signing that way years ago. The only place that version exists is the tax form I gave this house when I was hired.”
Caleb felt another piece move into place.
Meredith had handled household administrative records after Lydia died.
Including employee files.
Then Detective Ellis asked:
“Who had access to June’s identification documents?”
Caleb answered reluctantly.
“I did.”
“Anyone else?”
He looked toward Meredith’s attorney.
“Meredith.”
The attorney objected to the implication.
Fair.
Access was not proof.
Then investigators found a fourth document on June’s USB.
A photograph she took of an open folder on Meredith’s desk after being asked to retrieve a pediatric appointment schedule.
At the time, June had focused on the shipping company name.
Now police enlarged the image.
Inside the folder was a copy of June’s driver’s license.
Her old W-9.
And a blank notarization page.
June whispered:
May you like
“She was using me.”
Nobody yet understood how far that went.
