We carried the portrait up the narrow, creaking stairs, one step at a time.

Marcus held the bottom corners, his leather shoes slipping slightly on the damp wood.

I took the top, my fingers gripping the carved edge of the frame.

The air in the main hallway still smelled of wet soot and chemical fire extinguishers.

We set the portrait down in the reception area, leaning it against the oak wainscoting.

“We need a restoration crew,” I said, looking at the water damage on the plaster walls.

“I will call the cleaners first thing in the morning,” Dina said.

“And the locks,” I added. “Every lock in this building needs to be changed tonight.”

Marcus nodded in agreement.

“I will arrange for a security guard to stay on site until the new systems are installed,” he said.

I walked into the executive director’s office.

Grant’s leather chair was pushed back, his desk cluttered with half-signed documents and empty paper cups.

The drawer where he kept the private ledger was still splintered open.

I picked up a silver pen with his initials engraved on the cap.