“If you proceed with this gallery opening tonight,” he said, “the story will be online before the first glass of champagne is poured.”

He looked at his watch.

“You have two hours to pack your brushes,” he said.

I looked at the knot in the wood of the sculpture.

The silence in the room was thick, heavy with the smell of old secrets.

“And if I refuse?” I asked.

Daniel stepped back, his face returning to its calm, mask-like composure.

“Then I will ruin you,” he said simply. “And I will do it with the world watching.”

He turned toward the freight elevator.

Before he could reach the gate, the red light on my phone, which lay face down on the work table, began to pulse.

It wasn’t a call.

It was a text notification from an unknown number.

The screen lit up the dusty surface of the wood.

Daniel stopped, his eyes falling on the glowing screen.

The screen flickered twice and went dark.

Daniel stood by the heavy iron gate of the elevator, his hand still resting on the cold metal.