“He used the foundation,” Adrian whispered.

“I’m sorry, Adrian,” Marcus said. “Unless you have a federal warrant, that boat has legal clearance to leave the harbor at 2:30 AM. My hands are tied.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” Adrian said.

He ended the call before Marcus could say anything else.

He tossed the phone onto the dashboard.

“Your uncle is the one who has been laundering the stolen art,” I said, the pieces finally falling into place. “Grant couldn’t have moved those pieces out of the country without diplomatic clearance. He didn’t have the connections. But Julian did.”

“And my sister,” Adrian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “She found out. That’s why she vanished.”

He turned to me, his dark eyes hollow in the shadows.

“If that boat leaves the slip, we lose the evidence,” he said. “And I lose my only chance of finding her.”

“And I lose my chance to clear my name,” I added.

For months, the art world had believed I was the one who had authenticated the forged masterworks Grant had sold.