Chapter 12 - MY FATHER SAID IT WAS JUST INVENTORY
Victoriao Moretti arrived the next morning.
Older now.
Still incapable of requesting permission.
He walked into my foundation conference room and looked at the painting for exactly three seconds.
Then:
“Where did you get that?”
Recognition.
Immediate.
My stomach dropped.
“You know it.”
His expression closed.
“I’ve seen it.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
He sat.
“Before you were born.”
Elio stood near the window.
Silent.
I appreciated that.
This was mine first.
---
“Did Grandfather own it?”
My father shrugged.
“He owned many things.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
I stopped breathing.
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Father.”
“It was inventory.”
That word.
Inventory.
Not art.
Not family property.
Inventory.
I understood before he admitted it.
“You moved paintings through Valmare.”
Silence.
“For whom?”
“Collectors.”
“Legally?”
He looked at me.
That was answer enough.
---
Elio finally spoke.
“Victoriao.”
My father’s eyes moved to him.
“Careful.”
Elio smiled faintly.
“I was going to say the same thing.”
Old electricity.
Different era.
No guns.
No territorial war.
Just two men who had finally learned paperwork could be more dangerous.
I put my hand on the table.
“No threats.”
Both looked at me.
“Neither of you.”
Lucia would have been proud.
---
My father exhaled.
“Your grandfather moved objects.”
“Objects?”
“Paintings. Sculptures. Decorative pieces.”
“Stolen?”
“Not always.”
That phrase made me sick.
Not always.
“So sometimes.”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
There.
Truth.
---
I asked:
“Did you participate?”
“No.”
Immediate.
I believed that part.
Then:
“Did you know?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Pain arrived differently now.
Not the betrayal of Florence.
Older.
Deeper.
My father had inherited wrongdoing and chosen silence.
Again.
Different subject.
Same pattern.
---
He said:
“Janevra, this happened decades ago.”
“So?”
“Everyone involved is dead.”
“No.”
I pointed toward myself.
“I’m involved now.”
His expression tightened.
“You are going to expose your own family.”
“If the provenance proves unlawful removal, yes.”
He stared.
“Why?”
I almost laughed.
“Because this is literally what my foundation exists to address.”
“That foundation carries our name.”
“No.”
I corrected him.
“It carries mine.”
Silence.
May you like
That mattered.
---
