The knock at the door came at three in the morning.
Lex didn't look up immediately. He was seated at his desk, fingers tapping idly against the polished wood, reviewing the latest financial reports.
Who the hell was knocking at this hour?
He exhaled, standing smoothly, moving toward the door.
When he pulled it open, he arched a brow.
Evangeline Devereaux stood there.
Not alone. Three interns trailed behind her, looking equal parts exhausted and terrified, clutching notebooks and tablets as if their lives depended on it.
Evangeline, however, looked perfectly awake.
Lex leaned against the doorframe, smirking faintly. "You couldn't wait until sunrise?"
Evangeline's gaze was sharp, bright with something like exhilaration."I couldn't sleep."
Lex exhaled through his nose. "Let me guess. The shed."
She nodded once, decisive. "I need to see it."
Lex studied her for a moment, then smirked. "Jonathan's going to kill you."
Evangeline's lips twitched. "Jonathan isn't here. You are."
Lex chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright. Let's go."
The shed was massive. More like a private storage hall than something meant for forgotten pieces.
The moment Evangeline stepped inside, she stopped cold.
Her gaze locked onto a single canvas, her breath catching slightly.
Franz Kline.
Bold, black strokes over a stark white background. A piece full of raw energy, movement—the kind of painting that belonged in a major gallery, not a neglected storage unit.
Lex watched as she stepped closer, her fingers hovering just above the edge of the frame, her eyes scanning the powerful, erratic brushwork.
"This was just sitting here?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.
Lex smirked. "For years."
Evangeline turned slightly, staring at him like he had personally committed a crime against art."You let a Franz Kline collect dust?"
Lex huffed a quiet laugh. "Vivian liked it. She didn't love it."
Evangeline exhaled sharply, as if trying to process the sheer absurdity of that statement.
Then, turning back to the painting, her voice was quieter—but full of something undeniable.
"The Met needs this."
Lex exhaled through his nose, amused. "Then let's see how deep that need goes."
He turned, motioning for her to follow. The interns scrambled behind her as Lex led them further into the shed.
"The problem with art," he said lazily, "is that sometimes it's too damn big."
Evangeline shot him a sharp look. "That's not a problem. That's a statement."
Lex didn't argue. Instead, he stopped before a massive, cloth-covered frame, reaching for the edge and pulling the covering away in one smooth motion.
The interns audibly gasped.
Evangeline took a slow step forward, her lips parting slightly.
A Rothko.
Deep, bleeding reds and blacks layered over one another, the kind of piece that pulled people in—not because it was complicated, but because it was overwhelming.
Lex watched her expression shift, her fingers curling slightly at her side.
"Where has this been?" she asked, voice quieter now.
Lex smirked. "Didn't fit in the brownstone."
She turned, blinking at him like he had personally offended her. "So you just—stored it? Like a spare couch?"
Lex chuckled. "It's been well preserved."
Evangeline shook her head, eyes darting around the shed again. "What else?"
Lex gestured toward the far side of the room. "You tell me."
They moved deeper into the space, where art too large, too delicate, or simply too troublesome to display had been stored.
A de Kooning, wild and erratic, colors slashing across the canvas in deliberate chaos.
A Louise Nevelson sculpture, black lacquered wood stacked in intricate layers.
A massive Cy Twombly, nearly eight feet tall, full of sweeping, scribbled lines that looked careless—until they weren't.
Evangeline turned in slow circles, eyes wide.
Lex could see the exact moment when she stopped thinking as a curator and started thinking as a collector.
"We need to talk," she finally breathed.
Lex smirked. "We're already talking."
She turned, leveling him with a look. "No, Latham. We need to negotiate."
Lex nodded and led them out of the shed, past the darkened hallways of the estate, and down the stairs with practiced ease, the low hum of recessed lighting flickering to life as they stepped into the basement.
Evangeline and her interns followed, their movements slower, like they were stepping into something sacred.
And in a way—they were.
Rows of wooden crates, archival boxes, and rolled canvases filled the space. Some were neatly stacked, others marked with faded labels from auction houses, galleries, and private collections long forgotten.
It was more than just a storage space.
It was a vault.
Evangeline turned in slow circles, her sharp gaze sweeping over the sheer volume of it all.
Lex leaned against a crate, arms crossed. "Over sixty boxes down here. The attic has more."
She barely heard him. Her attention had already locked onto a nearby crate, her fingers tracing the bold 'VIVIAN MADDOX – PRIVATE COLLECTION ' label.
Lex smirked. "Go on. Open it."
She didn't need to be told twice.
One of the interns scrambled for a crowbar, prying open the lid with shaking hands. The scent of aged canvas and lacquered wood filled the air as the box gave way—
Revealing a de Kooning.
Evangeline exhaled, running a hand over her temple. "You have a Willem de Kooning sitting in your basement."
Lex tilted his head. "Should I have left it in the living room?"
She shot him a look, but her breath had already hitched again—because there was more.
The intern peeled back another protective layer, revealing another canvas, then another.
A Lichtenstein. A Jasper Johns. A Rauschenberg.
This wasn't just a collection.
It was a forgotten museum.
Evangeline inhaled sharply, stepping back, her mind clearly running a thousand calculations at once.
Lex watched her process it, his smirk never fading. "So, still mad I didn't invite you to the first auction?"
She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. "Latham, you have no idea what you're sitting on."
Lex arched a brow. "Oh, I do."
She met his gaze, something fierce and hungry in her expression. "Then let me make the Met's first offer."
Lex exhaled, glancing at the crates stacked around them, at the decades of history waiting to be uncovered.