Lex stepped out of the cab infront of the gallery. Dressed in a fitted black coat, hands in his pockets a cap over his head, blending into the afternoon crowd.
The street outside the Latham Gallery was packed—reporters, photographers, curious onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of the scandal firsthand.
Lex watched from a distance, his gaze sharp but unreadable.
A sleek podium stood at the entrance, where Dante, small-time lawyer—soon to be famous—adjusted his tie and faced the press with the confidence of a man who knew he had the upper hand.
Cameras clicked. A few murmurs rippled through the crowd as the microphones were switched on.
Dante cleared his throat. "Good afternoon. I'll keep this brief."
The chatter died instantly.
"As you all know, the federal raid at Maddox Manor was conducted following serious allegations of fraud and theft," Dante said smoothly. "However, I'd like to clarify something—this investigation did not begin overnight. It was set into motion by legal action taken by Mr. Lexington Latham himself."
A ripple of reaction. Flashbulbs erupted.
Lex's smirk was slow, hidden beneath the shadow of his coat collar.
Dante continued, completely unfazed by the growing media frenzy. "Earlier this month, Mr. Latham was made aware that over a hundred million dollars worth of artifacts—including two authenticated Picassos—were borrowed from the Latham Gallery for display at Maddox Manor… and never returned."
The press exploded. Voices overlapped, questions were hurled.
Lex exhaled through his nose, watching Dante let them stew for a moment before lifting a hand.
"Let me be very clear," Dante said, his tone cutting through the noise. "This was not an oversight. The artifacts in question were entrusted to Bernard Maddox under a formal lending agreement. The expectation was that they would be returned promptly and in their original condition."
Another round of camera flashes.
"But after multiple requests—" Dante's lips curled slightly, the closest thing to amusement Lex had ever seen from him. "—those requests were ignored. Mr.Maddox failed to acknowledge any obligation to return them. So, naturally, Mr. Latham took legal action."
Lex's smirk deepened.
The only reason any of this was happening—the raid, the scandal, the financial collapse—was because he had pressed charges weeks ago. Barnie had been too arrogant to see the wrecking ball coming straight for his empire.
Dante took a step back, nodding toward Jonathan, the gallery's lead appraiser.
Jonathan looked half-nervous, half-thrilled as he stepped up to the podium. His finely pressed suit was immaculate, his slightly dramatic gestures only adding to the theatrical weight of the moment.
"The Latham Gallery is not just an institution of wealth," Jonathan began, his voice steady but filled with an air of importance. "It is a cornerstone of New York's art world. Its collection—curated by the late Vivien Maddox and expanded by her grandson Lexington Maddox Latham—represents decades of cultural preservation."
Lex arched a brow. Nice touch, Jonathan. Play up the legacy.
"As many of you are aware, provenance is key in the art world," Jonathan continued. "We have extensive footage documenting the acquisition and verification of each stolen piece. Our records are undisputed."
Then, he delivered the killing blow.
"The Vivien Maddox Collection holds rare works from artists she personally met, including intimate, signed pieces from some of the most renowned names in history." Jonathan paused dramatically. "She sat with them. She commissioned them. She preserved their work for future generations."
The press was eating it up.
Barnie wasn't just a thief—he was a man who had stolen from his own family's legacy.
Lex watched as Dante stepped forward again, this time with a simple, sharp conclusion:
"For those questioning the legitimacy of these claims, I direct you to the Latham Gallery Catalog, which has documented proof of every piece's provenance. If you need further confirmation—" Dante smiled thinly. "—the FBI is currently handling that."
Perfect.
Lex's phone vibrated in his pocket right on time.
A single message.
Noah:Doc's done. Full edit. Sending you the private link trailer now.
Lex exhaled, slipping out of the crowd and into the gallery's private entrance. He walked through the back hallway, past towering canvases and marble busts, until he reached a quiet lounge overlooking the city.
He tapped the link.
The screen loaded up and there was.
A black-and-white photograph faded in—Vivien Maddox, poised, regal, a cigarette in one hand, her sharp eyes fixed on something just beyond the camera's lens.
The voiceover began.
"Few names in art history command the same respect as Vivien Maddox. Collector. Patron. Visionary. A woman who built an empire—only to have her legacy stolen."
Lex smirked faintly. Damn, Noah. You really went for the throat.
The next shot—grainy footage from the 1950s. Vivien shaking hands with Picasso himself. A framed sketch beside them, the very one Barnie had "borrowed" and never returned.
Lex let the video play and move to the connecting private viewing room.
He dialed Benny.
The line rang twice before Benny picked up, sounding half-asleep. "Lex, I just finished cutting the last of Rose's music videos. My brain is fried. Whatever this is, can it wait?"
"No." Lex said flatly. "Call Netflix."*
A long pause. "What?"
"I want the documentary on Vivien Maddox sold to Netflix."*
"Wait—what documentary?" Benny yawned. "Are we making those now?"
"Noah just finished it."
Benny groaned. "Lex, I haven't even had coffee yet. Give me a reason why I'm calling Netflix at seven in the morning—" A pause. "Wait. What the hell is happening?"
"Check the news."*
A beat of silence. Then the distant sound of Benny clicking away on his keyboard.
A low whistle. "Oh, damn."
Lex smirked. "Now you get it."
Benny groaned but Lex could hear the grin in his voice. "You really don't sleep, do you?"
Lex's smirk deepened. "Sleep is for people who don't own the board."
Lex had barely to order his boba tea when his phone buzzed again.
Benny C.
He answered, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me something good."*
"One million for three-year distribution rights." Benny sounded a little breathless, like he had just finished running. "Netflix wants it. High-end art scandal, Maddox name attached—it's gold for them."
Lex hummed, considering. "Not bad."
"Not bad?" Benny huffed. "Lex, this is a straight-to-global deal. Front page of their docuseries category. The algorithm is gonna eat this up."
"Mm." Lex swirled the tea in his cup. "Tell them it's a yes if they put up another million for marketing. Otherwise, they don't get exclusivity."*
A beat of silence.
"Lex." Benny sounded almost tired. "You're negotiating with Netflix now?"
"I Always negotiate, Benny." Lex smirked. "They want prestige. We want reach. A million in marketing makes sure this isn't just another buried documentary. It needs to be everywhere."
Benny let out a slow breath. "You really don't do small, huh?"
"Call them back. Get it done."
"Fine, but if I pull this off, you owe me something stronger than coffee."
"If you pull this off, Benny, you'll be famous."
Benny chuckled. "And here I thought you were the one chasing legacy."
Lex's smirk widened. "Legacies are built with the right players. Now go play your part."
Benny called back as soon as Lex finish his cup of boba tea.
"They took the deal."*
Lex smirked, setting his teacup down. "That was quick."
"They wanted it bad," Benny said, still sounding half in disbelief. "One million for rights, another million for marketing. Full global push, primetime placement on the homepage."
"Good." Lex leaned back, satisfied. "Make sure the contract's airtight. No weird clauses. No last-minute renegotiations."*