A crisp knock echoed through Elara’s small studio apartment. She froze, a paintbrush hovering over a new canvas. Kaelen’s words, sharp with accusation, still resonated in her mind. He had left hours ago. The confrontation, the admission, had drained her. Another knock, more insistent this time. She set the brush down, wiping her hands on a rag. Opening the door, she found a man standing in the hallway. He wore a neat, charcoal suit, his gaze direct and unsmiling. "Ms. Vance?" he asked. His voice was smooth, professional. "Yes?" "Mr. Davies. Sterling Insurance." He held up a laminated ID card. "Regarding the Thorne Gallery incident." Elara’s shoulders tensed. "Come in, Mr. Davies." She led him into the sparsely furnished living area. Light from the single window illuminated dust motes dancing in the air. He declined her offer of water, choosing to stand by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Davies’ eyes swept around the room. Not in a critical way, but as if assessing the space, drawing conclusions. "I understand you were quite close to Professor Thorne," he began, turning to face her. "He was my mentor," Elara confirmed, crossing her arms defensively. "And you were present at the gallery just before the fire?" "Yes. I left about an hour before it started. I was installing a piece." He pulled a small notepad from his inner jacket pocket, along with a pen. "Can you detail your movements that evening? From the moment you arrived until you left?" Elara recounted the evening, sticking to the facts. The late hours, the final adjustments to the sculpture, her hurried departure. Davies listened, occasionally scribbling a note. His expression remained neutral. "You knew the layout well, then?" he prompted. "Extremely well. I’d worked there for years. As a student, and then on my own projects." "Professor Thorne entrusted you with significant responsibilities, I gather." "He trusted my judgment. Yes." He paused, pen tapping lightly against the pad. "The fire, as you know, destroyed everything. A catastrophic loss. But also… convenient." Elara’s jaw tightened. "Convenient for whom?" "For the insurance company, it's a massive payout. For the gallery, it’s a clean slate. For Professor Thorne… well, he’s gone. But for others, perhaps it removes certain pressures. Certain… obligations." Her eyes narrowed. "What are you implying, Mr. Davies?" "Only asking questions, Ms. Vance. Standard procedure." His gaze held hers, unwavering. "Professor Thorne was known for his eccentricities. His groundbreaking, sometimes controversial, work." Memories of Kaelen's harsh words about Thorne's recklessness surfaced. Elara pushed them down. "He was a genius," she stated, her voice firm. "Indeed. And his art, priceless, some would say. Yet, not all his ventures were successful. I believe you were involved in one such… less than stellar project early in your career, under his tutelage." Elara’s breath hitched. She hadn't expected this. Not here, not now. "I had an early exhibition," she admitted, her voice tight. "It didn't… resonate with critics." "'Didn't resonate' is a gentle way to put it, Ms. Vance. My understanding is it was widely panned. A significant blow to your early aspirations. And Professor Thorne, as your mentor, was instrumental in pushing that particular body of work." Her cheeks flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with the studio’s temperature. The old wound, barely scabbed over, tore open again. "That has nothing to do with the gallery fire!" she snapped. "Perhaps not directly. But it speaks to character. To the risks Professor Thorne was willing to take. To the impact his decisions had on those around him. And to the potential for… discontent." Discontent. The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations. Was he suggesting she had a motive? That she, the protege, would destroy her mentor's legacy? "I loved Professor Thorne," Elara said, her voice strained. "I respected him." "Respect often comes with expectations, Ms. Vance. And sometimes, disappointment. A failed exhibition can be a profound disappointment. Especially when you’ve invested so much." He watched her, a calculating glint in his eyes. He wasn't just probing; he was observing her reactions, cataloging them. "Let's consider the financial aspect," Davies continued, without waiting for her reply. "Professor Thorne was wealthy, but his affairs were… complex. He invested heavily in his projects, sometimes to the detriment of liquidity." Elara shifted, uncomfortable. Kaelen had mentioned Thorne's financial overextension, his grand, risky plans. She suddenly felt a chill despite the warmth of the room. "Did he ever express concerns about money? About being unable to fund a new project? Or perhaps, being unable to sell a particularly difficult piece?" "He was an artist. Artists are always concerned about funding," Elara deflected. "But he never seemed desperate. He always found a way." "Did he discuss any particularly valuable items he owned that weren't necessarily artwork? Something perhaps, less visible?" Her mind raced, searching for an answer. Thorne had eclectic tastes, collected strange artifacts, obscure scientific instruments. But nothing that stood out as overtly valuable outside of his art. She shook her head slowly. "Not that I recall. He collected curiosities, but nothing that seemed like a hidden treasure." Davies gave a slow nod, his gaze never leaving her face. He tucked his pen and notepad back into his jacket. "One final question, Ms. Vance," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more deliberate tone. "Was there anything valuable your mentor owned, beyond the art?"

Chapter 17: The Investigator's Shadow