The morning air was crisp as the first trucks rolled up the long driveway.
Lex stood on the front steps, arms crossed, watching as the Met's team—interns, curators, and professional art movers—descended like clockwork precision.
Every piece had been carefully cataloged, wrapped, and prepared.No mistakes. No delays.
Jonathan, clipboard in hand, oversaw the process with the exasperated authority of a man who hadn't slept enough but refused to let anyone else screw things up.
"Easy with that—Jesus, do you even know what you're holding?" He snapped at one of the movers, then let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. "I need more coffee."
Lex smirked, stepping down toward him. "Everything on schedule?"
Jonathan exhaled, gesturing at the chaos around them."Barely. But yes."
Lex watched as the scrolls, the canvases, the sculptures—all of it—were carefully loaded into temperature-controlled transport trucks.
Jonathan pointed to one of the vehicles. "Everything's going to the gallery first. We'll set up the modern pieces there for archiving before any sales go through."
Lex nodded. "And the shed?"
Jonathan huffed, glaring toward the far side of the property. "Straight to the Met. Good riddance."
Lex chuckled. "It's that bad?"
Jonathan shot him a look. "You have no idea."
Lex watched as the last of the crates were secured. His collection—finally in motion.
He exhaled slowly.
The trucks rolled out, each one carrying decades of history, the weight of three generations of art finally leaving the estate.
Lex watched in silence, hands in his pockets, as the last transport disappeared down the road.
Jonathan let out a long breath beside him. "That's done."
Lex smirked. "You sound relieved."
Jonathan let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing his temple as he flipped through the inventory sheet.
"I counted everything. 135 pieces total. Two of the boxes had 30 painting in the large box and 35 paintings in the other. And at least now—" he exhaled sharply, "it's the Met's problem."
Lex smirked. "You're really losing sleep over this."
Jonathan shot him a flat look. "Latham, do you know what was in that shed?"
Lex tilted his head, amused. "You tell me."
Jonathan stabbed a finger at the clipboard, rattling off the list.
The Shed Collection (Met Purchase - 2007 Estimation Prices)
Franz Kline (Untitled, 1954) – $5M
Willem de Kooning (Woman Study, 1960) – $8M
Cy Twombly (Roman Notes, 1970s) – $3.5M
Louise Nevelson (Assemblage, 1965) – $2M
Mark Rothko (Orange and Red, 1953) – $10M
Jean-Michel Basquiat (Untitled Skull, 1981) – $6M
Roy Lichtenstein (Brushstroke Series, 1965) – $4M
Richard Diebenkorn (Ocean Park #24, 1970) – $7M
Robert Rauschenberg (Combine Painting, 1958) – $5M
David Hockney (Poolside, 1972) – $3M
Jasper Johns (Target, 1958) – $6.5M
Ed Ruscha (Standard, 1966) – $2.5M
Jonathan flipped the page, letting out a frustrated huff. "And that was just the first half."
Lex chuckled, crossing his arms. "Go on."
The Boxed Paintings (Modern Collection - 2007 Estimation Prices)
Box 1 (30 Pieces) – Abstract & Expressionist Works
5 Helen Frankenthaler canvases ($1.5M each)
4 Joan Mitchell oil paintings ($2M each)
3 Clyfford Still works ($4M each)
6 Ad Reinhardt minimalist works ($1M each)
5 Barnett Newman studies ($2.5M each)
7 Lee Krasner paintings ($1.2M each)
Estimated Box 1 Total: $65M
Box 2 (35 Pieces) – Pop Art & Contemporary
4 Andy Warhol silk screens ($5M each)
5 Keith Haring murals ($2M each)
3 Jean-Michel Basquiat graffiti works ($4.5M each)
10 Yayoi Kusama infinity nets ($1.8M each)
6 Takashi Murakami paintings ($1.5M each)
7 Julian Schnabel mixed media works ($1M each)
Estimated Box 2 Total: $81M
Jonathan let the clipboard drop against his side, rubbing his eyes. "So, congratulations, Latham. You had about $250 million worth of art collecting dust next to a broken chair and an old toolbox."
Lex chuckled, eyes glinting. "And now it's the Met's problem."
Jonathan groaned. "You're impossible."
Lex smirked, stretching his arms lazily. "Come on, Jonathan. Think of the cataloging nightmare you just avoided."
Jonathan muttered something under his breath, shaking his head. "Just promise me—no more surprises."
Lex just smiled.No promises.
Jonathan rubbed his face tiredly, already regretting asking. "Wait."
Lex arched a brow. "Problem?"
Jonathan grimaced, flipping through his notes again."I swear I saw something else. Boxes. In the pantry."
Lex smirked. "You sure you're not just hallucinating from sleep deprivation?"
Jonathan shot him a look. "Latham, if there's even a chance that you've been storing another small fortune next to your cereal, I need to check."
Lex exhaled through his nose, amused. "Be my guest."
Jonathan turned on his heel, muttering to himself as he made his way toward the kitchen.
Lex followed at a leisurely pace, arms crossed, watching as Jonathan yanked open the pantry doors and scanned the shelves.
At first, just food. Ordinary enough.
Then—
Jonathan froze.
Lex's smirk widened. "What, did you find my secret stash of imported tea?"
Jonathan ignored him, stepping forward and dragging a dusty wooden crate into the light. The Met interns, who had barely finished loading the last truck, peeked in curiously.
Jonathan brushed off the label. His face went blank.
Then, after a moment, he let out a long, resigned sigh.
"Latham. Why the hell is there a crate labeled 'Private Collection – Not Catalog' sitting next to your spices?"
Lex blinked. Then, slowly, recognition flickered.
Oh. Right.
He'd forgotten about those.
Lex shrugged, perfectly unbothered. "Guess we should open it."
Jonathan stared at him.Hard.
Then he exhaled through his nose, bracing himself like a man who already knew he wouldn't like the answer.
"Fine. Let's open it."
Lex smirked, stepping forward to pry off the lid. The wood groaned as the nails gave way, revealing stacks of carefully wrapped canvases.
Jonathan leaned in, peeling back the protective layers—
And then froze.
Silence.
Lex watched as his expression shifted. Not exasperation. Not frustration.
Shock.
Jonathan slowly straightened, his eyes flicking up to Lex. "You've got to be kidding me."
Lex arched a brow. "That bad?"
Jonathan let out a sharp, humorless laugh."Bad? Latham, this is a goddamn Lucian Freud."
One of the Met interns nearly choked.
Lex glanced down, unimpressed. And sure enough— the thick, deliberate brushstrokes, the raw intimacy of detail—Lucian Freud, unmistakable.
Jonathan yanked back another covering.
Francis Bacon.
A self-portrait.
Jonathan ran a hand down his face. "You put a Francis Bacon next to your pasta."
Lex sighed."Technically, it was next to the good tea."
Jonathan didn't even dignify that with a response. Instead, he flipped through the rest, rattling off names like a man having an existential crisis.
Egon Schiele – Portrait of a Woman.
Gustav Klimt – Study for The Kiss.
Gerhard Richter – Abstract Work.
Jonathan let the canvas drop back into place and turned to Lex, dead-eyed.
"You hid an entire modernist collection in your pantry."
Lex smirked, crossing his arms. "Seemed like a safe place."
Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I need you to understand how much I hate you right now."
Lex chuckled. "You say that, but you love the thrill."
Jonathan gestured wildly at the box. "Do you even remember what else you've stashed away in this house? Should I check under your bed for a Picasso?"
Lex tilted his head, thinking.
"…Actually—"
Jonathan groaned."I'm going to need more coffee."