His words were like a kick to the gut. He knew my New York name, so he must have known that I’d painted the vase. This explained why it sat in such a prominent position on his desk—he was sending me a signal.
How did he discover who I was? I never did any social networking, so he couldn’t have looked me up online. Granted, there were one or two photos of me on other people’s social media accounts. One of my friends posted my photo from a party last year, with the caption, “Dee Frank, New York Artist,” but it wasn’t that easy to find. I doubted someone as famous as Alejandro would spend the time to locate it.
The other explanation was that he hired the New York investigator. Perhaps all those people checking on me were his, not Bea’s. The famous man had a bodyguard, so he probably had a security team handy, too. Either way, Alejandro knew much more than he let on. He might even know my childhood name and how much of a con artist I once was.
What would happen next? Was Udo standing on the other side of the door with his gun drawn? Were the police on their way? I hadn’t done anything illegal yet. Nothing had been sold. So perhaps there was hope. One thing was certain: I really hated this con game!
Alejandro and I stared at each other for a few seconds, this time without the longing. Instead, there was amusement in his eyes, an almost gleeful pride, like a hunter who had just bagged some big game.
I broke the stare and dropped my head. “How long have you known?” I did my best to appear only mildly curious.
“I knew who you were the moment I met you.” He picked up my vase from his desk and held it out. “I was in your gallery in New York a few weeks ago, and I bought this. I’m sure you noticed it yesterday. You weren’t in your shop that day, but I looked you up afterward and found a picture of you.” He shook his head with a grin. “Not an easy picture to find—you keep yourself pretty well hidden.” He set down the vase. “So when a beautiful and reclusive New York artist showed up at my home with a different name and a supposedly rare guitar, I had to wonder.” He shrugged. “I told Peters to declare the guitar real and tell me the truth later. And the truth is, the guitar is fake.”