Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Because Hugo is a jealous jerk who can’t stand that I’m bigger than he is, especially after he stole my work.
But she said what she’d practiced with Adrian and Clay. “I knew Hugo many years ago. Our relationship ended badly. I believe he outed me as payback for the way things ended between us.”
Wren Gardner went on relentlessly. “But how did he know that you, Saskia Oliver, are actually San Holo?”
Saskia gave the simple answer. “He knows my style. Even though it’s changed over the past five years, there are still elements that are uniquely me. When he saw my latest piece in San Francisco and also learned that I was here, he assumed the connection.”
Wren nodded thoughtfully for her audience. “I’ve also looked at your early work, and your style has changed. But there are still things I recognize. The way you render people’s faces, for example. The way your work is very inclusive.”
“Yes,” Saskia agreed. “Hugo had a lot of time to study it. In fact, most of the pieces he claims are his works are actually mine.”
The entire television studio fell silent. Wren Gardner’s mouth dropped open in shock.
Being a professional, she recovered quickly, especially when it hit her that she had an even bigger scoop than she’d thought possible. Her voice, however, was calm. “How could Hugo Lewis claim your work?”
Saskia went on to explain, just as she’d practiced. “Like San Holo, I was painting anonymously when I first met Hugo. I called myself Lynx.”
A collective gasp rose from the audience. The Mavericks knew, but no one else had.
Saskia continued smoothly, in her element now. “It was very easy for Hugo to say all my murals were his because there was no real person’s name on them.”
Wren’s brow furrowed. She didn’t miss a trick. “But is this something you can prove?”
The four of them—she, Clay, Adrian, and Gareth—had planned this meticulously. Hugo’s payback time. “In the same way San Holo puts a hidden symbol in every work, so did Lynx.”
She looked straight into the studio audience, even though she couldn’t see past the lights. She knew where he was sitting. Sebastian had called Clay on his cell to tell him while they were in the green room. Saskia spoke directly to Hugo. “Hugo, why don’t you find the hidden symbol in each piece of art you claim is yours?”
She could feel every head turn, searching. A spotlight lit up the audience, centered right on Hugo.
Originally, they’d planned to make the challenge through the camera. But Hugo had set himself up by joining the live audience, which made it so much better. All the butterflies she’d felt flying around in her stomach simply flew away. She was in control.
“When you can’t,” she called, “I’ll be happy to show everyone myself.” She held up an envelope. “This contains photos of all the artwork I created prior to five years ago. The work I—” She tapped her chest. “—signed with the name Lynx. I’ve circled where my hidden symbol is on every piece.” She handed Wren the envelope.
The talk show host was practically foaming at the mouth. Her show’s ratings would go through the roof. Opening the envelope, she pulled out the first photograph, studied it only a moment. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a challenge here. Hugo Lewis, are you up to it?”
Hugo looked around him, red-faced, flustered, his mouth working but no words coming out.
Saskia hoped he’d scurry off like the scum he was, muttering like a madman.
But once he found his voice, Hugo stood. “I’ll meet that challenge.” People moved out of his way as he strode down the steps of the studio audience. He’d gained weight and lost hair, his face florid in the harsh lights.
Wren’s grin stretched ear to ear, showing off her brilliantly white teeth as she home in on Hugo. “Let’s choose Lynx’s most famous piece, The Merry-Go-Round.”
On the big screen behind them, the producer put up the image, which was readily available on the internet. In it, kids of all races played happily together, their hair whipping out as the merry-go-round seemed to move faster and faster in a slight blur.
For just a moment, Saskia’s stomach lurched. Was it possible Hugo had figured out her lynx symbol?
He climbed onto the soundstage, the camera following him as he stalked to the big screen. The art had no background, just dirt beneath the merry-go-round, then white space.
Hugo didn’t point out the symbol immediately. In fact, he seemed to be scanning every inch.
Wren, with a hint of sarcasm, said, “Are you having trouble finding it, Hugo?”
He didn’t turn but flapped a hand at her. “This is one of my earliest pieces, and I’m trying to remember exactly where I put the fleur-de-lis.”
He’d been so confident Saskia would never challenge him that he hadn’t bothered to look for a symbol. Maybe hadn’t even thought of it. And he was so damned linear, believing she would have used the same symbol when she became San Holo.