Fic: The Lost Work of Marcel Lavigne
Apr. 18th, 2014 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citrinesunsetTitle: The Lost Work of Marcel Lavigne
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Mozzie, Peter.
Rating: General Audiences
Word count: 9,000
Summary: It's all Mozzie's idea: create a fake artist and take the art world by storm with "rediscovered" masterpieces. Neal reluctantly goes along with the scheme, and becomes enthralled in the process of creating an artist. But even the most carefully-constructed cons can go wrong.
Notes: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wc_reverse_bb. I claimed artwork by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
love_82, whose art post can be viewed here. Thank you to love_82 for the great art and for the encouragement while writing this fic.
The fic takes place sometime in season 2 or later. I don't think there are any spoilers.
Mozzie was opening their second bottle of Pinot Grigio, and he was responsible for drinking most of the first one.
"Think about it," he said as he twisted the corkscrew. "What makes art valuable? What makes it worthless?"
Neal took a sip from his glass. He'd long since lost sight of what Mozzie was talking about. Mozzie was a philosophical drunk, but his philosophies only made sense to himself. With a sigh, Neal said, "I don't know, Moz. Historians. Critics. Monetary value comes from the perceived historical or artistic value."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"People spend millions on art because they believe they're buying something important. It doesn't even matter if they don't know why it's important. Someone just has to tell them it is."
"Do you have a point, Moz?"
"Patience, young grasshopper." Mozzie wrested the cork from the bottle and refilled his empty glass. He took his time with it, and once his glass was filled almost to the brim, he lifted it to his nose and closed his eyes.
Neal watched and bit off the urge to tell Mozzie to get on with his point already. He knew Mozzie wouldn't be rushed.
Finally, Mozzie took a sip of his wine and said, "What if we told them a piece of art is valuable?"
"I don't follow...."
"I mean, create a painting and convince the art world that it's an original Picasso or Rodin. Or why stop there? We could create our own artist!" As he spoke, Mozzie sat up with a finger raised in the air. He tipped his glass, almost spilling the wine. "We could create an artist and convince the art world that he—or she—existed."
"Yeah, but that wouldn't make the artwork valuable. There are plenty of unknown artists. People need a reason to care."
"So, we give them one."
Despite himself, Neal was intrigued. One of the most intoxicating things about forgery was the pride of convincing people that the forgeries were real. Mozzie was suggesting a new take on that.
Even so, he was still sober enough to recognize Mozzie's idea for what it was—a game.
Ever since Neal was released from prison, he'd indulged Mozzie with regular thought experiments.
They'd always dreamt up cons together, but these days, it was a harmless way to indulge in his impulses when the FBI wasn't giving him enough outlets in the guise of undercover work. But mostly, it was a way to curb Mozzie's fears that the suits were going to turn his best friend into a Stepford Felon and brainwash the criminal instincts out of him.
So they planned cons that they would never perform. They talked each other through imaginary art heists.
But they never put these plans into motion. Not anymore.
It was for the better, Neal told himself. Though he was loath to admit it, four years in prison had made him more cautious. Or maybe it was just maturity.
But there was nothing wrong with a little indulgence. Especially when there was no risk. Neal downed his wine and listened to Mozzie's rambling with a small smile on his face.
* * *
Neal tried not to spend too much time thinking about cons he had no intention of pulling off. It just made him nostalgic about the old days, before prison.
But in the following days, Mozzie not only remembered their drunken conversation but clung to the scheme he'd dreamed up. And Neal, despite his better judgment, humored him.
He couldn't deny that it was fun.
"What period would we use?" Mozzie asked him a couple days later. "I was thinking we could do a Modern European artist. Say, 1940. It would be believable that the art was lost during the war. Or never discovered."
"I don't know, I was imagining a French Impressionist."
He liked Impressionism, and he trusted his ability to replicate the style.
"Ah, that could be a challenge," Mozzie said. "The French Impressionists were close-knit. It would take some work to convince the art world that one escaped notice for so long."
Neal shrugged. "Our artist could be a smaller player."
"Still tricky. It's a widely-studied period, and there are plenty of experts who would be happy to debunk us."
Was it really necessary for Mozzie to challenge him this much? Neal though for a moment, and had an idea. "Theo Van Gogh."
"Uh, we're supposed to be creating our own guy. Not attributing the artwork to the brother of a famous artist."
"No, I mean use him to establish our artist's identity. He was an art dealer, and he was influential at the time. We could forge a letter claiming that he'd discovered our artist and was impressed by his vision and skill."
Mozzie's eyes brightened. "But then Theo Van Gogh died, and the letter was tragically lost, ensuring that our visionary artist wouldn't get the recognition he deserved for over a century."
"Exactly," Neal said, beaming. "A credible source to validate our guy's existence and his value as an artist. It would create interest."
"I bet I can find a decent handwriting sample and some authentic paper. And if you—"
Neal's smile faded. "Wait, Moz. I'm not actually doing this."
"What do you mean you're not doing it?" Mozzie said, raising his voice. "It's genius! The greatest con we've ever come up with!"
"It's a great idea, but that's all it is. If you want to do it so bad, find another artist."
Mozzie looked surprisingly hurt by that. "There is no one else, Neal. No one that I'd trust with something this big. The whole idea was for us to do it together. Without you, there is no plan."
"I'm sorry, but it's not worth going back to prison over."
It was tough saying no to Mozzie. Not only was Moz his best friend, but he was one of few remaining links to Neal's old life. Turning him down was like saying he intended to put his old ways behind him, and he didn't know if he was ready for that just yet. It was hard to admit that he might go clean, and Mozzie's inevitable disgust at the notion would only mirror Neal's own doubt.
But as long as he was on the anklet, he intended to stay mostly on the good side of the law. The FBI gave him enough excuses to work with forgeries and stolen artwork to appease his impulses, and it wasn't worth risking everything over a bit of fun.
Mozzie continued to look disappointed before breaking out into a smile. "But it's only fraud if you profit off the paintings, right? There's nothing illegal about simply telling people you've discovered long-lost masterpieces."
Neal started to protest, but then realized that Mozzie had a point. As far as he was aware, there was nothing illegal about lying. If he didn't profit off of the fake paintings, he didn't see how he could be charged with a crime. Of course, that didn't mean Peter would approve. But what Peter didn't know about wouldn't bother him.
Still, Neal was skeptical.
"And you wouldn't have a problem with giving up the potential money?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll admit the thought of the lost opportunity pains me. But it's not about the money. So, does this mean you'll do it?"
"I'll think about it."
But when he saw the satisfied smile on Mozzie's face, he knew there was little point in arguing.
* * *
Neal was still mulling it over a few days later when Mozzie came by in the evening with a thick spiral-bound notebook.
"Here," he said, putting the notebook on the dining room table where Neal was trying to eat Indian takeout.
Neal froze, his fork in his hand. "What is it?"
"A biography for our artist. Subject to discussion and revision, of course."
Neal set down his fork and slid the notebook closer. He opened it and read from the first page.
Neal set down the notebook and looked at Mozzie. "Seriously, Moz? Aliens?"
"It could happen!"
"I'm not going to paint something inspired by aliens."
"Spoilsport," Mozzie muttered.
Neal returned to his food, not wanting it to get cold. After taking a couple bites, he said, "And how do you suggest we inform the public about Marcel Lavigne's history?"
"We can worry about that later. Right now, the biography is a reference for us. If you want to create a fake life, you have to know it."
Neal thumbed through the notebook. "There's got to be something we can do with the biography we create, though. We have to make sure our information is vague enough that no one will be able to disprove this guy's existence, but we also have to give them enough information to convince them that he's real." An idea occurred to him. "We could write some letters, supposedly written to this Lavigne guy. Reference events in his life...."
"That would add an air of legitimacy to this exercise. Not to mention, it'd be fun."
Neal nodded. "Yeah, all right. We can start composing letters. If we get some appropriate paper, I could come up with something. But if we're actually doing this, I should start painting. That's the point of all this—the artwork."
"But how can you create Lavigne's work if you don't know Lavigne? You have to really study this guy. Get into his head."
"So we'll decide on a brief biography, and then get started."
Mozzie had a point—to make their artist believable, he would have to seem like someone who might have really lived. They would need a consistent story that couldn't be picked apart by historians. Nevertheless, Neal hoped Mozzie wasn't getting too involved in this. He didn't want to spend the next year creating Lavigne. Besides, Lavigne would have to have some mystery surrounding him. They couldn't give away too much.
It occurred to him that if they did this, they would be manipulating history. Marcel Lavigne and his work might end up in a textbook.
Was that so wrong? There were plenty of mysteries and legends in history. The thought of creating one was tantalizing.
* * *
Despite Mozzie's warning, Neal started painting before the biography was complete. If the work didn't match Mozzie's vision of Lavigne, then Lavigne would just have to change.
The paintings proved to be a unique challenge. He'd never forged someone who didn't exist. He had to create something that looked period-appropriate, something that resembled existing Impressionist work without copying it.
Neal had anticipated all this. What he hadn't anticipated was how original Lavigne's work would be. Though he wouldn't admit it to Mozzie, this was partly why he decided not to wait for the completed biography. It occurred to him that this could be his only chance to have his own artwork admired by the public.
The first painting was called Woman Watching the Tide. It was a picture of a woman's back as she sat on the beach, looking out at the ocean. A book lay discarded beside her, and her dark hair trailed down her back in a messy, wind-swept braid.
It was a picture of Kate, if Kate had lived in late nineteenth-century France.
Kate had loved France. She loved Impressionism (though not as much as Neal did. Kate had always been partial to the Renaissance masters). It seemed fitting.
If Mozzie knew that Neal was inserting parts of his own life into Lavigne's paintings, he would almost certainly disapprove. It was almost like Lavigne existed to Mozzie. He was almost as real as the UFO stories and conspiracy theories that Mozzie loved.
But for Neal, making Lavigne's work his own became a new challenge that proved just as intriguing as Mozzie's original idea.
Things were quiet at the FBI, and Peter insisted on having him type up reports and help with filing. During these dull hours, Neal planned. When the weekend came, he was able to stay in and paint.
When he wasn't painting, he started working out different handwriting styles for the letters he would create. Like the painting, it was a fresh challenge. Creating a new style was different than copying someone else's.
After a few days, Mozzie came by with his latest additions to the Lavigne biography. Woman Watching the Tide was sitting on the easel, half-finished.
"What do you think?" Neal asked while Mozzie studied it. Neal was idly flipping through Mozzie's notebook. There were quite a few more pages of Lavigne's biography, now.
"It's...good. The color palette is very appropriate for the period. Though, if I didn't know better, I would think it was a Manet."
Neal frowned. "Too similar?"
"Maybe a bit."
"All right, I'll see what I can do add a more personal touch."
"What are you calling it?"
"Woman Watching the Tide."
"What if we made it personal to Lavigne? Give the girl a name?"
"What? Give our fictional artist a fictional girlfriend?" Neal studied the painting and thought. "How about Claudette?"
"Claudette Watching the Tide...I like it."
After Mozzie left, Neal reviewed the new biographical material, and worked in details of his own.
Over the next few weeks, Mozzie supplied the raw materials and Neal worked. After finishing Claudette Watching the Tide, Neal started work on the letters.
The letters couldn't be overly detailed. The chances of finding a detailed biography in a stack of aged letters were too slim, and he couldn't write anything that could be disproven.
There was another reason to keep the letters simple: since the majority of the letters were written to Lavigne, Neal had to come up with different senders, each with their own handwriting and style. It was easiest to limit it to two or three.
Taking on the persona of Lavigne's friend, the struggling writer named Raul, Neal incorporated bits of Lavigne's biography into the correspondence.
The letters had to be in French, which posed another challenge. Neal was fluent, but had to make sure the language in the letters was appropriate for the late 1800s.
The most important letter was from Theo Van Gogh. That was the one that would attract the interest of the art world. Everyone would love the story: a poor French artist discovered too late by Theo Van Gogh, art dealer and brother of one of the most famous Impressionist painters. If Lavigne was good enough for Van Gogh, he was good enough for the contemporary New York art scene.
When the letters were finished, Neal called Mozzie to come see them.
While Mozzie studied the letters with an eye loupe, Neal stood by and watched. He crossed his arms and let himself smile, confident of his success.
"Very good," Mozzie said. "Even I might not know these were forgeries. Well, not after we age them."
"Thought I'd leave that part to you."
"And," Mozzie said, jerking his head toward the easel, "we have to age Claudette. By the way, the Suit hasn't seen your painting, has he?"
"No, he hasn't been by. And I've been covering it up."
Neal looked at Claudette Watching the Tide. It was almost a shame to have to age the painting. It was like stripping away his ownership of it, and giving it fully to the fictional Lavigne. But it would only increase the painting's charm. It was an Impressionist painting. It belonged to that era, even if it was painted only recently. As much as Neal might have liked to claim ownership of it, it was worthless as a contemporary Caffrey. Nobody wanted his art, and nobody wanted a painting that was an echo of an earlier style.
But if he and Mozzie did things right, everyone would love Lavigne's work.
* * *
Neal paced back and forth. He stepped out onto the terrace, hoping the cool breeze and fresh air would calm his nerves.
He almost wished he'd gone with Mozzie. He knew he couldn't—everyone in the art world was familiar with Neal Caffrey, alleged art thief and forger. His presence wouldn't do them any favors.
He hoped Mozzie was handling the meeting all right, though. He could tell Mozzie was disappointed at having his alien abduction idea nixed, and Neal was uneasy that he might try to pull something to reinstate it.
But mostly, Neal just didn't have the patience for staying in the background. He'd always been the front man.
Finally, four hours after leaving with the paintings and letters. Mozzie returned. He was abuzz with energy and was grinning.
"How did it go?" Neal asked. "Did they buy it?"
"It was perfect! The appraiser dated the paints as being from the late eighteen-hundreds, and said that the style was consistent with the Impressionists."
"They didn't seem skeptical?"
"Well, of course there some skepticism. It wouldn't be a challenge if there wasn't. But we did it, Neal!"
Neal smiled. "It almost seems too easy."
"That's because you weren't there to watch them pore over our painting with their critical eyes. And they haven't studied our letters, yet."
"I should finish the other paintings. They'll want to see them soon."
Neal looked at the paintings Mozzie had set on the floor against the easel. There were two of them—a landscape of a glistening lake and painting of two boys fishing.
Neal frowned. "Where's Claudette Watching the Tide?"
"Oh, the authenticator at the Boyle wanted to keep it for a bit."
"And you let them?"
"Relax. They're already convinced it's the real thing. They just want to view it. We'll get it back within a few weeks."
Neal still didn't like it, but he tried to assuage his worries. If Mozzie was okay with it, then there was probably nothing to worry about.
Soon, he was distracted by the excitement of their success.
* * *
"It's a shame, you know," Mozzie said.
Neal set the paper down. "What?"
"That we won't be selling Lavigne's work."
"We already talked about this...."
"Yes, yes, I know. And I intend to stick to our agreement. But I can't help thinking about it."
"Well, I can. We convinced the public we discovered a lost artist. We did it, Moz. Now it's time to celebrate."
* * *
After a few weeks, the allure of the Marcel Lavigne con was starting to wear off.
Mozzie still seemed as enthralled as ever. But the Boyle still had Claudette Watching the Tide, and Neal was anxious to get it back. The longer the painting was exposed to expert eyes, the better the chances that someone would notice something amiss. At least the paintings couldn't be traced back to them too easily.
He was at work, with his feet up on his desk, when Peter came over, smiling.
"C'mon," Peter said, swatting at Neal's feet, "get up. We have a case."
Neal sat up, putting his feet on the floor. He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah?"
It was about time. Things had been far too boring lately.
"Someone broke into the backroom of the Boyle gallery and stole one of those Marcel Lavigne paintings."
It only took a moment for Neal to collect himself, but it felt like an eternity. Peter must have noticed his surprise. He narrowed his eyes and gave Neal a curious, slightly suspicious look.
"Neal? Everything okay?"
"Yeah, of course. Just surprised, that's all. The paintings were just discovered, what, a few weeks ago?"
"Well, they've generated some publicity, and the owner refused to sell. Apparently, someone wasn't willing to take no for an answer."
Of all the problems Neal had prepared himself for, this one had never occurred to him. He felt sick with dread, and his chest started to pound. As he got up and followed Peter into the elevator, he realized that he needed to call Mozzie immediately.
Once they were downstairs, Neal said, "Hey, I'll catch up. Just need to make a call."
"Don't take too long. We need to get down to the gallery."
Neal's phone rang as he was taking it out of his pocket. He wasn't surprised to see that it was Mozzie. Neal looked up to make sure that Peter was far enough away, and answered.
"Neal, you won't believe what happened!"
"Our painting was stolen."
"How did you know?"
"Peter and I are on our way to the gallery now. To investigate."
"Maybe I can get the Boyle to hold off on the investigation."
"No, it'll look suspicious. Besides, there's not much we can do. The gallery was broken into—they'll want to investigate. I just wanted to warn you that Peter's investigation may be heading your way soon. He'll probably want to talk to the painting's owner."
"Got it. I'll get everything ready for him."
Neal hung up and hurried to catch up with Peter. He found Peter by his car, waiting.
"Took you long enough. What was that about, anyway?"
"Just wanted to ask Mozzie if he'd heard anything."
"And has he?"
"Afraid not."
Neal was silent during the drive to the Boyle. His mind was racing. It was almost a given that Peter would ask for information about the owner of the painting. He would want to find out if there had been any suspicious activity near the owner's home, or if there had been any aggressive would-be buyers. Neal just hoped that Mozzie had a plan.
At the Boyle, they met Gerald Waters, the museum's head of security. Neal followed and listened as Waters showed them around the museum's basement, where the painting had been stored.
"What was the painting doing here?" Peter asked.
"The owner agreed to let us study it. There was talk of possibly borrowing all three Lavigne paintings for an exhibit."
"How many people would have known that you had it down here?"
"It wasn't publicized. But we didn't make much effort to hide it, either."
"So," Neal said, "if someone was looking for an opportunity to steal the painting, they could have traced it here?"
"It's possible."
"We'll want to review your security tapes," Peter said. "If it was an outsider looking for an opportunity, they would've had to case the place. Maybe they wound up on camera."
"Certainly. Anything we can do to help."
"I'd also like to speak to the painting's owner. Have you contacted them yet?"
Waters hesitated. "We have spoken to the owner, yes. He's been very adamant about remaining anonymous, however. Probably to avoid something like this...."
"I think we're past anonymity now. I would appreciate that information."
Once they returned to the car, Peter called the number the museum gave him. Neal didn't know who answered the call, but from Peter's tone, it obviously wasn't Mozzie.
When he hung up, Peter said, "The owner has agreed to meet with us. We're heading to his house now."
"Great," Neal said, wondering what—and who—would be waiting for them when they got there.
* * *
The alias Mozzie had used for this con was Elias Hanover III. The Elias Hanover III that they met wasn't Mozzie.
He was a young man in tight jeans and a black t-shirt. He greeted them at the door with an uneasy smile and let them inside the house.
Neal had never seen this house before. He wondered if Mozzie owned it. He knew Mozzie owned various properties around the city, and that he only knew about some of them.
Neal looked around as the young man led them to the living room. The house was sparsely-furnished, as though no one had lived in it for some time. The living room contained a sofa and a chair, but Neal could see a pile of white sheets haphazardly stashed under a chest of drawers against the wall. The furniture must have been covered up.
Elias invited them to sit on the sofa, and then sat across from them. He rubbed his palms on his jeans, as though he was trying to wipe away sweat.
Neal wondered where Mozzie found this guy.
"Mr. Hanover," Peter said, "I understand that the museum notified you of the theft."
"Yeah. Yeah, I got the call, uh, this morning."
"I understand you wanted to maintain your anonymity, but I thought it was important to talk to you."
"I don't know who might have taken it, if that's what you're wondering."
"We were still hoping you might have some information," Peter said. "Has anyone expressed interest in the painting recently?"
"No. Nothing like that."
"Any suspicious activity near the house?"
Elias shook his head.
Inside, Neal felt as nervous as Elias looked. He waited anxiously for the interview to end.
Couldn't Mozzie have found a better stand-in?
Finally, they left. As they walked back to the car, Peter said, "Something feels off, here."
"Oh, yeah?"
"That guy didn't strike you as strange?"
"He's a reclusive heir to a fortune. I think he's entitled to be a little strange."
"And the house. It hasn't been lived in—there was dust on the fireplace mantle, and you could see the sheets that had been over the furniture."
"He inherited the house from his mother. Maybe it hasn't been lived in for a while."
Peter murmured in response, sounding unconvinced.
That evening, Neal was about to go out and pick up something for dinner when his phone vibrated. It was Peter.
"Hey," Neal said, answering, "any new developments on the case?"
"Yeah," Peter said, his voice terse. "You could say that. Can you come over? We need to talk."
Neal frowned. This didn't sound good. "All right," he said. "Sure."
What else could he say?
He caught a cab and made his way to Brooklyn.
When he arrived at the Burkes' house, both Peter and Elizabeth wore serious expressions. Peter wasted little time in getting down to business.
"After we met with Mr. Hanover today, I went back to that house. And look who I saw."
Peter pulled out his phone, pushed a couple buttons, and handed it to Neal.
There was a picture displayed on the screen. It showed Mozzie entering the house supposedly owned by Elias Hanover III.
Taking a deep breath, Neal said, "I can explain. But we should probably sit down—it's a long story."
* * *
"This is unbelievable," Peter said.
"I know," Neal said. "You've said that three times already."
The atmosphere in the Burkes' living room was cold, bordering on frigid. And Neal felt like a kid who'd just come home with a bad report card.
"But why?" Elizabeth asked. "What was the purpose?"
"We wanted to see if it was possible. If we could create some artwork that people would believe was valuable." He looked at Peter. "In theory," he added quickly. "We weren't going to sell the paintings."
"Not yet, anyway," Peter said. His tone was acidic.
"Mozzie and I agreed we wouldn't take any money. I told him I wouldn't do it if it could land me back in prison, and we figured if we didn't take any money, it'd be safe."
Peter put his hands over his mouth and closed his eyes. Taking a long sigh, he said, "Frankly, I don't know what to call this scheme of yours. Illegal or not...this has to be the craziest, most short-sighted thing you two have done."
"I didn't think it would be a big deal."
"Of course you didn't," Peter muttered.
"Okay," Elizabeth said, "what's done is done. What happens now?"
"Well," Peter said, "I can't drop the case. And whether the painting's real or not, it was still stolen. The Boyle was broken into. As for whether creating the painting in the first place was a crime, I think Mozzie's right. But—" he looked at Neal "—the Department of Corrections wouldn't exactly approve of a felon on work-release conning people with fake paintings. If they take it seriously enough, you could lose your deal. If you're lucky, they won't find out."
Neal hadn't considered that, and he realized Peter was right—he could end up back behind bars for this. Still, there was a ray of hope.
"You're not going report this?" Neal asked.
"The case is the robbery. Not the painting's origins. But when we find the painting, it's going to have to be authenticated."
Neal understood what Peter was saying—an FBI authenticator might be able to tell that the painting was created more recently than claimed. Still, there was hope. "The Bureau won't have access to any experts on Lavigne's work, so they'll have to rely on the authenticator who appraised the painting." He hesitated a moment and added, "Besides, if the Bureau does need a second opinion, I have authenticated pieces before...."
Peter frowned. "Yeah, that's partly what I'm afraid of. I can't allow you to submit a false report."
He figured Peter might see it that way.
Peter's expression softened. "We'll figure something out. Right now, I think we need to have a talk with Mozzie."
* * *
As they drove to Neal's place, Peter asked, "How does it feel?"
"What?"
"Being the victim of an art theft, for once."
He shrugged. "Well, the painting isn't really valuable, so...."
"Yeah, but you made it. Put time into it. If it was my work, I'd be pretty annoyed. I just think it's funny—Neal Caffrey, infamous art thief, the victim of a robbery."
Neal gave him a sidelong glance. "Alleged art thief. And yeah, I get it."
At least Peter didn't seem too angry anymore. That was an improvement. But if he was going to be self-righteous and paternal instead, Neal wasn't sure if it was a worthwhile trade-off.
It was strange, though. He had to give Peter that. He'd never given much thought to what it would be like to learn your painting had been taken.
But if Peter expected him to have an epiphany, he was going to be disappointed. Neal couldn't help but sympathize with the mystery thief somewhat. He may not have been used to being in the victim's shoes, but he could imagine all too well what it would be like to go through the trouble of stealing something only to find out that it was a forgery.
And he knew it wasn't personal. It was annoying, but not personal. He liked to think he wouldn't steal someone's inheritance from their recently-passed mother, but otherwise, he might have stolen the painting, himself. He didn't exactly have the moral high ground.
He'd called Mozzie and asked him to meet them. When Neal and Peter arrived at the apartment, Mozzie was already there, sitting at the dining room table. He was nursing a glass of wine, and the bottle was close at hand.
Mozzie looked at Peter. "Hello, Suit."
"Mozzie. Neal told me about the little scheme you two cooked up."
"For the record, this was all my idea. But we didn't do anything wrong. If the painting hadn't been stolen, everything would have been fine!" He threw his hands in the air.
"I think that's debatable," Peter said.
Neal sat down across from Mozzie, and Peter took a seat in between them, at the head of the table.
"Well," Neal said, "it was stolen. And we need to find it."
"What do you think I've been doing all day?" Mozzie said.
"Any ideas?" Peter asked.
Mozzie sighed. "Not yet."
Peter studied Mozzie, narrowing his eyes. "By the way, the Elias Hanover III I met—who was he?"
"Oh, just one of my many contacts," Mozzie said. "Guy owed me a favor. But as one of the true owners, don't expect me to make any statements."
"I think we'll all be better off if you don't. But let me make something clear: I need cooperation on this. From both of you. The theft isn't your fault, but the fact that the painting exists is."
Thankfully, Peter didn't stick around long to lecture them on their stupidity. When Peter left, Neal finally felt free to say something that had occurred to him.
"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if we didn't find the painting," Neal said. "If it's never found, it can't be authenticated. And whoever has it will probably keep it locked up."
He knew Peter wouldn't be crazy about that, but even he would find it easier in the long run. Neal was sure of it.
But Mozzie looked aghast. "So we just let the thieves get away with it? Neal, our hard work was taken right out from under us! We have to get it back!"
"And do you have any idea where the painting is?"
Mozzie downed the last of his wine and refilled his glass. "Not exactly, but I do have some leads that I didn't want to share while the Suit was here."
"What kind of leads?"
"For one thing, Alex is in town."
That was unexpected. "You think Alex stole our painting?"
"I think it's a possibility."
Neal wasn't sure if he liked that thought or not. He knew how to talk to Alex, and how to tell when she was hiding something from him. He was certain that if she knew anything about the painting, she could lead him to it. On the other hand, if she had stolen it, Neal wasn't looking forward to letting her know it was a fake.
* * *
Mozzie somehow managed to contact Alex, and they went to meet her the next day.
Sitting on a park bench beside Mozzie, Neal fought the urge to look at his watch.
"What if she doesn't show up?" Mozzie said. His words and tone mirrored Neal's own anxiety, but Neal was careful not to show it.
"Relax. She'll be here. She'll be too curious about what we want."
Neal hoped he sounded more confident than he was.
After a couple minutes of silence, Mozzie said, "We didn't do anything wrong, you know. The Suit's intimidation is lacking in teeth."
"It's not just Peter we need to worry about. It's whoever else sees our painting when it's recovered."
After another five minutes, Neal saw Alex approaching from the park's east entrance. Her face was partly shaded by a wide-brimmed black hat and a pair of sunglasses, but he recognized her gait as she approached.
Neal and Mozzie stood when Alex reached them. Without taking off her sunglasses, Alex turned to Neal and said, "So, what is this about?"
"A painting was stolen from the Boyle last night."
"I heard about that. It was that piece they discovered by the long-lost Impressionist. What about it?"
"We need to know what happened to it," Mozzie said.
"And you think I know?"
"The possibility crossed our mind," Neal said. "You came into town, the painting disappeared...."
Alex smiled. "I didn't take it, if that's what you're wondering. And even if I did, why would I tell you about it? The last time I checked, FBI informants don't earn enough to buy stolen artwork."
Neal looked at Mozzie, searching for either forgiveness or permission for what he was about to admit.
"We need that painting," Neal said. "It belongs to us."
Alex raised her eyebrows over the brims of her sunglasses. "You own the painting?" she said, not hiding her skepticism.
"Marcel Lavigne doesn't actually exist. Mozzie and I created him."
Alex turned and bit her lip. Shaking her head, she began to laugh. "Wow, so you're upset that your forgery got stolen. You're lucky I don't have the painting. If I did, and you told me this—"
"Do you have any idea where it is, or not?" Neal said tersely.
Still smiling, Alex said, "Okay, I might have heard that a guy named Travis Finch stole it. He's been looking for a fence. I didn't bite because I have better things lined up. Now I'm glad I didn't. If I got sucked into your little con, I wouldn't be so willing to help."
Being chided by both Peter and Alex was a sign of how bad things had gotten. Mozzie was still on his side, but that was a cold comfort right now. This was the last time he was going to let Moz talk him into a ridiculous scheme.
"Do you know how to contact this guy?" Neal asked.
"Give me a few hours. I can get you his number."
They thanked Alex and took their leave. As he and Mozzie left the park, Neal mulled over what they knew. They had a lead, now, but that didn't solve much.
"I'm going to have to let Peter know about Finch," he said.
"Uh, the last thing we need is the Suit getting in the way. Couldn't you wait until we do our own investigation?"
"If Finch is looking for a fence, we might not have a lot of time. And if I don't keep Peter updated, he'll know something is up." Neal thought for a moment. "I'll work with Peter, but it'll take some time for him to investigate Finch and get a warrant. In the meantime, you can look into him."
"Oh," Mozzie said, flailing his hands, "so I have to do all the hard work."
"This was all your plan. Now come on, let's just find our painting."
* * *
After parting from Mozzie, Neal went to see Peter. It was still early in the afternoon, and Peter was in his office, signing forms. Normally, Neal would have been at work, as well, but Peter had given him some time to follow up on leads.
Peter listened as Neal told him about Finch.
"How did you find out about this guy?" Peter asked.
"A reliable street contact may have heard he's trying to fence the Lavigne painting."
Peter nodded. "All right. I'll have Diana run this guy and see if anything helpful comes up."
Neal went to his desk and tried to get some work done. There was always busy work to do, stuff that was better suited for probies, and Neal knew that doing it was one of the best forms of penance in Peter's eyes.
A few hours later, Peter called everyone into the boardroom. As Neal took his seat, he saw a man's mug shot displayed on the screen.
Once everyone was seated, Peter said, "This is Travis Finch. He's got a record—served a year in 2005 after he was caught trying to break into a museum. Word on the street is that he's claiming to have the stolen Lavigne painting, and is looking for a buyer. We also know that he has a storage unit here in Manhattan, but we don't have enough for a warrant. We need to get Finch to admit on tape that he has the painting."
"I can go undercover as a buyer," Neal said.
Peter nodded. "That's the plan. We'll need to decide on a location for the meet, and then you can contact him." Addressing the room, he said, "All right, let's get to work on this. Jones, get a surveillance team ready. We'll have to be ready to move as soon as Neal is able to set up a meeting."
The agents at the table stood and began to filter out of the room. Neal stood to follow, but Peter placed a hand on his arm.
Peter waited until they were alone to speak. "When you meet with Finch, stick to the program, okay? I don't want you to jeopardize this operation."
Neal blinked. "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, don't play dumb. You know exactly what I mean. If you weren't the best person to do this, I'd pull you off the case. I'm putting some trust in you, here."
"I wasn't planning on ruining the operation. But you have to admit it'd be easier if the painting wasn't found."
"Easier for you."
"And Travis Finch. Do you really think he deserves to go down for stealing a fake painting?"
"He broke into the Boyle, stole a painting, and is trying to sell it. That's real enough. Besides, you're assuming we won't be able to tell it's a fake when we get it. I'm not going to go out of my way to reveal what you and Mozzie did. I don't think it needs to be in my report. But I'm not going to conceal the evidence, either."
Neal couldn't entirely blame Peter for his willingness to let the truth come out.
"I understand," Neal said softly. "Listen, if it does come out, is there a chance I can keep my deal? I know none of this is exactly legitimate, but I'm also pretty sure that I didn't break any laws. I'll type up reports. I'll work in the van. I'll be a model CI for a while. But going back to prison seems excessive and—"
"If it comes down to that, I'll put in a good word for you."
Peter gave him a reassuring smile, and any anger over the situation appeared to have simmered off. At least there was that. Neal didn't know what would happen after they caught Finch, but at least he believed things would be all right with Peter.
Neal turned to leave the boardroom. As he pushed open the door, Peter said, "Oh, and I won't forget your promise about working in the van."
* * *
Getting a meeting with Finch was easy, and the following afternoon, Neal was sitting at an outdoor café nursing a glass of red wine while he waited for him to show up.
The van was parked down the block, with Peter, Jones, and a couple other agents inside. Diana was somewhere inside the café. Neal was wearing a watch that transmitted audio back to the van, and as soon as Finch admitted to having the painting, Neal would give the signal for them to make the arrest.
Neal wasn't sure if he should blame himself for the predicament Finch was about to find himself in. When creating Lavigne, he certainly hadn't thought it would come to this. But he couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty. Finch had stolen from him. Perhaps it made him a hypocrite, but Neal wanted his painting back.
Whether it was worth losing his freedom over it was another matter. Neal still wasn't sure what he'd do when they recovered the painting. Still, there was a decent chance that the FBI wouldn't realize that it wasn't as old as claimed. It was a good forgery, perhaps one of his best.
Finch showed up at the appointed time. Neal recognized him from his mug shot—a tall man with shaggy brown hair and thick eyebrows.
Neal lifted his chin in acknowledgement, and Finch took a seat across from him.
"Nick Halden?" Finch asked.
"You must be Travis Finch."
"I understand you're interested in a piece of artwork I recently acquired."
"I am," Neal said, brightly. "I'm a collector of French Impressionist works, and I was very disappointed to learn that the Marcel Lavigne paintings wouldn't be put up at auction. Needless to say, I'm happy for this opportunity."
Finch looked around them. "I'd rather not discuss it too much in public. But if you think you can make me a good offer, I'm sure we can work together."
"Of course, I'd like to see the painting before I make you an offer."
"That won't be a problem."
Neal smiled. "Then I think we have a deal." He lifted his wine glass in a toast. His heart beat faster as he waited for Peter to respond to the signal.
"You know," Finch said, "if you like the Impressionists, I may have some other pieces that will interest you."
Before Neal could ask for elaboration, Peter and the others closed in. Spotting Peter and Jones, Finch stood up and turned to flee, but Diana was already behind him, ready to block his exit.
"Travis Finch," Peter said, "you're under arrest for attempting to sell stolen goods."
Finch glared at Neal. "You bastard!"
Neal just shrugged and smiled.
As Jones and Diana led Finch away, Peter lingered behind with Neal.
"So, do we have enough for a warrant?"
"Yeah, we'll be checking out Finch's storage unit by the end of the day."
"You know, before you guys came on the scene, he suggested he had some other pieces to sell, too. He might have more in that storage unit than just the Lavigne painting."
"I guess we'll find out."
* * *
It didn't take long to get a warrant. Neal rode along with Peter to Finch's storage unit. His stomach felt like it was in a vise. He still wasn't sure what he would do when they had the painting. What if Hughes wanted him to help authenticate it? He would have to lie, and Peter would know that he'd lied. The only thing Neal couldn't handle was the prospect of Peter being disappointed in him.
But Neal wondered if Peter realized what was truly at stake. Mozzie didn't seem to. When it came down to it, it didn't matter much if what they'd done was illegal. Sure, he wouldn't get extra time, but the FBI and the DOJ could still revoke his deal on the grounds that tricking people with fake artwork was inappropriate behavior for a convicted forger.
He wished he'd never gone along with Mozzie's plan. Or at least that he'd insisted on keeping the paintings in their possession.
Jones, Diana, and a team of agents were already at the storage unit, searching and cataloguing the contents.
As they stepped into the unit, Diana came over. She was wearing latex gloves.
"Hey, boss." she said. "We haven't found anything that matches the description of the stolen painting. However, we think we found a couple paintings that were stolen from the Met last year. A Monet and a Cezanne."
"I guess Finch was serious when he said he had other Impressionist works," Neal said. He looked at Peter and saw a familiar triumphant smile.
"Good job," Peter said. "Keep looking. Make sure you don't leave anything unchecked."
By the end of the day, the team had also uncovered several east-Asian antiquities and a bag full of cash.
The only thing they didn't find was Claudette Watching the Tide.
Surprisingly, no one seemed overly concerned about that. Apparently, a Monet and a Van Gogh were more important than an obscure piece by an artist no one had even heard of until a few weeks prior.
Later, back at the office, Neal asked Peter what was going to happen.
"Now that Finch knows we didn't find the painting in the storage unit," Peter said, "he's denying that he ever had it. Unless we get a new lead, we may not have enough for a conviction." He paused. "To be honest, I think as far as the Bureau is concerned, the stuff we recovered today will be enough of a win against Finch."
Peter sounded a little disappointed. Neal couldn't blame him—Peter cared about closure. He hated to leave a case unsolved, and Neal knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that determination. It must have been eating at Peter, knowing that there was a loose end.
"Then again," Peter said, "it's like you said earlier—it does make things easier." He narrowed his eyes. "In fact, you could say it's convenient."
"Are you suggesting I had something to do with the painting not being there?"
"I don't know, did you?"
"C'mon, Peter, I've barely left your side all day. Besides, are you forgetting something? That storage unit is outside my radius. I couldn't have gone there."
"Maybe you had some help from Elias Hanover III," Peter said dryly. "Listen, the painting rightfully belongs to you. I'm not going to worry a whole lot about what happened to it."
Neal sighed. "Thanks, but I'm being honest—I have no idea what happened to the painting. Maybe Finch had it somewhere else."
Peter shrugged. "All right, fine. I believe you. Look, why don't you go home? Get some rest?"
"Thanks, I think I will. I haven't slept well the past couple nights."
"Good. Maybe you'll think twice before doing something like this again."
Neal fought the urge to roll his eyes. The last thing he wanted was more lecturing.
"'Night. I'll see you tomorrow."
* * *
Neal was exhausted when he got home. He walked straight to the kitchen, and was about to get himself a drink of water when he noticed the painting out of the corner of his eye.
Turning, he looked at the easel. In place of the half-finished sketch that had been there that morning was Claudette Watching the Tide.
Neal was still staring at it a moment later, when Mozzie stepped in from the terrace, holding a glass of wine.
"You got it back," Neal said. "How?"
"I may have found my way into Finch's storage unit before the suits did. By the way, he had quite the collection. I was surprised."
"I'm sure it was hard for you to leave without the Monet."
"I may have taken a Monet. It seemed fair, since he took something from us."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you mean he had two Monets in there?"
"I should have taken both of them. But I figured I should leave something for our friends in Brooks Brothers to find."
"It's good you did. The FBI is so happy to recover the Monet and the Cezanne that I don't think they care about Claudette Watching the Tide anymore."
Mozzie sighed. "I suppose Marcel Lavigne isn't destined to join the same rank as the great masters."
"I think he's going to have to go back into obscurity. And Claudette here is going to have to go into exile."
It would be a shame to have to hide the painting away. Neal considered destroying it to be safe, but for now he wanted to enjoy the fruit of his labor one last time.
"Elias Hanover III will have to become even more reclusive," Mozzie said. "After the theft of his treasured painting, the only option for him is to become a paranoid misanthrope who refuses to show the remaining paintings or talk to the press."
Neal noticed that Mozzie had put a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a clean glass on the table. Neal poured himself some wine and lifted his glass.
"Here's to Marcel Lavigne, and to lost artwork."
"To forgotten genius."
They clicked their glasses together, and drank.
* * *
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal, Mozzie, Peter.
Rating: General Audiences
Word count: 9,000
Summary: It's all Mozzie's idea: create a fake artist and take the art world by storm with "rediscovered" masterpieces. Neal reluctantly goes along with the scheme, and becomes enthralled in the process of creating an artist. But even the most carefully-constructed cons can go wrong.
Notes: This was written for
wc_reverse_bb. I claimed artwork by love_82, whose art post can be viewed here. Thank you to love_82 for the great art and for the encouragement while writing this fic.The fic takes place sometime in season 2 or later. I don't think there are any spoilers.
Mozzie was opening their second bottle of Pinot Grigio, and he was responsible for drinking most of the first one.
"Think about it," he said as he twisted the corkscrew. "What makes art valuable? What makes it worthless?"
Neal took a sip from his glass. He'd long since lost sight of what Mozzie was talking about. Mozzie was a philosophical drunk, but his philosophies only made sense to himself. With a sigh, Neal said, "I don't know, Moz. Historians. Critics. Monetary value comes from the perceived historical or artistic value."
"Exactly."
"What?"
"People spend millions on art because they believe they're buying something important. It doesn't even matter if they don't know why it's important. Someone just has to tell them it is."
"Do you have a point, Moz?"
"Patience, young grasshopper." Mozzie wrested the cork from the bottle and refilled his empty glass. He took his time with it, and once his glass was filled almost to the brim, he lifted it to his nose and closed his eyes.
Neal watched and bit off the urge to tell Mozzie to get on with his point already. He knew Mozzie wouldn't be rushed.
Finally, Mozzie took a sip of his wine and said, "What if we told them a piece of art is valuable?"
"I don't follow...."
"I mean, create a painting and convince the art world that it's an original Picasso or Rodin. Or why stop there? We could create our own artist!" As he spoke, Mozzie sat up with a finger raised in the air. He tipped his glass, almost spilling the wine. "We could create an artist and convince the art world that he—or she—existed."
"Yeah, but that wouldn't make the artwork valuable. There are plenty of unknown artists. People need a reason to care."
"So, we give them one."
Despite himself, Neal was intrigued. One of the most intoxicating things about forgery was the pride of convincing people that the forgeries were real. Mozzie was suggesting a new take on that.
Even so, he was still sober enough to recognize Mozzie's idea for what it was—a game.
Ever since Neal was released from prison, he'd indulged Mozzie with regular thought experiments.
They'd always dreamt up cons together, but these days, it was a harmless way to indulge in his impulses when the FBI wasn't giving him enough outlets in the guise of undercover work. But mostly, it was a way to curb Mozzie's fears that the suits were going to turn his best friend into a Stepford Felon and brainwash the criminal instincts out of him.
So they planned cons that they would never perform. They talked each other through imaginary art heists.
But they never put these plans into motion. Not anymore.
It was for the better, Neal told himself. Though he was loath to admit it, four years in prison had made him more cautious. Or maybe it was just maturity.
But there was nothing wrong with a little indulgence. Especially when there was no risk. Neal downed his wine and listened to Mozzie's rambling with a small smile on his face.
Neal tried not to spend too much time thinking about cons he had no intention of pulling off. It just made him nostalgic about the old days, before prison.
But in the following days, Mozzie not only remembered their drunken conversation but clung to the scheme he'd dreamed up. And Neal, despite his better judgment, humored him.
He couldn't deny that it was fun.
"What period would we use?" Mozzie asked him a couple days later. "I was thinking we could do a Modern European artist. Say, 1940. It would be believable that the art was lost during the war. Or never discovered."
"I don't know, I was imagining a French Impressionist."
He liked Impressionism, and he trusted his ability to replicate the style.
"Ah, that could be a challenge," Mozzie said. "The French Impressionists were close-knit. It would take some work to convince the art world that one escaped notice for so long."
Neal shrugged. "Our artist could be a smaller player."
"Still tricky. It's a widely-studied period, and there are plenty of experts who would be happy to debunk us."
Was it really necessary for Mozzie to challenge him this much? Neal though for a moment, and had an idea. "Theo Van Gogh."
"Uh, we're supposed to be creating our own guy. Not attributing the artwork to the brother of a famous artist."
"No, I mean use him to establish our artist's identity. He was an art dealer, and he was influential at the time. We could forge a letter claiming that he'd discovered our artist and was impressed by his vision and skill."
Mozzie's eyes brightened. "But then Theo Van Gogh died, and the letter was tragically lost, ensuring that our visionary artist wouldn't get the recognition he deserved for over a century."
"Exactly," Neal said, beaming. "A credible source to validate our guy's existence and his value as an artist. It would create interest."
"I bet I can find a decent handwriting sample and some authentic paper. And if you—"
Neal's smile faded. "Wait, Moz. I'm not actually doing this."
"What do you mean you're not doing it?" Mozzie said, raising his voice. "It's genius! The greatest con we've ever come up with!"
"It's a great idea, but that's all it is. If you want to do it so bad, find another artist."
Mozzie looked surprisingly hurt by that. "There is no one else, Neal. No one that I'd trust with something this big. The whole idea was for us to do it together. Without you, there is no plan."
"I'm sorry, but it's not worth going back to prison over."
It was tough saying no to Mozzie. Not only was Moz his best friend, but he was one of few remaining links to Neal's old life. Turning him down was like saying he intended to put his old ways behind him, and he didn't know if he was ready for that just yet. It was hard to admit that he might go clean, and Mozzie's inevitable disgust at the notion would only mirror Neal's own doubt.
But as long as he was on the anklet, he intended to stay mostly on the good side of the law. The FBI gave him enough excuses to work with forgeries and stolen artwork to appease his impulses, and it wasn't worth risking everything over a bit of fun.
Mozzie continued to look disappointed before breaking out into a smile. "But it's only fraud if you profit off the paintings, right? There's nothing illegal about simply telling people you've discovered long-lost masterpieces."
Neal started to protest, but then realized that Mozzie had a point. As far as he was aware, there was nothing illegal about lying. If he didn't profit off of the fake paintings, he didn't see how he could be charged with a crime. Of course, that didn't mean Peter would approve. But what Peter didn't know about wouldn't bother him.
Still, Neal was skeptical.
"And you wouldn't have a problem with giving up the potential money?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll admit the thought of the lost opportunity pains me. But it's not about the money. So, does this mean you'll do it?"
"I'll think about it."
But when he saw the satisfied smile on Mozzie's face, he knew there was little point in arguing.
Neal was still mulling it over a few days later when Mozzie came by in the evening with a thick spiral-bound notebook.
"Here," he said, putting the notebook on the dining room table where Neal was trying to eat Indian takeout.
Neal froze, his fork in his hand. "What is it?"
"A biography for our artist. Subject to discussion and revision, of course."
Neal set down his fork and slid the notebook closer. He opened it and read from the first page.
The Life of Marcel Lavigne
Marcel Lavigne was born in 1858, in Paris, France. His mother was a prostitute who died when Marcel was fifteen, leaving him to fend for himself.
Marcel took naturally to art, but lacked the education or materials to make a name for himself. By day, he worked in a bakery. But night, he fought fatigue and hunger to work on his art.
But one night, when he was twenty-two, he was awoken by a bright light outside his bedroom window, beckoning him. He never remembered exactly what happened in the seven hours that followed, but the extraterrestrial visitors imbued him with inspiration that led him to create artwork such as had never been seen before.
Neal set down the notebook and looked at Mozzie. "Seriously, Moz? Aliens?"
"It could happen!"
"I'm not going to paint something inspired by aliens."
"Spoilsport," Mozzie muttered.
Neal returned to his food, not wanting it to get cold. After taking a couple bites, he said, "And how do you suggest we inform the public about Marcel Lavigne's history?"
"We can worry about that later. Right now, the biography is a reference for us. If you want to create a fake life, you have to know it."
Neal thumbed through the notebook. "There's got to be something we can do with the biography we create, though. We have to make sure our information is vague enough that no one will be able to disprove this guy's existence, but we also have to give them enough information to convince them that he's real." An idea occurred to him. "We could write some letters, supposedly written to this Lavigne guy. Reference events in his life...."
"That would add an air of legitimacy to this exercise. Not to mention, it'd be fun."
Neal nodded. "Yeah, all right. We can start composing letters. If we get some appropriate paper, I could come up with something. But if we're actually doing this, I should start painting. That's the point of all this—the artwork."
"But how can you create Lavigne's work if you don't know Lavigne? You have to really study this guy. Get into his head."
"So we'll decide on a brief biography, and then get started."
Mozzie had a point—to make their artist believable, he would have to seem like someone who might have really lived. They would need a consistent story that couldn't be picked apart by historians. Nevertheless, Neal hoped Mozzie wasn't getting too involved in this. He didn't want to spend the next year creating Lavigne. Besides, Lavigne would have to have some mystery surrounding him. They couldn't give away too much.
It occurred to him that if they did this, they would be manipulating history. Marcel Lavigne and his work might end up in a textbook.
Was that so wrong? There were plenty of mysteries and legends in history. The thought of creating one was tantalizing.
Despite Mozzie's warning, Neal started painting before the biography was complete. If the work didn't match Mozzie's vision of Lavigne, then Lavigne would just have to change.
The paintings proved to be a unique challenge. He'd never forged someone who didn't exist. He had to create something that looked period-appropriate, something that resembled existing Impressionist work without copying it.
Neal had anticipated all this. What he hadn't anticipated was how original Lavigne's work would be. Though he wouldn't admit it to Mozzie, this was partly why he decided not to wait for the completed biography. It occurred to him that this could be his only chance to have his own artwork admired by the public.
The first painting was called Woman Watching the Tide. It was a picture of a woman's back as she sat on the beach, looking out at the ocean. A book lay discarded beside her, and her dark hair trailed down her back in a messy, wind-swept braid.
It was a picture of Kate, if Kate had lived in late nineteenth-century France.
Kate had loved France. She loved Impressionism (though not as much as Neal did. Kate had always been partial to the Renaissance masters). It seemed fitting.
If Mozzie knew that Neal was inserting parts of his own life into Lavigne's paintings, he would almost certainly disapprove. It was almost like Lavigne existed to Mozzie. He was almost as real as the UFO stories and conspiracy theories that Mozzie loved.
But for Neal, making Lavigne's work his own became a new challenge that proved just as intriguing as Mozzie's original idea.
Things were quiet at the FBI, and Peter insisted on having him type up reports and help with filing. During these dull hours, Neal planned. When the weekend came, he was able to stay in and paint.
When he wasn't painting, he started working out different handwriting styles for the letters he would create. Like the painting, it was a fresh challenge. Creating a new style was different than copying someone else's.
After a few days, Mozzie came by with his latest additions to the Lavigne biography. Woman Watching the Tide was sitting on the easel, half-finished.
"What do you think?" Neal asked while Mozzie studied it. Neal was idly flipping through Mozzie's notebook. There were quite a few more pages of Lavigne's biography, now.
"It's...good. The color palette is very appropriate for the period. Though, if I didn't know better, I would think it was a Manet."
Neal frowned. "Too similar?"
"Maybe a bit."
"All right, I'll see what I can do add a more personal touch."
"What are you calling it?"
"Woman Watching the Tide."
"What if we made it personal to Lavigne? Give the girl a name?"
"What? Give our fictional artist a fictional girlfriend?" Neal studied the painting and thought. "How about Claudette?"
"Claudette Watching the Tide...I like it."
After Mozzie left, Neal reviewed the new biographical material, and worked in details of his own.
At the age of twenty-two, Lavigne met a woman named Claudette, whose last name is unknown. She was an artist's model who agreed to model for him despite the low pay he offered. They were married the following year, but struggled on the brink of poverty. Five years later, Claudette died from tuberculosis.
Heartbroken, Lavigne's production decreased, which explains the lack of surviving work.
In the summer of 1890, art dealer Theo Van Gogh discovered one of Lavigne's paintings in the home of Lavigne's friend Raul. Van Gogh recognized Lavigne's talent and sought him out, intending to acquire his artwork to sell. Before the deal could commence, however, Van Gogh grew ill and eventually died.
Lavigne, who was in poor health himself, only lived for two more years before passing away. His artwork and letters were inherited by his brother's family.
Over the next few weeks, Mozzie supplied the raw materials and Neal worked. After finishing Claudette Watching the Tide, Neal started work on the letters.
The letters couldn't be overly detailed. The chances of finding a detailed biography in a stack of aged letters were too slim, and he couldn't write anything that could be disproven.
There was another reason to keep the letters simple: since the majority of the letters were written to Lavigne, Neal had to come up with different senders, each with their own handwriting and style. It was easiest to limit it to two or three.
Taking on the persona of Lavigne's friend, the struggling writer named Raul, Neal incorporated bits of Lavigne's biography into the correspondence.
The letters had to be in French, which posed another challenge. Neal was fluent, but had to make sure the language in the letters was appropriate for the late 1800s.
The most important letter was from Theo Van Gogh. That was the one that would attract the interest of the art world. Everyone would love the story: a poor French artist discovered too late by Theo Van Gogh, art dealer and brother of one of the most famous Impressionist painters. If Lavigne was good enough for Van Gogh, he was good enough for the contemporary New York art scene.
When the letters were finished, Neal called Mozzie to come see them.
While Mozzie studied the letters with an eye loupe, Neal stood by and watched. He crossed his arms and let himself smile, confident of his success.
"Very good," Mozzie said. "Even I might not know these were forgeries. Well, not after we age them."
"Thought I'd leave that part to you."
"And," Mozzie said, jerking his head toward the easel, "we have to age Claudette. By the way, the Suit hasn't seen your painting, has he?"
"No, he hasn't been by. And I've been covering it up."
Neal looked at Claudette Watching the Tide. It was almost a shame to have to age the painting. It was like stripping away his ownership of it, and giving it fully to the fictional Lavigne. But it would only increase the painting's charm. It was an Impressionist painting. It belonged to that era, even if it was painted only recently. As much as Neal might have liked to claim ownership of it, it was worthless as a contemporary Caffrey. Nobody wanted his art, and nobody wanted a painting that was an echo of an earlier style.
But if he and Mozzie did things right, everyone would love Lavigne's work.
Neal paced back and forth. He stepped out onto the terrace, hoping the cool breeze and fresh air would calm his nerves.
He almost wished he'd gone with Mozzie. He knew he couldn't—everyone in the art world was familiar with Neal Caffrey, alleged art thief and forger. His presence wouldn't do them any favors.
He hoped Mozzie was handling the meeting all right, though. He could tell Mozzie was disappointed at having his alien abduction idea nixed, and Neal was uneasy that he might try to pull something to reinstate it.
But mostly, Neal just didn't have the patience for staying in the background. He'd always been the front man.
Finally, four hours after leaving with the paintings and letters. Mozzie returned. He was abuzz with energy and was grinning.
"How did it go?" Neal asked. "Did they buy it?"
"It was perfect! The appraiser dated the paints as being from the late eighteen-hundreds, and said that the style was consistent with the Impressionists."
"They didn't seem skeptical?"
"Well, of course there some skepticism. It wouldn't be a challenge if there wasn't. But we did it, Neal!"
Neal smiled. "It almost seems too easy."
"That's because you weren't there to watch them pore over our painting with their critical eyes. And they haven't studied our letters, yet."
"I should finish the other paintings. They'll want to see them soon."
Neal looked at the paintings Mozzie had set on the floor against the easel. There were two of them—a landscape of a glistening lake and painting of two boys fishing.
Neal frowned. "Where's Claudette Watching the Tide?"
"Oh, the authenticator at the Boyle wanted to keep it for a bit."
"And you let them?"
"Relax. They're already convinced it's the real thing. They just want to view it. We'll get it back within a few weeks."
Neal still didn't like it, but he tried to assuage his worries. If Mozzie was okay with it, then there was probably nothing to worry about.
Soon, he was distracted by the excitement of their success.
LOST IMPRESSIONIST PAINTINGS DISCOVERED
Three paintings by the obscure French Impressionist artist Marcel Lavigne have been discovered.
The owner of the paintings, who wishes to remain anonymous, discovered the artwork, believed to have been completed in the 1890s, in his late mother's house after she passed away earlier this year. Along with the paintings was a bundle of letters sent to Lavigne. One letter purports to be from art dealer Theo Van Gogh, who expresses an interest in purchasing and promoting Lavigne's work. The letter is dated only six months before Van Gogh's death, which may offer a reason for Lavigne's continued obscurity.
The owner of the artwork has not indicated if he will sell the paintings. He says, "My mother was a long-time art collector, but Lavigne's work appears to have held special importance in my family. I'm not prepared to part with it just yet. However, it was important to me to have it appraised and bring the work to the public's attention."
"It's a shame, you know," Mozzie said.
Neal set the paper down. "What?"
"That we won't be selling Lavigne's work."
"We already talked about this...."
"Yes, yes, I know. And I intend to stick to our agreement. But I can't help thinking about it."
"Well, I can. We convinced the public we discovered a lost artist. We did it, Moz. Now it's time to celebrate."
After a few weeks, the allure of the Marcel Lavigne con was starting to wear off.
Mozzie still seemed as enthralled as ever. But the Boyle still had Claudette Watching the Tide, and Neal was anxious to get it back. The longer the painting was exposed to expert eyes, the better the chances that someone would notice something amiss. At least the paintings couldn't be traced back to them too easily.
He was at work, with his feet up on his desk, when Peter came over, smiling.
"C'mon," Peter said, swatting at Neal's feet, "get up. We have a case."
Neal sat up, putting his feet on the floor. He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah?"
It was about time. Things had been far too boring lately.
"Someone broke into the backroom of the Boyle gallery and stole one of those Marcel Lavigne paintings."
It only took a moment for Neal to collect himself, but it felt like an eternity. Peter must have noticed his surprise. He narrowed his eyes and gave Neal a curious, slightly suspicious look.
"Neal? Everything okay?"
"Yeah, of course. Just surprised, that's all. The paintings were just discovered, what, a few weeks ago?"
"Well, they've generated some publicity, and the owner refused to sell. Apparently, someone wasn't willing to take no for an answer."
Of all the problems Neal had prepared himself for, this one had never occurred to him. He felt sick with dread, and his chest started to pound. As he got up and followed Peter into the elevator, he realized that he needed to call Mozzie immediately.
Once they were downstairs, Neal said, "Hey, I'll catch up. Just need to make a call."
"Don't take too long. We need to get down to the gallery."
Neal's phone rang as he was taking it out of his pocket. He wasn't surprised to see that it was Mozzie. Neal looked up to make sure that Peter was far enough away, and answered.
"Neal, you won't believe what happened!"
"Our painting was stolen."
"How did you know?"
"Peter and I are on our way to the gallery now. To investigate."
"Maybe I can get the Boyle to hold off on the investigation."
"No, it'll look suspicious. Besides, there's not much we can do. The gallery was broken into—they'll want to investigate. I just wanted to warn you that Peter's investigation may be heading your way soon. He'll probably want to talk to the painting's owner."
"Got it. I'll get everything ready for him."
Neal hung up and hurried to catch up with Peter. He found Peter by his car, waiting.
"Took you long enough. What was that about, anyway?"
"Just wanted to ask Mozzie if he'd heard anything."
"And has he?"
"Afraid not."
Neal was silent during the drive to the Boyle. His mind was racing. It was almost a given that Peter would ask for information about the owner of the painting. He would want to find out if there had been any suspicious activity near the owner's home, or if there had been any aggressive would-be buyers. Neal just hoped that Mozzie had a plan.
At the Boyle, they met Gerald Waters, the museum's head of security. Neal followed and listened as Waters showed them around the museum's basement, where the painting had been stored.
"What was the painting doing here?" Peter asked.
"The owner agreed to let us study it. There was talk of possibly borrowing all three Lavigne paintings for an exhibit."
"How many people would have known that you had it down here?"
"It wasn't publicized. But we didn't make much effort to hide it, either."
"So," Neal said, "if someone was looking for an opportunity to steal the painting, they could have traced it here?"
"It's possible."
"We'll want to review your security tapes," Peter said. "If it was an outsider looking for an opportunity, they would've had to case the place. Maybe they wound up on camera."
"Certainly. Anything we can do to help."
"I'd also like to speak to the painting's owner. Have you contacted them yet?"
Waters hesitated. "We have spoken to the owner, yes. He's been very adamant about remaining anonymous, however. Probably to avoid something like this...."
"I think we're past anonymity now. I would appreciate that information."
Once they returned to the car, Peter called the number the museum gave him. Neal didn't know who answered the call, but from Peter's tone, it obviously wasn't Mozzie.
When he hung up, Peter said, "The owner has agreed to meet with us. We're heading to his house now."
"Great," Neal said, wondering what—and who—would be waiting for them when they got there.
The alias Mozzie had used for this con was Elias Hanover III. The Elias Hanover III that they met wasn't Mozzie.
He was a young man in tight jeans and a black t-shirt. He greeted them at the door with an uneasy smile and let them inside the house.
Neal had never seen this house before. He wondered if Mozzie owned it. He knew Mozzie owned various properties around the city, and that he only knew about some of them.
Neal looked around as the young man led them to the living room. The house was sparsely-furnished, as though no one had lived in it for some time. The living room contained a sofa and a chair, but Neal could see a pile of white sheets haphazardly stashed under a chest of drawers against the wall. The furniture must have been covered up.
Elias invited them to sit on the sofa, and then sat across from them. He rubbed his palms on his jeans, as though he was trying to wipe away sweat.
Neal wondered where Mozzie found this guy.
"Mr. Hanover," Peter said, "I understand that the museum notified you of the theft."
"Yeah. Yeah, I got the call, uh, this morning."
"I understand you wanted to maintain your anonymity, but I thought it was important to talk to you."
"I don't know who might have taken it, if that's what you're wondering."
"We were still hoping you might have some information," Peter said. "Has anyone expressed interest in the painting recently?"
"No. Nothing like that."
"Any suspicious activity near the house?"
Elias shook his head.
Inside, Neal felt as nervous as Elias looked. He waited anxiously for the interview to end.
Couldn't Mozzie have found a better stand-in?
Finally, they left. As they walked back to the car, Peter said, "Something feels off, here."
"Oh, yeah?"
"That guy didn't strike you as strange?"
"He's a reclusive heir to a fortune. I think he's entitled to be a little strange."
"And the house. It hasn't been lived in—there was dust on the fireplace mantle, and you could see the sheets that had been over the furniture."
"He inherited the house from his mother. Maybe it hasn't been lived in for a while."
Peter murmured in response, sounding unconvinced.
That evening, Neal was about to go out and pick up something for dinner when his phone vibrated. It was Peter.
"Hey," Neal said, answering, "any new developments on the case?"
"Yeah," Peter said, his voice terse. "You could say that. Can you come over? We need to talk."
Neal frowned. This didn't sound good. "All right," he said. "Sure."
What else could he say?
He caught a cab and made his way to Brooklyn.
When he arrived at the Burkes' house, both Peter and Elizabeth wore serious expressions. Peter wasted little time in getting down to business.
"After we met with Mr. Hanover today, I went back to that house. And look who I saw."
Peter pulled out his phone, pushed a couple buttons, and handed it to Neal.
There was a picture displayed on the screen. It showed Mozzie entering the house supposedly owned by Elias Hanover III.
Taking a deep breath, Neal said, "I can explain. But we should probably sit down—it's a long story."
"This is unbelievable," Peter said.
"I know," Neal said. "You've said that three times already."
The atmosphere in the Burkes' living room was cold, bordering on frigid. And Neal felt like a kid who'd just come home with a bad report card.
"But why?" Elizabeth asked. "What was the purpose?"
"We wanted to see if it was possible. If we could create some artwork that people would believe was valuable." He looked at Peter. "In theory," he added quickly. "We weren't going to sell the paintings."
"Not yet, anyway," Peter said. His tone was acidic.
"Mozzie and I agreed we wouldn't take any money. I told him I wouldn't do it if it could land me back in prison, and we figured if we didn't take any money, it'd be safe."
Peter put his hands over his mouth and closed his eyes. Taking a long sigh, he said, "Frankly, I don't know what to call this scheme of yours. Illegal or not...this has to be the craziest, most short-sighted thing you two have done."
"I didn't think it would be a big deal."
"Of course you didn't," Peter muttered.
"Okay," Elizabeth said, "what's done is done. What happens now?"
"Well," Peter said, "I can't drop the case. And whether the painting's real or not, it was still stolen. The Boyle was broken into. As for whether creating the painting in the first place was a crime, I think Mozzie's right. But—" he looked at Neal "—the Department of Corrections wouldn't exactly approve of a felon on work-release conning people with fake paintings. If they take it seriously enough, you could lose your deal. If you're lucky, they won't find out."
Neal hadn't considered that, and he realized Peter was right—he could end up back behind bars for this. Still, there was a ray of hope.
"You're not going report this?" Neal asked.
"The case is the robbery. Not the painting's origins. But when we find the painting, it's going to have to be authenticated."
Neal understood what Peter was saying—an FBI authenticator might be able to tell that the painting was created more recently than claimed. Still, there was hope. "The Bureau won't have access to any experts on Lavigne's work, so they'll have to rely on the authenticator who appraised the painting." He hesitated a moment and added, "Besides, if the Bureau does need a second opinion, I have authenticated pieces before...."
Peter frowned. "Yeah, that's partly what I'm afraid of. I can't allow you to submit a false report."
He figured Peter might see it that way.
Peter's expression softened. "We'll figure something out. Right now, I think we need to have a talk with Mozzie."
As they drove to Neal's place, Peter asked, "How does it feel?"
"What?"
"Being the victim of an art theft, for once."
He shrugged. "Well, the painting isn't really valuable, so...."
"Yeah, but you made it. Put time into it. If it was my work, I'd be pretty annoyed. I just think it's funny—Neal Caffrey, infamous art thief, the victim of a robbery."
Neal gave him a sidelong glance. "Alleged art thief. And yeah, I get it."
At least Peter didn't seem too angry anymore. That was an improvement. But if he was going to be self-righteous and paternal instead, Neal wasn't sure if it was a worthwhile trade-off.
It was strange, though. He had to give Peter that. He'd never given much thought to what it would be like to learn your painting had been taken.
But if Peter expected him to have an epiphany, he was going to be disappointed. Neal couldn't help but sympathize with the mystery thief somewhat. He may not have been used to being in the victim's shoes, but he could imagine all too well what it would be like to go through the trouble of stealing something only to find out that it was a forgery.
And he knew it wasn't personal. It was annoying, but not personal. He liked to think he wouldn't steal someone's inheritance from their recently-passed mother, but otherwise, he might have stolen the painting, himself. He didn't exactly have the moral high ground.
He'd called Mozzie and asked him to meet them. When Neal and Peter arrived at the apartment, Mozzie was already there, sitting at the dining room table. He was nursing a glass of wine, and the bottle was close at hand.
Mozzie looked at Peter. "Hello, Suit."
"Mozzie. Neal told me about the little scheme you two cooked up."
"For the record, this was all my idea. But we didn't do anything wrong. If the painting hadn't been stolen, everything would have been fine!" He threw his hands in the air.
"I think that's debatable," Peter said.
Neal sat down across from Mozzie, and Peter took a seat in between them, at the head of the table.
"Well," Neal said, "it was stolen. And we need to find it."
"What do you think I've been doing all day?" Mozzie said.
"Any ideas?" Peter asked.
Mozzie sighed. "Not yet."
Peter studied Mozzie, narrowing his eyes. "By the way, the Elias Hanover III I met—who was he?"
"Oh, just one of my many contacts," Mozzie said. "Guy owed me a favor. But as one of the true owners, don't expect me to make any statements."
"I think we'll all be better off if you don't. But let me make something clear: I need cooperation on this. From both of you. The theft isn't your fault, but the fact that the painting exists is."
Thankfully, Peter didn't stick around long to lecture them on their stupidity. When Peter left, Neal finally felt free to say something that had occurred to him.
"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if we didn't find the painting," Neal said. "If it's never found, it can't be authenticated. And whoever has it will probably keep it locked up."
He knew Peter wouldn't be crazy about that, but even he would find it easier in the long run. Neal was sure of it.
But Mozzie looked aghast. "So we just let the thieves get away with it? Neal, our hard work was taken right out from under us! We have to get it back!"
"And do you have any idea where the painting is?"
Mozzie downed the last of his wine and refilled his glass. "Not exactly, but I do have some leads that I didn't want to share while the Suit was here."
"What kind of leads?"
"For one thing, Alex is in town."
That was unexpected. "You think Alex stole our painting?"
"I think it's a possibility."
Neal wasn't sure if he liked that thought or not. He knew how to talk to Alex, and how to tell when she was hiding something from him. He was certain that if she knew anything about the painting, she could lead him to it. On the other hand, if she had stolen it, Neal wasn't looking forward to letting her know it was a fake.
Mozzie somehow managed to contact Alex, and they went to meet her the next day.
Sitting on a park bench beside Mozzie, Neal fought the urge to look at his watch.
"What if she doesn't show up?" Mozzie said. His words and tone mirrored Neal's own anxiety, but Neal was careful not to show it.
"Relax. She'll be here. She'll be too curious about what we want."
Neal hoped he sounded more confident than he was.
After a couple minutes of silence, Mozzie said, "We didn't do anything wrong, you know. The Suit's intimidation is lacking in teeth."
"It's not just Peter we need to worry about. It's whoever else sees our painting when it's recovered."
After another five minutes, Neal saw Alex approaching from the park's east entrance. Her face was partly shaded by a wide-brimmed black hat and a pair of sunglasses, but he recognized her gait as she approached.
Neal and Mozzie stood when Alex reached them. Without taking off her sunglasses, Alex turned to Neal and said, "So, what is this about?"
"A painting was stolen from the Boyle last night."
"I heard about that. It was that piece they discovered by the long-lost Impressionist. What about it?"
"We need to know what happened to it," Mozzie said.
"And you think I know?"
"The possibility crossed our mind," Neal said. "You came into town, the painting disappeared...."
Alex smiled. "I didn't take it, if that's what you're wondering. And even if I did, why would I tell you about it? The last time I checked, FBI informants don't earn enough to buy stolen artwork."
Neal looked at Mozzie, searching for either forgiveness or permission for what he was about to admit.
"We need that painting," Neal said. "It belongs to us."
Alex raised her eyebrows over the brims of her sunglasses. "You own the painting?" she said, not hiding her skepticism.
"Marcel Lavigne doesn't actually exist. Mozzie and I created him."
Alex turned and bit her lip. Shaking her head, she began to laugh. "Wow, so you're upset that your forgery got stolen. You're lucky I don't have the painting. If I did, and you told me this—"
"Do you have any idea where it is, or not?" Neal said tersely.
Still smiling, Alex said, "Okay, I might have heard that a guy named Travis Finch stole it. He's been looking for a fence. I didn't bite because I have better things lined up. Now I'm glad I didn't. If I got sucked into your little con, I wouldn't be so willing to help."
Being chided by both Peter and Alex was a sign of how bad things had gotten. Mozzie was still on his side, but that was a cold comfort right now. This was the last time he was going to let Moz talk him into a ridiculous scheme.
"Do you know how to contact this guy?" Neal asked.
"Give me a few hours. I can get you his number."
They thanked Alex and took their leave. As he and Mozzie left the park, Neal mulled over what they knew. They had a lead, now, but that didn't solve much.
"I'm going to have to let Peter know about Finch," he said.
"Uh, the last thing we need is the Suit getting in the way. Couldn't you wait until we do our own investigation?"
"If Finch is looking for a fence, we might not have a lot of time. And if I don't keep Peter updated, he'll know something is up." Neal thought for a moment. "I'll work with Peter, but it'll take some time for him to investigate Finch and get a warrant. In the meantime, you can look into him."
"Oh," Mozzie said, flailing his hands, "so I have to do all the hard work."
"This was all your plan. Now come on, let's just find our painting."
After parting from Mozzie, Neal went to see Peter. It was still early in the afternoon, and Peter was in his office, signing forms. Normally, Neal would have been at work, as well, but Peter had given him some time to follow up on leads.
Peter listened as Neal told him about Finch.
"How did you find out about this guy?" Peter asked.
"A reliable street contact may have heard he's trying to fence the Lavigne painting."
Peter nodded. "All right. I'll have Diana run this guy and see if anything helpful comes up."
Neal went to his desk and tried to get some work done. There was always busy work to do, stuff that was better suited for probies, and Neal knew that doing it was one of the best forms of penance in Peter's eyes.
A few hours later, Peter called everyone into the boardroom. As Neal took his seat, he saw a man's mug shot displayed on the screen.
Once everyone was seated, Peter said, "This is Travis Finch. He's got a record—served a year in 2005 after he was caught trying to break into a museum. Word on the street is that he's claiming to have the stolen Lavigne painting, and is looking for a buyer. We also know that he has a storage unit here in Manhattan, but we don't have enough for a warrant. We need to get Finch to admit on tape that he has the painting."
"I can go undercover as a buyer," Neal said.
Peter nodded. "That's the plan. We'll need to decide on a location for the meet, and then you can contact him." Addressing the room, he said, "All right, let's get to work on this. Jones, get a surveillance team ready. We'll have to be ready to move as soon as Neal is able to set up a meeting."
The agents at the table stood and began to filter out of the room. Neal stood to follow, but Peter placed a hand on his arm.
Peter waited until they were alone to speak. "When you meet with Finch, stick to the program, okay? I don't want you to jeopardize this operation."
Neal blinked. "I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, don't play dumb. You know exactly what I mean. If you weren't the best person to do this, I'd pull you off the case. I'm putting some trust in you, here."
"I wasn't planning on ruining the operation. But you have to admit it'd be easier if the painting wasn't found."
"Easier for you."
"And Travis Finch. Do you really think he deserves to go down for stealing a fake painting?"
"He broke into the Boyle, stole a painting, and is trying to sell it. That's real enough. Besides, you're assuming we won't be able to tell it's a fake when we get it. I'm not going to go out of my way to reveal what you and Mozzie did. I don't think it needs to be in my report. But I'm not going to conceal the evidence, either."
Neal couldn't entirely blame Peter for his willingness to let the truth come out.
"I understand," Neal said softly. "Listen, if it does come out, is there a chance I can keep my deal? I know none of this is exactly legitimate, but I'm also pretty sure that I didn't break any laws. I'll type up reports. I'll work in the van. I'll be a model CI for a while. But going back to prison seems excessive and—"
"If it comes down to that, I'll put in a good word for you."
Peter gave him a reassuring smile, and any anger over the situation appeared to have simmered off. At least there was that. Neal didn't know what would happen after they caught Finch, but at least he believed things would be all right with Peter.
Neal turned to leave the boardroom. As he pushed open the door, Peter said, "Oh, and I won't forget your promise about working in the van."
Getting a meeting with Finch was easy, and the following afternoon, Neal was sitting at an outdoor café nursing a glass of red wine while he waited for him to show up.
The van was parked down the block, with Peter, Jones, and a couple other agents inside. Diana was somewhere inside the café. Neal was wearing a watch that transmitted audio back to the van, and as soon as Finch admitted to having the painting, Neal would give the signal for them to make the arrest.
Neal wasn't sure if he should blame himself for the predicament Finch was about to find himself in. When creating Lavigne, he certainly hadn't thought it would come to this. But he couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty. Finch had stolen from him. Perhaps it made him a hypocrite, but Neal wanted his painting back.
Whether it was worth losing his freedom over it was another matter. Neal still wasn't sure what he'd do when they recovered the painting. Still, there was a decent chance that the FBI wouldn't realize that it wasn't as old as claimed. It was a good forgery, perhaps one of his best.
Finch showed up at the appointed time. Neal recognized him from his mug shot—a tall man with shaggy brown hair and thick eyebrows.
Neal lifted his chin in acknowledgement, and Finch took a seat across from him.
"Nick Halden?" Finch asked.
"You must be Travis Finch."
"I understand you're interested in a piece of artwork I recently acquired."
"I am," Neal said, brightly. "I'm a collector of French Impressionist works, and I was very disappointed to learn that the Marcel Lavigne paintings wouldn't be put up at auction. Needless to say, I'm happy for this opportunity."
Finch looked around them. "I'd rather not discuss it too much in public. But if you think you can make me a good offer, I'm sure we can work together."
"Of course, I'd like to see the painting before I make you an offer."
"That won't be a problem."
Neal smiled. "Then I think we have a deal." He lifted his wine glass in a toast. His heart beat faster as he waited for Peter to respond to the signal.
"You know," Finch said, "if you like the Impressionists, I may have some other pieces that will interest you."
Before Neal could ask for elaboration, Peter and the others closed in. Spotting Peter and Jones, Finch stood up and turned to flee, but Diana was already behind him, ready to block his exit.
"Travis Finch," Peter said, "you're under arrest for attempting to sell stolen goods."
Finch glared at Neal. "You bastard!"
Neal just shrugged and smiled.
As Jones and Diana led Finch away, Peter lingered behind with Neal.
"So, do we have enough for a warrant?"
"Yeah, we'll be checking out Finch's storage unit by the end of the day."
"You know, before you guys came on the scene, he suggested he had some other pieces to sell, too. He might have more in that storage unit than just the Lavigne painting."
"I guess we'll find out."
It didn't take long to get a warrant. Neal rode along with Peter to Finch's storage unit. His stomach felt like it was in a vise. He still wasn't sure what he would do when they had the painting. What if Hughes wanted him to help authenticate it? He would have to lie, and Peter would know that he'd lied. The only thing Neal couldn't handle was the prospect of Peter being disappointed in him.
But Neal wondered if Peter realized what was truly at stake. Mozzie didn't seem to. When it came down to it, it didn't matter much if what they'd done was illegal. Sure, he wouldn't get extra time, but the FBI and the DOJ could still revoke his deal on the grounds that tricking people with fake artwork was inappropriate behavior for a convicted forger.
He wished he'd never gone along with Mozzie's plan. Or at least that he'd insisted on keeping the paintings in their possession.
Jones, Diana, and a team of agents were already at the storage unit, searching and cataloguing the contents.
As they stepped into the unit, Diana came over. She was wearing latex gloves.
"Hey, boss." she said. "We haven't found anything that matches the description of the stolen painting. However, we think we found a couple paintings that were stolen from the Met last year. A Monet and a Cezanne."
"I guess Finch was serious when he said he had other Impressionist works," Neal said. He looked at Peter and saw a familiar triumphant smile.
"Good job," Peter said. "Keep looking. Make sure you don't leave anything unchecked."
By the end of the day, the team had also uncovered several east-Asian antiquities and a bag full of cash.
The only thing they didn't find was Claudette Watching the Tide.
Surprisingly, no one seemed overly concerned about that. Apparently, a Monet and a Van Gogh were more important than an obscure piece by an artist no one had even heard of until a few weeks prior.
Later, back at the office, Neal asked Peter what was going to happen.
"Now that Finch knows we didn't find the painting in the storage unit," Peter said, "he's denying that he ever had it. Unless we get a new lead, we may not have enough for a conviction." He paused. "To be honest, I think as far as the Bureau is concerned, the stuff we recovered today will be enough of a win against Finch."
Peter sounded a little disappointed. Neal couldn't blame him—Peter cared about closure. He hated to leave a case unsolved, and Neal knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that determination. It must have been eating at Peter, knowing that there was a loose end.
"Then again," Peter said, "it's like you said earlier—it does make things easier." He narrowed his eyes. "In fact, you could say it's convenient."
"Are you suggesting I had something to do with the painting not being there?"
"I don't know, did you?"
"C'mon, Peter, I've barely left your side all day. Besides, are you forgetting something? That storage unit is outside my radius. I couldn't have gone there."
"Maybe you had some help from Elias Hanover III," Peter said dryly. "Listen, the painting rightfully belongs to you. I'm not going to worry a whole lot about what happened to it."
Neal sighed. "Thanks, but I'm being honest—I have no idea what happened to the painting. Maybe Finch had it somewhere else."
Peter shrugged. "All right, fine. I believe you. Look, why don't you go home? Get some rest?"
"Thanks, I think I will. I haven't slept well the past couple nights."
"Good. Maybe you'll think twice before doing something like this again."
Neal fought the urge to roll his eyes. The last thing he wanted was more lecturing.
"'Night. I'll see you tomorrow."
Neal was exhausted when he got home. He walked straight to the kitchen, and was about to get himself a drink of water when he noticed the painting out of the corner of his eye.
Turning, he looked at the easel. In place of the half-finished sketch that had been there that morning was Claudette Watching the Tide.
Neal was still staring at it a moment later, when Mozzie stepped in from the terrace, holding a glass of wine.
"You got it back," Neal said. "How?"
"I may have found my way into Finch's storage unit before the suits did. By the way, he had quite the collection. I was surprised."
"I'm sure it was hard for you to leave without the Monet."
"I may have taken a Monet. It seemed fair, since he took something from us."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you mean he had two Monets in there?"
"I should have taken both of them. But I figured I should leave something for our friends in Brooks Brothers to find."
"It's good you did. The FBI is so happy to recover the Monet and the Cezanne that I don't think they care about Claudette Watching the Tide anymore."
Mozzie sighed. "I suppose Marcel Lavigne isn't destined to join the same rank as the great masters."
"I think he's going to have to go back into obscurity. And Claudette here is going to have to go into exile."
It would be a shame to have to hide the painting away. Neal considered destroying it to be safe, but for now he wanted to enjoy the fruit of his labor one last time.
"Elias Hanover III will have to become even more reclusive," Mozzie said. "After the theft of his treasured painting, the only option for him is to become a paranoid misanthrope who refuses to show the remaining paintings or talk to the press."
Neal noticed that Mozzie had put a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a clean glass on the table. Neal poured himself some wine and lifted his glass.
"Here's to Marcel Lavigne, and to lost artwork."
"To forgotten genius."
They clicked their glasses together, and drank.
HOPE WANES IN CASE OF LOST PAINTING
A lost artist may be lost yet again, thanks to the robbery of the Boyle gallery last month. Marcel Lavigne's Claudette Watching the Tide was stolen on May 23, while it was on loan to the gallery for the purpose of study and authentication. With a lack of new leads, authorities fear the painting may be lost forever. Travis Finch, 34, was a suspect in the case. However, a spokesperson for the district attorney's office said that there is no plan to charge Finch with the theft. Finch is currently facing nine other charges related to other art and antiquities thefts over the past five years.
There are at least two remaining Lavigne paintings in the possession of an anonymous owner. In light of the robbery at the Boyle, however, the owner has reportedly stated that he will not be sharing them with the public. Attempts to reach the art's owner for comment were unsuccessful.
Some in the art community fear that the theft of Claudette Watching the Tide, and the removal of the other two Lavigne paintings from the public eye, is a dire loss in the study of French Impressionism.
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Date: 2014-04-19 11:28 am (UTC)A truly lovely way to start the day - thanks for posting.
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Date: 2014-04-20 06:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-19 11:43 am (UTC)I can totally see Neal and Mozzie doing this; creating an artist and conning the world just for fun in a way that seems completely harmless before the painting gets stolen and things suddenly turn serious. The characterisation was flawless - Neal, Mozzie, Peter, everyone very much themselves. I loved the idea of "Claudette Watching the Tide", and the way they gave their artist legitimity seemed believable and realistic (at least to me as an amateur when it comes to the art world). And I loved that Neal wasn't really repentant that he created a fake artist, but that he recognized how his actions might have endangered his position as a CI and was willing to take responsibility.
What an awesome story. Thank you so much for sharing this with us!
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Date: 2014-04-20 07:09 am (UTC)To be honest, I'm an amateur when it comes to the art world, too, so the plot was challenging to write at times. I'm glad it worked well for you!
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Date: 2014-04-19 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2014-04-20 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-20 07:22 am (UTC)Neal as a Stepford Felon is probably Mozzie's biggest fear. :P
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Date: 2014-04-20 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-20 07:28 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked the finished fic, and I'm glad to hear you thought the pacing worked.
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Date: 2014-04-20 10:03 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2014-04-21 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-22 05:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-23 01:23 pm (UTC)Had to LOL at Neal promising to be a good CI "for a while". Even he seems to admit he couldn't be a good CI forever. ;-)
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Date: 2014-04-26 10:47 pm (UTC)Neal does try not to lie to Peter--I don't think he could promise to be good forever with a clear conscience. :P
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Date: 2014-04-27 05:19 pm (UTC)I am completely in love with the story, from the idea born in Mozzie's wine-influenced mind, through the whole process of creating the biography (ROFL, the aliens? So Moz!), then Neal creating the letters and paintings - it was all so clever and exciting :D
And when poor Peter got involved, I had the time of my life reading about Peter and Neal working the case together, with Peter clearly one step away from a Caffrey-induced aneurysm and Neal and Moz just being them and trying to do damage control :D
OMG, so much fun ♥ It's brilliant :D Thanks so much for sharing, it totally goes on my all-time favorites list :D
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Date: 2014-04-28 03:45 am (UTC)I thought the idea seemed like a fun con that seemed like something Mozzie would dream up. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and how it played out.
Thanks again!
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Date: 2014-04-30 02:52 pm (UTC)I found this line very touching:
As much as Neal might have liked to claim ownership of it, it was worthless as a contemporary Caffrey. Nobody wanted his art
Poor Neal. Maybe Moz can cheer him up with a new idea for a con ;-)
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Date: 2014-05-13 02:24 am (UTC)I think Neal would probably want to lay off Mozzie's cons for a while, after this. :P
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Date: 2014-05-11 08:14 pm (UTC)When they didn't find the missing painting, I knew that somehow Mozzie managed to steal it back. : )
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