No one might ever notice the painting. The video could have its flare of fame with the internet generation absolutely oblivious to the sliver of waterwheel and bridge. The best thing might be exactly that—stalling and waiting and letting this whole fiasco glide right over him so that he could move the painting when he felt good and ready to do it. That’s what all of this had been for.

But if he was wrong and the fuse was hissing up behind him, it had all been for nothing anyway.

He dragged his hands over his face, his wedding ring pressing a track against his left brow and cheek.

The phone could go under the tire of his car in the next ten minutes if he needed it to, if this didn’t go well. Owen Haig didn’t know anything about him. Which meant the guy didn’t know anything good, but he couldn’t know anything all that bad either.

Their one meeting had been a disaster. John had seen the way Owen looked at Marcelline; saw a big man with his heart in his throat who didn’t know how to chew and swallow a simple crush. John had felt the unlikely urge to put his hand on her ass and wink at Owen just to see what color he’d turn.

But the guy was huge and serious in a way that discouraged any jokes. No hint of a gentle giant there, just one so stone-faced that it wasn’t worth finding out if he could take a little ribbing or not.

Jonathan had taken the money. And the painting. That’s all Owen Haig knew about him. But Haig didn’t know why any of it had happened. There could be a scenario sketched out that would explain it all in a better light. In a show of good faith, the whole debacle could be worked in as a discount, a concession in the new asking price if that helped make it feel more right to Owen and the Anningers.

Jonathan cocked his head, deciding what he should sound like in this call, figuring out which John he needed to be to get things moving again.

If Roy had gotten it right that night, John would always have had to make a call like this to renegotiate with the Anningers. He was always going to have to make Marcelline look bad to justify it. In a way, this was easier. She was hardly in a position to argue her side of it. The original plan, more or less, was possibly salvageable.

That was the answer: act as if nothing had gone irreversibly wrong four years ago. Handle it ice-cold. Nothing more than the unfortunate hazards of doing business in the big leagues. That was the extralarge goon’s shtick. That’s what he would understand.

John cleared his throat to make room for calm confidence in his voice and dialed Owen Haig.