“I think it’s a good idea. And I think that, if we’re serious about getting these paintings back to their rightful owners, having more eyes on them will increase the chance someone might recognize a painting that once belonged to their family. Patrick can help us with that too.”

“How would I go about setting up an exhibit?” Lia asked.

“Leave that to me. There are a few galleries and museums in Paris I have in mind that I think would suit, both in size and security. Your paintings are not exactly the Gurlitt Hoard, but I suspect that this collection will draw quite a crowd.”

His phone buzzed, and he stood to retrieve it from his desk. He glanced down at the screen. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he said. “Please. Feel free to look around. My studio is just through there.” Gabriel gestured toward a wide doorway and shot her an apologetic glance as he took the incoming call.

Lia waved off his apology and stood, wandering toward the studio. The brick walls and ancient wood floors continued in here as well. But that was where the similarities ended. His brightly lit studio looked a little like a well-organized cross between a hospital lab and a museum. A massive table dominated the center of the space, the Munch canvas laid at one end. Above the table, an array of instruments snaked down from the exposed rafters of the ceiling to hover over the table’s surface: a sleek, suspended microscope that could be maneuvered from its arm, an array of what looked like vacuum hoses, two hooded lights, and a wide magnifying lens. Surrounding the table was a fleet of wheeled carts, each cart containing neat rows of brushes, jars, tools, and extensive collections of containers and bottles. On her left, long white cabinets, presumably containing more of the same, ran the length of the room. In the corner to her right, a set of desks and tables stood, each home to a piece of laboratory equipment that included a spectrophotometer, a portable X-ray machine, and two more microscopes. Cords and cables were coiled neatly beneath, screens and keyboards mounted above.

Lia wandered farther into his studio, her eye drawn past all of that to the paintings that were hanging on the far wall. It was an eclectic collection, some of the paintings obviously old, others much more recent. The subject matter and styles were just as varied, portraits executed with impeccable realism mixed with Impressionist landscapes and abstract still lifes. Each and every one glowed with color and life—evidently all beneficiaries of Gabriel’s restoration talents.