Brookline, Massachusetts
May 24
The realtor walked briskly through the kitchen, her cell phone on speaker as she moved through the house. The women on the other end of the call had lost a daughter, yes, but this was business, and their words reflected their mutual desire for expediency. With death came grief, but there also came paperwork.
“The square footage is slightly off, but that’s not uncommon with these older estates. It hasn’t been appraised in half a century. The buyer doesn’t care if it’s ninety-five hundred square feet or ninety-two hundred square feet. He knows there’s a backup offer. He wants all the furniture. His wife wants this house. They’ve been looking for over a year.”
“All right, good.”
The realtor stepped into the library and looked around. The desk had been emptied, the bookshelves cleared. She leaned a hand on the paneled wall and adjusted the strap on her shoe. “It’s a cash offer. He wants to close in thirty days. He’s the ideal buyer. He’s getting quite a deal and he knows it.” She knocked on the paneled wall behind her with the side of her fist. “This house is a masterpiece, an absolute work of art. They don’t build them like this anymore.”
She straightened again, took another cursory glance around the room, and headed into the hall. The voice through the phone echoed in the empty space.
“Accept the terms, and let’s be done with it.” Imogen Brewer instructed.
“I’ll let them know. I don’t foresee any other issues. The inspection is in order, the property lines are undisputed. I’ll text you about the closing date, but unless you hear from me, everything is set.”
Imogen Brewer ended the call without comment. The realtor, now in the sweeping front hall, took one final look around. Knowing the checkered history of the Reardon family, she spoke to the dusty air. “I bet you’ve kept some serious secrets through the years.”
With that, she exited the house, replaced the key in the lockbox, and strode with purpose to her Lexus sedan, mentally spending her commission.
Behind that secret panel in the library, in a hidden gallery no bigger than a hallway, seven works of art thought lost forever, with an estimated collective value of $1,180,000,000.00, hung undiscovered.