Dead in Hong Kong (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Read Online Free

Dead in Hong Kong (Nick Teffinger Thriller)
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looked around to be sure she wouldn’t be overheard, then whispered in Prarie’s ear, “It’s a fake.” Prarie must have had a look on her face as if she was about to repeat the words out loud, because Emmanuelle put her finger on Prarie’s lips and said, “Shhh.”
    No.
    That wasn’t possible.
    “This painting has been authenticated a hundred times,” she said.
    “Not in the last six months it hasn’t,” Emmanuelle said. “Want to see some more fakes?”
    Prarie did.
    She did indeed.
     
    EMMANUELLE TOOK HER to see four more paintings.
    Van Gogh’s “Self Portrait.”
    August Renoir’s “Nude in the Sunlight.”
    Edgar Degas’ “Absinthe.”
    Edouard Manet’s “At the Beach.”
    Prarie had seen each of these paintings before, many times before, spanning a period of years. They were exactly as she remembered them, right down to the faded colors, the textures, the paint over paint and the time begotten cracks. Not a one of them looked less than a hundred percent authentic or an iota different than she remembered.
    Why did the woman think they were fakes?
    Why did she care?
    And why was she was bothering to tell any of this to Prarie?
    She was just about to ask these questions when Emmanuelle grabbed her hand and led her towards the exit. “Let’s go outside where we can talk. I have to warn you in advance, though. This is going to be a little unsettling.”
    “Unsettling how?”
    “You’ll see in a minute,” she said. “Just be prepared.”

Chapter Seven
    Day Two—August 4
    Tuesday Morning
    ______________
     
    PRARIE AND EMMANUELLE ended up on the cobblestone walkway next to the Seine. A Batobus carved a wake as it motored east and passed a slow-moving barge. The Parisian sun sparkled on the water. A seagull flew low over the river, warding off other gulls who were trying to steal something out of its mouth.
    Survival of the fittest; it was everywhere, at every level, all the time .
    “Okay, here’s the thing,” Emmanuelle said. “The five paintings I showed you—the original five paintings—were stolen from the museum six months ago and the fakes were substituted in their place at that time. The museum found out about it two months ago. It made a number of insurance claims. The CIM Group is the primary insurer for the museum, covering the first $200,000,000 in loss. There are excess insurance carriers behind CIM who are also on the hook. I’ve been retained by CIM in an ad hoc capacity to find the paintings. Technically, I’m an independent contractor, which gives me the flexibility to bend the law if I need to without getting CIM in trouble. No one knows who I’m working for and I need you to keep it that way. Will you?”
    Prarie shrugged.
    Sure.
    Why not?
    “Very few people know about this,” Emmanuelle said. “The fakes are extraordinarily accurate. They’re good enough that the museum is letting them hang until the matter can be resolved one way or the other.”
    A teenage girl with too much makeup strolled past.
    “I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me,” Prarie said.
    Emmanuelle exhaled.
     
    “HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED as far as we can tell so far,” Emmanuelle said. “Someone did some research and found out who key museum employees were. They found out who worked in the preservation department.”
    “That’s where my father worked,” Prarie said.
    Emmanuelle nodded.
    “Unfortunately, yes, your father,” she said. “They also found out who worked in the security department, which was headed by a man named Yves Blanc.”
    Prarie didn’t recognize the name.
    “I don’t know him,” she said.
    “No reason you would,” Emmanuelle said. “Anyway, your father had a daughter, namely you. The head of the security department, Yves Blanc, also had a daughter, namely an 8-year-old named Dominique Blanc.”
    Prarie chewed her lip, d reading the words to come.
    “Your father, being in the preservation department, had access to all the paintings,”
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