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I once trusted my mentor in the antiquities trade above all others—until he swindled me out of every penny of my wedding savings with a flawless forgery. He even got all the dealers in the antique market to join him, bad-mouthing my skills and saying I deserved to get scammed. After being kicked out by him and dumped by my fiancée, I landed a job at the National Cultural Heritage Authentication Center. Three years later, a new policy forced every antique up for auction to carry a government certification—and I was appointed director of the Northern District. Then my former mentor showed up, beaming, clutching what he called his "heirloom," eyes wide with desperation as he begged me to go easy on him. I held the so-called Royal Vase and smiled, "Mr. Grant, why does this look so familiar?"