Chapter 1 · The Fake Vase That Ended Him

The mentor I respected most in the antiquities trade conned me out of my entire wedding fund with a brilliant forgery.

He even got the whole antique district to call me a clueless amateur who deserved to get scammed.

My mentor kicked me out, and my fiancée left me.

What they didn't know was that I'd gotten a position at the National Cultural Heritage Authentication Center.

Three years later, the government introduced a new policy: all antiques going to auction or sale needed certification from the National Cultural Heritage Authentication Center.

And I was the director overseeing the Northern District.

My old mentor showed up with his most treasured "family heirloom," all smiles and flattery, pleading with me to examine it.

I took the "11th-century royal vase" and gave him a thin smile. "Mr. Grant, why does this look so familiar?"

*****

Three years ago, this exact piece cost me 400 thousand dollars.

That money was supposed to be the down payment on the house my fiancée Emily Lane and I were buying—it was my parents' entire retirement savings.

I'd handed my bank card to David Grant with a trembling hand.

"Mr. Grant, I'm counting on you. This is everything I have."

He'd clapped me on the shoulder with a grin.

"Relax, kid. Would I ever screw you over? This royal vase—every dealer in town's been after it. I snagged it for you, and you'll flip it for at least double.

"You'll have your house and your car. Trust me. This is just the beginning of your good luck!"

The seller stood off to the side. He and David exchanged a look I didn't catch at the time.

I believed every word.

In this business, your mentor's word was gospel.

I'd been with him since I was 16, doing all the grunt work—making coffee, sweeping floors, wiping tables—for ten solid years.

I looked up to him like a father.

The day I got the vase, I was grinning like an idiot, dragging Emily along to plan our future.

"Once we sell this, we'll buy that apartment downtown. We can even set aside a room for your parents."

Emily squeezed my arm, her eyes bright with happiness.

"Kevin, we're finally getting married."

That was the best day of my life.

It was also the day before everything fell apart.

My happiness didn't last. The more I studied the vase, the more something felt wrong.

The shape of the base had a subtle, almost imperceptible modern quality to it.

My stomach dropped. Without telling David, I secretly took the vase to a retired veteran of the trade.

The old-timer glanced at it and slid it right back to me.

"Kevin, you've got a lot to learn. This is a fresh fake. The aging's decent, but it's worth maybe a couple thousand for materials at best."

My brain went completely blank.

Four hundred thousand dollars.

I rushed back to Heritage Gallery and slammed the vase down on David's prized rosewood table.

"Mr. Grant! What's going on here? Something's seriously wrong with this thing!"

He sat there calmly sipping his coffee, not even looking up.

"What's wrong with it?"

"This vase's a fake! A high-quality knockoff!"

He finally set down his cup and looked at me. The warmth was gone—his eyes were cold and hard, nothing like the kindness I remembered.

"Watch your mouth, Kevin. I brought you into this business and taught you for ten years—this is how you repay me?"

"I had someone else check it! They said it's a brand-new fake!"

"Who'd you go to?" he sneered. "This business is cutthroat, and people are worse. Some folks can't stand seeing Heritage Gallery do well, so they played you. You really can't see that?

"Think you're independent now? Hear one thing and suddenly you're back here doubting me?"

I stood there speechless, my panic drowning in a crushing sense of betrayal.

"But... what about my 400 thousand dollars?"

"That was between you and the seller. I was just the middleman—I just looked at it for you."

He calmly washed his hands of it.

"You got fooled because you don't know enough. Who else is there to blame? In this business, paying tuition is part of the deal."

"Four hundred thousand dollars for tuition?" My voice shook. "That was my wedding money!"

"Your head's in the wrong place. You're too impatient, too greedy—people like you never make it big in this business."

He stood up and looked down at me, each word cutting deep.

"You don't belong in the antique trade anymore. As of today, you're no longer my student, Kevin. And don't ever come back to Heritage Gallery."

He was throwing me out for good.

He used the 400 thousand dollars I'd earned through blood, sweat, and tears as my final "tuition."

Chapter 1

The mentor I respected most in the antiquities trade conned me out of my entire wedding fund with a brilliant forgery.

He even got the whole antique district to call me a clueless amateur who deserved to get scammed.

My mentor kicked me out, and my fiancée left me.

What they didn't know was that I'd gotten a position at the National Cultural Heritage Authentication Center.

Three years later, the government introduced a new policy: all antiques going to auction or sale needed certification from the National Cultural Heritage Authentication Center.

And I was the director overseeing the Northern District.

My old mentor showed up with his most treasured "family heirloom," all smiles and flattery, pleading with me to examine it.

I took the "11th-century royal vase" and gave him a thin smile. "Mr. Grant, why does this look so familiar?"

*****

Three years ago, this exact piece cost me 400 thousand dollars.

That money was supposed to be the down payment on the house my fiancée Emily Lane and I were buying—it was my parents' entire retirement savings.

I'd handed my bank card to David Grant with a trembling hand.

"Mr. Grant, I'm counting on you. This is everything I have."

He'd clapped me on the shoulder with a grin.

"Relax, kid. Would I ever screw you over? This royal vase—every dealer in town's been after it. I snagged it for you, and you'll flip it for at least double.

"You'll have your house and your car. Trust me. This is just the beginning of your good luck!"

The seller stood off to the side. He and David exchanged a look I didn't catch at the time.

I believed every word.

In this business, your mentor's word was gospel.

I'd been with him since I was 16, doing all the grunt work—making coffee, sweeping floors, wiping tables—for ten solid years.

I looked up to him like a father.

The day I got the vase, I was grinning like an idiot, dragging Emily along to plan our future.

"Once we sell this, we'll buy that apartment downtown. We can even set aside a room for your parents."

Emily squeezed my arm, her eyes bright with happiness.

"Kevin, we're finally getting married."

That was the best day of my life.

It was also the day before everything fell apart.

My happiness didn't last. The more I studied the vase, the more something felt wrong.

The shape of the base had a subtle, almost imperceptible modern quality to it.

My stomach dropped. Without telling David, I secretly took the vase to a retired veteran of the trade.

The old-timer glanced at it and slid it right back to me.

"Kevin, you've got a lot to learn. This is a fresh fake. The aging's decent, but it's worth maybe a couple thousand for materials at best."

My brain went completely blank.

Four hundred thousand dollars.

I rushed back to Heritage Gallery and slammed the vase down on David's prized rosewood table.

"Mr. Grant! What's going on here? Something's seriously wrong with this thing!"

He sat there calmly sipping his coffee, not even looking up.

"What's wrong with it?"

"This vase's a fake! A high-quality knockoff!"

He finally set down his cup and looked at me. The warmth was gone—his eyes were cold and hard, nothing like the kindness I remembered.

"Watch your mouth, Kevin. I brought you into this business and taught you for ten years—this is how you repay me?"

"I had someone else check it! They said it's a brand-new fake!"

"Who'd you go to?" he sneered. "This business is cutthroat, and people are worse. Some folks can't stand seeing Heritage Gallery do well, so they played you. You really can't see that?

"Think you're independent now? Hear one thing and suddenly you're back here doubting me?"

I stood there speechless, my panic drowning in a crushing sense of betrayal.

"But... what about my 400 thousand dollars?"

"That was between you and the seller. I was just the middleman—I just looked at it for you."

He calmly washed his hands of it.

"You got fooled because you don't know enough. Who else is there to blame? In this business, paying tuition is part of the deal."

"Four hundred thousand dollars for tuition?" My voice shook. "That was my wedding money!"

"Your head's in the wrong place. You're too impatient, too greedy—people like you never make it big in this business."

He stood up and looked down at me, each word cutting deep.

"You don't belong in the antique trade anymore. As of today, you're no longer my student, Kevin. And don't ever come back to Heritage Gallery."

He was throwing me out for good.

He used the 400 thousand dollars I'd earned through blood, sweat, and tears as my final "tuition."