Chapter 23: THE DUTCHMAN'S SHADOW — Part 1
The conference room smelled like stale coffee and federal urgency. Peter stood at the head of the table, case files spread before him like a tactical map.
"Seven galleries in four weeks," he said. "High-quality art swapped for forgeries. Owners didn't notice until routine authentication revealed the fakes."
Diana distributed photographs—original pieces beside their counterfeit replacements. The work was exceptional. Without sophisticated analysis, most collectors would never know the difference.
"Someone's doing professional replacements," Peter continued. "They're not stealing art—they're substituting it. The originals disappear, the forgeries remain. By the time anyone notices, the real pieces are long gone."
I studied the photographs, letting the system analyze what my eyes couldn't catch.
[APPRAISAL: FORGERY SAMPLES]
[STYLE CONSISTENCY: 98%]
[TECHNIQUE: MASTER-LEVEL]
[NOTE: SINGLE FORGER — DISTINCTIVE BRUSHWORK]
The system confirmed what I already suspected. These weren't mass-produced fakes or amateur copies. This was the work of a single artist—someone with decades of experience and genuine talent.
Curtis Hagen. The Dutchman.
I'd recognized his work from the show's later seasons. The meticulous attention to period-appropriate materials. The subtle tells in brushwork that only experts could detect. The particular genius of someone who could have been a legitimate master but chose crime instead.
"Same forger on all pieces," I said, keeping my voice professionally neutral. "The stylistic consistency is too precise for multiple artists. We're looking at a single operation, not a ring."
Neal leaned forward, examining the photographs with the appreciation of someone who understood artistry even when it was criminal.
"The substitutions are elegant," he said. "Most forgers focus on the painting itself. This person also replicates the frames, the aging patterns, even the dust accumulation. Whoever did this spent months preparing each swap."
"Which means they had inside access," Peter finished. "Gallery staff, security systems, storage protocols. This isn't random theft—it's systematic infiltration."
The briefing continued. Timeline reconstruction, victim interviews, insurance claim analysis. Each piece of information built the picture of an operation that had been running for at least eighteen months, possibly longer.
I kept my meta-knowledge hidden, contributing observations that seemed like deductions rather than foreknowledge. The Dutchman had operated in New York before his eventual capture in the show's timeline. He'd worked with Neal, against Neal, become one of the series' most complex recurring characters.
And apparently, he was operating earlier than I'd expected.
The timeline is accelerating, I thought. Again.
First Keller at the gallery. Now Hagen's operation surfacing months before it should. My presence was creating ripples, changing events in ways I couldn't predict.
"Assignments," Peter said, pulling me back to the present. "Caffrey, you're on gallery interviews. Use your connections in the art world—see if anyone's noticed anything unusual."
Neal nodded, already planning approaches.
"Dark, financial analysis. Follow the money. These originals are going somewhere—private collectors, underground auctions, international markets. Find the trail."
"Understood."
"Jones, Diana—victim coordination. I want full statements from everyone affected. Someone saw something, even if they don't know it yet."
The team dispersed. I gathered my files and headed for my desk, already planning the financial investigation that would lead me exactly where I expected.
To Hartley's network. To the connection that tied everything together.
Neal caught up with me in the hallway.
"The forgeries are beautiful," he said, matching my pace. "I mean, objectively terrible from a legal standpoint. But as art?"
"Impressive."
"More than impressive." His expression carried something complicated—admiration mixed with professional jealousy. "Whoever did these could have been legitimate. Could have made an honest career."
"But didn't."
"No." Neal was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes I wonder if that's the real crime. Not the fraud, but the waste of talent."
I thought about my own situation—the system abilities I was developing, the identities I was building, the careful architecture of deception that structured my new life. Talent put to criminal purposes? Or survival by any means necessary?
"Everyone makes choices," I said. "Sometimes the wrong ones feel like the only options."
Neal glanced at me with new assessment. "Speaking from experience?"
"Observation."
We reached the bullpen. Neal headed for his desk, already planning his gallery interviews. I settled into my chair, spreading financial records across the surface.
The investigation had begun. I knew where it would lead. The question was how to guide it there without revealing what I shouldn't know.
Late night, empty office. The financial trail spread before me in a complex web of transactions, shell companies, and international transfers.
[APPRAISAL: FINANCIAL RECORDS — DUTCHMAN CASE]
[PATTERN ANALYSIS: ACTIVE]
[SHELL COMPANY NETWORK: 7 ENTITIES IDENTIFIED]
[GEOGRAPHIC DISTRIBUTION: US, SWITZERLAND, LIECHTENSTEIN]
The money flowed through familiar channels. Three countries, multiple intermediaries, carefully structured to obscure origins and destinations. The same architecture I'd seen in Holt's records.
The same bank in Liechtenstein.
Hartley's bank.
The connection was there, buried in transaction metadata and routing numbers. The Dutchman wasn't operating independently—he was part of a larger network. The same network that connected Marcus Hartley, Benjamin Holt, and the mysterious V.A.
[INTEL ACQUIRED: DUTCHMAN-HARTLEY CONNECTION]
[+200 EXP]
I saved the relevant files, encrypted copies for my private investigation. The FBI would eventually find this connection through conventional analysis. But I'd found it first, which meant I could control how the information emerged.
The question was what to do with it.
Revealing the Hartley connection now would accelerate the FBI investigation. But it would also risk exposing James Thornton's infiltration. Vance had promised to contact me when "special inventory" arrived. That access was too valuable to burn.
Patience. The same lesson I'd been learning since the first day—when Peter Burke had walked into that interrogation room and I'd chosen cooperation over confrontation.
Build the case slowly. Gather evidence systematically. When the moment comes, take everything at once.
The long con. Always the long con.
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