His Masterpiece of Revenge

grease, metal, and s

rld away from the sterile glass t

. Perfect. A monster of a car, a beast from a blue-collar Boston dream, now fully

abstract painting by a reclusive artist who hadn' t sold a piece in twenty years. It cost me

cture of the Mustang, when a notification pop

ly art foundation. A kid with a sob story a

the air freez

ehind him, hanging on the wall, was the painting. My painting. The

ust know how to bring the light. Thank you to my incredible mentor a

ished concrete of the garage fl

amily's old-world prestige. But it had become real. We built a life b

I th

up on the second ring,

the car ready? I c

, Nicole. I jus

lence. "Oh.

at. "The one with the painting you were

on't be d

like I was a child compla

. He was having a creative crisis, he needed the e

peated, the words tasting like ash

t. It's what I do. You wouldn't un

hung

aint filling my head. It wasn't just a painting. It was a

se were the foundatio

t taken a sledg