Dark Art Ch. 02

i have a lot of doubts about this chapter being too long. but, i'd love to know what you all think (｡◕‿◕｡)

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Episode 2: Return of the Prodigal Son

THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.

Still half-asleep, Ivan registered the noise as someone at the front door and blearily rolled over in the sheets.

"Just leave it," he groaned.

He could deal with another delivery of flowers and cards in his late fathers honor later. When the room stopped spinning. But when the door to the bedroom burst suddenly open, he jumped out of bed like a startled cat, convinced it was the police.

Different scenarios flashed through his mind. The girl he'd overpowered in the yacht bathroom last night, the one three weeks before. And even before that. College. High school. Dozens of memories rushing forward alongside the adrenaline.

"For fucks sake," he grumbled when he realized it was only his uncle, Joseth Masters.

Tall, clean-shaven, and square-jawed, he still looked enough like a cop to ruin anyone's day. Ivan rubbed his eyes, blinking as he saw his clothes from yesterday still scattered across the floor of an opulent bedroom that looked nothing like his own condo.

"How'd you get in here?" Ivan asked suspiciously, but his uncle ignored the question, instead asking his own.

"Where did you go last night?"

Ivan grabbed his phone from the nightstand and realized it was somehow 5:40PM the following day. How long had he been asleep? The dim blueish glow from behind heavy window curtains made the time of day seem indistinct. If it hadn't been for his phone, he wouldn't have been able to tell if the sun was setting or rising.

"So now I have to checkin with you before I go anywhere?" Ivan asked, grabbing his balls through his boxers as he swept past the man. "Can I go take a piss, then, uncle? Or would you like to come get some eyewitness evidence?"

"You were expected to speak," Joseth continued evenly, following a short distance behind him. "Give some sense of confidence to the shareholders that the prodigal son has things under control."

Ivan disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and slammed the door behind him, rolling his eyes. He couldn't wait until he got the accounts officially transferred to his name and could fire his fathers old staff, starting with his uncle, the bank's so-called head of security.

"Your actions reflect on more than just you now, Ivan. Think of the business, the family," his voice droned from behind the door while Ivan unlocked his phone.

Reddit. Porn. Instagram. He swiped away a series of calendar notifications as he scrolled through the profile of a young woman laying on her back, smiling, wearing a sparkly cubic zirconia collar and cheap lingerie. Broke, desperate, impressionable, and very much his type.

Double tap.

Eventually flushing the toilet and unlocking the door, Ivan crossed the bathroom toward an antique sink made of jade. It wasn't his apartment he'd come home to last night, but his fathers old place, which was much closer to Navy Pier, and he supposed, technically also his, once they got the inheritance sorted.

"What's it going to take to get you to leave?" asked Ivan when he saw his uncle still standing there by the doorframe. He splashed water on his face to clear his view before reaching for an embroidered towel that said LM.

Joseth looked him over critically. Not that there was much to criticize; Ivan was fit and toned, the muscles on his back carved like a boxers. He met his uncles eye in the mirror when he noticed him staring at the bruises on his thighs.

"And what happened there?"

Ivan looked down at the spray of fist-sized black and purple marks mottling the inside of his legs, the girl from last night coming quickly to mind. Pretending to notice for the first time, he gave a little smile. "You know the ladies can't get enough of me."

Joseth blinked a few times, a disgusted expression crossing his face.

"Please, spare me the details. Why don't you just try to put some clothes on and smell a little less like alcohol and weed, hmn?" he suggested. "Can you do that on your own, or do you need help?"

"Get dressed for what?" Ivan retorted.

"The Collector Preview is tonight, and you've already accepted the invitation."

"Collector-what?" Ivan grimaced, the many calendar invitations he'd swiped off his phone coming rudely to mind. "Shit."

He was starting to get a headache from keeping up with these people, but he knew he needed to focus on solidifying his title as CEO -- not argue with a man that was soon to be unemployed -- so he slipped into one of his fathers old suits, rows of almost identical-looking Armani and Prada jackets lining the walls of a huge walk-in closet. It was a little awkward wearing the clothes of a dead man, but there was no salvaging his outfit from last night, not with saliva and cum stains running all down the trousers.

Outside the house, he found his uncle waiting for him at the wheel of a black Escalade and got into the passenger seat looking much more put together. Black jacket, creased trousers, an expensive Rolex he'd found on the closet shelf glinting from his wrist. Almost like a real CEO.

He could feel his uncle observing him from the driver's seat, but if he had something to say, he let it go, before shifting the car into gear and pulling through the wrought iron gates that lead straight into downtown Chicago.

"The head chair will be there," said Joseth after a while. "That's the largest shareholder outside our family."

"Glee," Ivan responded, not looking up from his phone.

In truth, he knew very little about what taking over a bank would entail, and was surprised when, instead of arriving at some lawyers office in the finance district, they arrived in front of the Art Institute, a huge stone building that looked more like an old manor or castle than something that belonged in the middle of downtown Chicago.

The museum was famous even outside the city for its enormous art collection, and right now, people were lined up outside the doors like it was some kind of celebrity red carpet event. Videographers, women in gowns, men in suits, wrapping all the way down the stairs to the sidewalk.

"Here?" Ivan asked, glancing at the side mirror when they pulled to the side of Michigan Avenue in dense traffic, but his uncle had already cut the engine and opened the door, not seeming to think it was a problem.

Collector Preview...as in, art? Art collectors? Ivan was beginning to feel sharply out of his depth until two museum guards in high-necked crimson uniforms noticed them walking up the steps and waved them ahead of the queue.

"Good evening sirs," said one, glancing curiously at Ivan. "Mister Masters, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person... M-my sincerest condolences about your father. He was a great man."

"Uh, sure, yeah," said Ivan awkwardly. "Thanks, bud."

He was surprised when they were waved past without any further screening, into a huge marble lobby alive with music and voices. People were everywhere, a grand staircase lined with roses spilling down dramatically in the center the room - which, at the moment, looked nothing like a museum at all and more like a restaurant or ballroom, filled with a sea of decorated tables.

It was very unlike the parties he went to, with loud music and girls in bikinis. Almost everyone here looked to be over the age of 65, and with a pang of concern he turned to his uncle, fearing there might not be an escape for hours.

"So, we're just going to be in and out, right?"

Joseth glared at him, but then slowed his step and walked a little outside the path of the crowd, gesturing Ivan to do the same.

"How much do you know about the Medici Bank?" asked his uncle, taking on a tone of upmost confidentiality.

Ivan sighed. Not this again. Couldn't they save family trivia for another night?

"I know the company has been passed from father to son for at least seven generations," said Ivan, adding with an annoyed sniff. "And that our family believes in honoring tradition."

"Yes, well. You should know, my brother tried very hard to get that patriarchal succession bylaw changed during his lifetime, but... the company is more than seven hundred years old. It's complicated."

The disappointment in his uncles voice was evident as he continued, talking slowly like he was trying to impress something vitally important to a small child. "The Medici Bank has been operating uninterrupted since the thirteenth century, and it is what is called a hereditary title that now, God help us, wills these assets to you..."

Ivan's attention easily drifted, his uncles words fading as he looked slightly past him, at where a group of four students were being ushered together for a picture. Two girls, two boys, all smiling and dressed to the nines. They seemed to be the only young people here - honor students or something, probably. Cute.

After the camera flashed and the photographer walked away, the smiles on the students faces vanished and they went back to talking amongst themselves, Ivan's eyes roving over the girls bodies unnoticed.

The taller, skinny one held his attention. He couldn't hear their conversation from here, but by the look on her face and the way her pale complexion became rosier as she talked, he thought, maybe, they weren't all such good friends at all. She wore a wispy purple dress, and a little bit too much makeup for her age, but the reason he couldn't take his eyes off of her was because she looked a bit like him - same fair skin, raven-black hair, dark eyes.

She could have passed for his sister. Maybe even his daughter.

He felt a familiar rush of warm excitement at the thought. He'd love to see what that eyeliner looked like running down her cheeks, preferably while they played a little game of how deep can it go? He wondered if she was into it. Probably. Most of these college girls were just a few drinks away from releasing their inner slut. He knew from experience that even the ones who pretended not to want it, almost always did.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made him refocus on his uncle, who was now looking at him expectantly. Three people had joined them, two much older men and a woman in a blue dress suit, with short gray hair and skin like crumpled paper. She looked old enough to be his grandmother, and his scowl didn't budge at all when she flashed him a smile.

"Allo, my name is Claire Baude," she extended one hand. "The head chair, and director here at the Art Institute. You must be Ivan."

Ivan shook her hand, his gaze sliding questioningly to his uncle. Is this some kind of joke? he thought, forcing a smile.

"It's Eee-vaughn, actually."

"My apologies," Claire continued, meeting his eye. "Your father rarely spoke of you, or I might have known..."

Ivan's lips tightened at her little quip, but he forced his voice to remain neutral. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Claire glanced at the other guys she'd brought with her. "Well, we're very curious to learn what your plans are for the collection."

Collection? Ivan looked between them, as if they were speaking Greek. When the length of the pause became almost unbearable, Claire squinted at him suspiciously, an effect that made all of the skin on her face wrinkle like old leather.

"You understand, of course, that ze company's value is primarily in its holdings of fine art?"

"Art..." Ivan trailed, the realization of why they were here, of all places, hitting him like a ton of cement.

Of course his father hadn't simply been the owner of a traditional bank that held money. He was the owner of a vast quantity of art, so much of it that his assets were housed in this very building, like a bank vault.

So that's why he'd always been hanging around these dusty MFA motherfuckers.

"Yes. The Medici Bank is a fifty percent shareholder of the collection here at the Institute. If ze corporation has passed to you, then, so do ze shares."

Although nothing had changed, the room seemed to be growing darker and smaller around them, until it was as if only their circle of conversation existed. Ivan considered this new information with growing worry. He was mostly interested in the role of CEO insofar as it granted him access to a wallet full of AMEX Black cards, private flights, and upscale dinners with cover models. He didn't know a thing about art, and he sensed that for everyone standing around him, it was their special bailiwick.

"However, given your, ah, how shall we say... distance? From ze art world the past few... decades... we have some... mmm, reservations about your ability to assume ze role."

Ivan's eyes narrowed. "The lawyers told me it was called undisputed patriarchal-"

"I am aware," Claire pushed a pair of clear, frameless glasses up her nose. "But we think it would be best if your day to day involvement in the business was limited. Maybe your uncle can help with ze transition back to, what is it Laurent said you do? Real estate?"

"Look, lady," Ivan ran a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of his growing frustration. "I'll level with you, I don't really want to be involved anymore than you want me here. I'll settle for liquidating, say, ten percent of the assets this year. However you all want to go about doing it."

Claire was silent for a moment, then laughed, a sound that made his ears ring like someone was sliding hangers over a metal closet rack.

"I'm so sorry, I don't think you understand how this works. Ze art is not for sale, and will never be. Your position as a shareholder doesn't change that -- everything here is done by a vote, and if it were to really come down to it, ze other shareholders --" she gestured broadly at the men with her. "--would block any attempts to disrupt the collection."

Ivan blinked, looking pointedly at his uncle. "Then why the fuck am I here?" One of the guys next to Claire wrinkled his nose at this, murmuring. "Young man."

Joseth raised an eyebrow. "The protection of human history and culture?"

It was Ivan's turn to laugh, which came as more of an exhale. If there was anything he'd learned from his father growing up, it was that interactions with people were all about control. Self-control, financial control, and control of a situation were, in his eyes, all vitally important traits for a man. He wasn't about to make it easy for these ivory tower assholes to wrench his inheritance out from under him. They'd have to do better than that.

"Oh, give me a break Jo," said Ivan. "You've all been handling the protection of the human spirit -- or whatever the fuck you want to call it -- for thirty-some years just fine without me. Now, after my own father willed this change, you don't want to accept it. But last I heard, it's not your decision to make, is it?" He paused, looking around the circle. "Is it?"

Their strained silence told him he'd struck some truth. "That's what I thought. Listen, I'm going to take a look around. Why don't we pick up this conversation again when you're all feeling ready to negotiate? Until then, respectfully, go get fucked."

It felt good to walk away from them, but it did little to ease the heat and tension that had spread over his body as a result of the conversation. He picked through the crowd, headed for the deserted galleries, aware of several museum guards watching him, but doing nothing to stop him as he stepped over the velvet stanchions.

"Who does that old bitch think she is?" he murmured to himself, as the noise of the great hall fell away behind him. And Joseth too. "Trying to fuck me over? You all want this so badly, don't you? But it's not going to fucking happen."

He didn't know where he was going, but when he noticed a glass door facing an outdoor courtyard, a direction suddenly presented itself. He reached into his pocket for his vape, looking back at the deserted corridor before turning the handle and slipping outside.

The courtyard was large and dimly lit, with lots of trees and towering abstract metal statues creating shadowy nooks he could take cover in. He was surprised, however, when he caught the distinct scent of marijuana already drifting toward him on the night air and spotted something he hadn't seen at first, a young woman standing by a far wall, who had now definitely seen him, and was trying to squish something under her shoe without him noticing.

"Professor-" she started, then stopped herself with a quick. "Oh."

Ivan had to squint to get a better look at her, but the moment he did, the memory of the four students from earlier resurfaced and he put his vape back into his pocket. Honor students, huh?

It wasn't the girl he'd been so fixated on, but her friend. The one she'd been arguing with.

"You know, you really shouldn't be messing with that stuff, honey. It's not good for your health," he said, closing the distance between them. He was glad to put the discussion with Claire and his uncle behind him and have something more interesting to focus on for a little while, reasoning that maybe the night wouldn't turn out to be such a waste of time after all.

"Yeahhh, I know. Sorry..." she mumbled noncommittally.

Seeing her up close, he was surprised he hadn't really noticed her before. She was gorgeous, with dark skin, long, curly hair, and exotic-looking blue eyes that made her seem like she was from some far away place. Like Cairo or Tel Aviv, or one of those other distant landscapes he imagined filled with breathtaking women; green eyes, bronze skin, against a hostile desert backdrop.

It was possible they were color contact lenses, but still. Against her dark complexion, the effect was quite striking.

"You don't need to apologize to me," he shrugged. "It's your own health."

She didn't seem to know what to say to this, but the way she rubbed her elbow with one hand and glanced past him gave the impression of some trapped animal looking for an escape. To many, this would have come off as deeply uncomfortable body language, but he preferred to view the behaviors of women, and most people, through a simpler lens.

Natural urges drive us all.

Strip away the fancy clothes and houses and the fake ranks prescribed to us by society today and what is life, but a fight between the biggest, strongest, and most aggressive males, for the most desirable mates?

He'd witnessed this logic play out countless times in nature, watching the stray cats as a boy in Italy. Every summer, the big male toms would chase down smaller females in heat and breed them at any cost, hissing and screaming like an opera at night in the countryside. It was the same with the birds, the horses, the hens and roosters. Bigger, older males, selecting the youngest, most inexperienced females across the natural order, like it was coded into the laws of nature itself.

Why would it be any different with people? Had they not all evolved from the same tree? He was bigger, she was smaller. Her innate desire to appear submissive and nonthreatening in his presence was only natural, and no doubt a sign of her own attraction to him, whether she understood that yet or not.

"Ivan Masters," he said, extending his hand, but she stiffened unexpectedly when he said his name, flashing him a grave look.

"Oh, I know you," She bit her lip, a few nervous inhales making her chest rise and fall pleasantly.

"Do you?"

"I saw your picture on the news," she supplied, then blurted suddenly. "Please don't tell the professor about this. He would literally kill me. Like. You don't understand."

She was wearing a black dress and heels, the sort of outfit that was just modest enough for a school event, with thin straps that afforded him a clear view of her collarbones and the delicate curve of her neck, but too high-cut to see any cleavage.