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skylights that were just waking up with the dawn. She turned on her iPod in its dock and was soothed as Miley's nasally twang caressed her. The canvas was almost finished, she noted absently as she lifted her paintbrush and gave herself over to the dark, moody swirling waters.
     
     

Chapter 7
    Late Thursday afternoon, Allison approached Natalya’s desk. “Natalya you’ve been a lifesaver this week—thank you very much.”
    “You are most definitely welcome,” she said as she took off her reading glasses and smoothed down her black pinstriped suit.
    “I'm leaving now for the day, I have to get to the gallery and put in a couple of hours before we close. I won’t be in tomorrow, either. My assistant and I will be preparing the items for the We Care auction on Saturday evening.”
    “Yes, of course, I’ve heard about that. Will you be going out to L.A. on Monday morning?” Natalya asked.
    “What’s in L.A. on Monday?”
    “Oh, I'd have thought Bradley would've mentioned it.” Natalya looked displeased. “Your father had assigned Bradley the responsibility of working with the interior design team to streamline the interiors of the new fleet of jets."
    "Wow, I'm impressed that Dad gave him such an important responsibility."
    "It turned out to be short-lived because Bradley bungled the job. He accused the head designer of misappropriation of funds." She set her reading glasses down on her desk. "It turned out to be a simple bookkeeping error that hadn’t been caught until the ugliness came to light. Your father was beside himself. He had an exclusive and long-standing relationship with that team of interior designers. He had arranged to fly out there to smooth the ruffled feathers himself."
    "I would imagine he was furious," Allison added.
    "Actually, you just reminded me your father argued with Bradley quite loudly that morning of the accident. He had given Bradley the chance to prove himself in order to please Martin and ease the bite of selecting Alex to serve on the board over him, but it backfired. He accused Bradley of trying to sabotage the company," Natalya finished.
    “I'd assume it wasn’t the first time my father was involved in a shouting match at the office. He had a volatile nature. But this sounds like cause for concern. Did you tell this to the police?”
    “No, I didn’t make the connection until this minute,” Natalya replied slowly.
    Allison fished out Detective Fitzsimons’ card and handed it to her. “Please make the call.”
    “Of course. Right away,” she nodded.
    Allison felt unnerved as she rode down in the elevator. Once again, the stress of the last two weeks threatened to overtake her. She had never thought of herself as a weak person, but this new development threw her. She looked at the time; it was nearing four o'clock, and she was anxious to get to the gallery. Allison remembered when her father had pitched the idea of her joining the company back when she was still in college. He had driven up to Brown University one fall Sunday afternoon on the guise of foliage watching. He took her out to lunch and tried to tell her she had a head for business. Her major was still undecided at the time, but she knew sitting at a desk or in front of a computer would be stifling to her.
    "Dad, what would you say if I told you I was considering declaring Art history as my major?"
    "Art isn't a major," her father said. "It's a hobby."
    "It's more than a hobby to me, Dad. I could run a gallery or work on preparing exhibits for museums."
    "Brown isn't the place for that kind of pseudo-degree, and besides, I didn't drive all the way up here to listen to your fantasies."
    "You said you drove up here to see the leaves."
    "I drove up here to make sure my daughter doesn't have any foolish notions of how the world runs. Your mother let me know me that you weren't considering accounting as your major."
    "That's right," Allison responded. "You were the only one considering it; accounting was never