Three days later, the fake codex sold to a private collector from Texas for two million pounds. O’Flaherty got his money. Szász got his warning. Gerald got a postcard from Whitney: a picture of Belmarsh Prison, with the words Thinking of you scrawled on the back.
She had flown to Cork, sat in the seller’s kitchen (linoleum floor, cat on the fridge), and said, “Mr. O’Flaherty, the other houses will lowball you, then sell the codex to a private collector who will lock it in a vault in Geneva. I will find you a museum that actually wants it, and I will take a flat five percent.” whitney st john cambro
“I’m an honest one,” she said. “Which is far more dangerous.” Three days later, the fake codex sold to
“He collects people who owe him things. O’Flaherty owes him two million from a bad horse deal. So O’Flaherty stole the codex, and now he’s selling it to pay Szász. But here’s the kicker: Szász wants it back. He’s already sent someone to London. A fixer. Calls himself ‘the Accountant.’” Gerald got a postcard from Whitney: a picture