CHAPTER 53
I had accepted Herb's offer to run the foundation because I was burned out from practicing law. If art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life, my soul needed a fire hose. All I wanted was to immerse myself in art, yet here I was, wearing a wire for the FBI, meeting with a potentially dangerous criminal, and trying to memorize my lines. Was I the girl who couldn't say no, or a closet thrill-seeker? Only years of therapy could provide an answer.
I was familiar with our local art galleries having visited most of them over the years, from the fancy galleries on Las Olas Boulevard to the less touristy ones on Hollywood Boulevard. Grace and I liked to attend opening night receptions, sip wine, and pretend we were art critics. Considering nobody recognized Van Gogh's gen
