She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 203

Outside the glasshouse, Gordon's old friend, Dennis, was visiting from Engloria. The two men were strolling along the lake when Dennis was drawn to the stunning roses blooming inside the conservatory and decided to step inside.

The room was empty except for a wicker chair in the center of the flowers and an oil painting left on the ground to dry in the sun.

“My granddaughter has taken a liking to this conservatory lately,” Gordon said. “She comes here to be creative, writing sheet music and such. You know my grandson, Morris Lonsdale, right? She has the same gift for music he does.”

Gordon was so busy boasting about his long-lost granddaughter that he didn't notice Dennis had stopped by the chair, staring intently at the ground.

When Gordon finally turned back, he found his friend frozen in place. “What are you looking at so intently?” he asked, walking back. “Be careful with that old back of yours.”

Dennis crouched down, his fingers hovering over the still-wet painting, afraid to touch it. When he looked up, his eyes held an excitement Gordon hadn't seen in years. He was startled. “What's with that look? It's just a painting. What's there to get so worked up about?”

“This painting... did your granddaughter do this?”

Gordon sensed his friend had stumbled upon a treasure. He looked like he was about to burst into tears of joy. “She's a young girl passing the time in a conservatory. Isn't it normal for her to paint for fun? What's so special about it? You're acting like you've seen a ghost.”

Dennis's hands trembled, his voice thick with an excitement he couldn't contain. “Gordon, do you have any idea what this painting is worth? The brushwork, the treatment of light and shadow... this is the technique of the long-lost 'Oriental Impressionist' school!”

“The what school?” Gordon, a lifelong businessman, looked utterly lost.

“Twenty years ago, at an auction in Paris, a painting in a similar style sold for 320 million euros!” Dennis exclaimed, getting to his feet. “Where is your granddaughter? I must meet her!”

Gordon glanced down at the painting of birds and flowers, then back at his old friend, a disbelieving look on his face. “But my granddaughter never said she could paint. I thought she just played a little piano, knew some medicine, could race a car...”

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