The car pulled up in front of Picfacts, a prestigious gallery known for housing some of the world's most expensive paintings and artifacts. Mr. Linton stepped out, his presence commanding immediate attention. He strode toward the manager's office, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. "Good morning, Mr. Linton," the manager greeted, swiveling in his chair to face him. "Good morning. Where's the painting?" Mr. Linton asked, cutting straight to the point. "Right this way," the manager said, leading him to a heavily secured section of the gallery. "What we have for you today is truly one of a kind—not just in England, but in the entire world." Mr. Linton raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Go on." "I present to you the portrait of Lady Martha of Athens," the manager announced, his voice brimming with excitement. "This masterpiece was discovered deep within the ruins of the castle, perfectly preserved. It was painted by the greatest artist of his time, "He uses mud and sticks to paint, and sometimes if he can't find sticks for painting, he uses sticks… haa! Just joking", Mr. Linton's eyes narrowed. "Hmm." "Only about the sticks," the manager quipped, earning a faint smirk from Mr. Linton. "So, what's the price?" Mr. Linton asked. "We've informed several clients, and we're waiting for the highest bidder. The current highest bid is one hundred and five million dollars." "One hundred and eighty million," Mr. Linton declared without hesitation. The manager's eyes widened. "Sold! One hundred and eighty million dollars!" he exclaimed, barely containing his excitement. "Have it delivered to my estate immediately," Mr. Linton instructed as he turned to leave. "I'm heading to Abu Dhabi in three hours.
The doorbell chimed twice, its sound echoing through the grand foyer. Ellen opened the door to find a tall figure silhouetted against the moonlight. "Who are you? We're not expecting guests," she said, her voice trembling. The figure removed his hat, revealing a face that made Ellen gasp. "Brian?!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of shock and fear. "Hush, Ellen. Aren't you going to let me in?" Brian said, brushing past her. "How did you get past the guards? What are you doing here?" "I came to visit my beloved brother. Is he home?" Brian asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he hung his coat on the rack. "He's not here. You need to leave, or I'll call the police," Ellen warned, though her voice lacked conviction. Brian ignored her; his eyes drawn to the portrait of Lady Martha. "Ah, my brother's latest acquisition. He's always been one to flaunt his wealth," he remarked, reaching out to touch the painting. "Don't!" Ellen snapped, stepping between him and the portrait. "That's worth millions." "Of course, it is," Brian replied, his smile chilling. "You see, Ellen, getting rich is easy. Staying rich—that's the hard part. Give my regards to my brother when he returns." With that, Brian turned and left, his coat slung casually over his shoulder
Brian sat at a library table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pen in the other. He was finalizing the manuscript he'd been working on since his time in prison—a novel that would shake England to its core. The next morning, newspapers across the country carried the headline: **"Peeta Brian's 'Green Snake in Green Grass' Goes Viral in England." ** Ellen picked up the paper, her hands trembling as she read the bold letters. Meanwhile, on television, Brian sat across from a talk show host, his demeanor calm and collected. "What inspired you to write this novel?" the host asked. "The novel explores the three main classes of society—the upper class, the working class, and the lower class," Brian explained. "Each represents a different stratum of the world: the wealthy, the educated but unemployed, and the less privileged. It's a reflection of the world we live in." As the show ended, Brian leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. His plan was unfolding perfectly. She flung the remote to the table beside her and continued with her daily routines.