The Collector | 18+

【16】Can't Have Both

Despite all the things I wanted to tell Mr. Westergaard, I forced myself to focus on my boss instead. I shouldn't have any expectations for a man who was essentially a stranger; a man I'd met two days ago. But my boss? Oh, I could expect the bare minimum from him.

"You can't let him have it," I protested vehemently, gesturing at Mr. Westergaard.

"Miss Connelly, this isn't the time or place for this."

"Please, sir. This is–this is too important. You can't let him have the sword."

Mr. Mullins sighed, looked at his guest with contriteness, and then shook his head. "My deepest apologies, Mr. Westergaard. Would you mind giving us a moment?"

"Of course. I believe we were otherwise done here."

I watched as he stood from the leather chair, buttoned his jacket, and then shook Mr. Mullins' hand. When he turned my way, his eyes fell on me, but I was too upset to hold his gaze, swiftly angling my face to the side. I'd warned him. It would be me or the sword, but not both. The smell of him invaded my nostrils as he passed by me, weakening my defenses.

The door opened and closed behind me, but even with him gone, I was tense all over.

"Miss Connelly, please sit."

I considered arguing, feeling more confident standing, but I ended up obeying. Maybe I should be a little more conciliatory, given how I'd just acted like I owned the place. The chair was warm, almost too warm, and I was highly aware of who'd just sat on it.

"I realize why you're upset," he began, removing his glasses and fetching a cloth from his drawer. "In all honesty, I admire your passion and dedication for the job. Which is why I will let this pass. How many people would you say work at the museum?"

I gave it a brief thought while he inspected the state of his now clean glasses. "Six hundred?"

"Eight hundred and thirty-six," he corrected me with a matter-of-fact tone, slipping his glasses back on and getting rid of the cloth. "About half of which—including you—are care, research, and conservation. Mr. Westergaard's yearly contribution is consequent enough to pay for those four hundred and fifteen employees. Between that and his offer for the sword, Mr. Westergaard is giving to this museum nearly as much as the government is. At this point, if the man wishes me to bark for his entertainment, I just might."

His last statement took a second to make its way into my brain, but when he did, I almost chortled. He perceived it and offered me a genuinely apologetic smile. "I truly am sorry that you're losing something in this, but sacrifices have to be made. I've been making those for eighteen years now, to not only keep this boat afloat, but so we can keep supporting charitable organizations, finance digs, and educate our six million yearly visitors. Do not think of this in terms of money, because that isn't what it is. Also, I spoke with Mr. Morton after lunch to help make my decision, and I believe this is the best course of action in the grand scheme of things."

He'd spoken with Henry? And it had comforted him in his decision to sell the sword? What the hell had Henry told him?

"Did he speak of aliens? If he did, it was only him being silly, there's no way this is—"

"Aliens? Heavens no, what is this about? He merely explained to me the complexity of the find. You're too smart not to realize this artifact could never be exposed, Miss Connelly. People would think we're scamming them, trying to make a buzz and go viral. I have looked at the issue from every angle and have made the decision I judged to be the wisest. You may not agree with it, but it is what it is."

I felt like a kid being asked into the principal's office to be scolded—by a very lenient principal, admittedly. I didn't know where to look, embarrassed to have reacted the way I had. Being passionate about my work didn't always play in my favor.