Gemotions

The phone call was the first warning. Then came the image. His signature, the swirling curves of ‘Whispering Woods’, now on someone’s bicep. Ezra felt a cold dread creep into his bones.

He paced his apartment, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He stopped, his gaze fixed on the wall where he'd hung the original painting. He felt a sudden, sharp tightness in his chest.

“How could they?” he muttered, the words catching in his throat. He had invested himself deeply in this artwork. He decided he was going to seek legal counsel.