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“This section was consolidated later.”

His gaze sharpens slightly. I continue before he can answer.

“I’m not dismissing it. I’m cross-checking it against evidence attached to the object itself. If a painting carries a period exhibition number that isn’t reflected anywhere in the recorded chain of title, I’d rather investigate it than assume the frame is mistaken because the ledger belongs to the Kensingtons.”

For a moment, Ross says nothing. His eyes remain on mine, cool and unreadable, before he sets the chronology carefully back onto the table.

“You place more weight on a handwritten number than a family acquisition record?” he asks.

“Not more weight,” I tell him.

“Enough weight to question it.”

His head tilts a fraction.

“The ledger has been reliable for more than a century,” Ross says.

“Reliability doesn’t make it infallible,” I reply.

The words leave my mouth calmly, without challenge for the sake of challenge. I’m not here to argue with a Kensington in his own library. I’m also not here to alter my professional judgment because his surname happens to be stamped across half the records I’m reviewing.

Ross glances again at the frame.

“So what do you think happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit.

“That’s refreshingly cautious,” he says.

I meet his gaze. “You sound disappointed.”

Now the almost-smile appears.

“Not remotely,” he replies.

Margaret emerges from the archive carrying a slim black folder.

“Ross, I found the Gresham memorandum,” she says.

He accepts it from her but doesn’t leave. Instead, his attention returns to the Hartmann file.

“What are you looking for next?” Ross asks me.

“Anything tying the painting to Munich before Sir Edmund purchased it,” I explain.

“Dealer correspondence, an exhibition catalogue, private-owner records, transport documents. If I’m right, there’s another step between Vienna and London.”

Ross looks at the old notation once more.

“What happens if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ll document why and leave the existing provenance intact,” I tell him.

His pale-blue eyes settle on me again.

“Fair enough,” Ross says.

I nod toward the folder in his hand.