The Painter's Unending Haunt

ld never paint again. Then he told my wife, Olivia, that I ha

prison, where I was starved, beaten, an

my lost collection, while everyone praises him as an art mogul. Olivia, my wife, is there too, looking beautiful but with a shadow

y stolen art paid for, listening to the lies of the man who

for a year to donate blood for Olivia's rare condition, saving her life. Then the news broke:

she tried to salvage my shredded art from the attic. But then my real parents, billionaires who had been searching for me for dec

olding out the locket

feigned heart attack. But then the funeral home called, asking Olivia to pick up my remains. My ashes scattered

he called 911, reporti