Chapter 348: Art Exhibition, Where Did Evan Yeats’s Paintings Come From?

Chapter 348: Chapter 348: Art Exhibition, Where Did Evan Yeats’s Paintings Come From?

Would a father really hide everything about his own son?

"When did he tell you your father’s name?" Nathaniel Sloan asked.

Estelle Lockwood tilted her head. "It was when Grandpa Lockwood was sick."

Nathaniel paused. "Estelle, have you ever considered that he might have told you on purpose?"

Estelle froze.

"Grandpa Lockwood kept it a secret for so many years. Why would he suddenly let it slip ’by accident’ at the very end? Perhaps it was deliberate. He wanted you to know your father’s name.

"But Grandpa Lockwood was also a very cautious man. If he hid your father’s name and appearance, there had to be a reason. For example, if he was in some kind of danger, his family would be in danger too, so he couldn’t speak of it.

"If that were the case, he wouldn’t have told you his name for the rest of his life. But he did. Perhaps by that time, your father was no longer in danger? Or maybe letting people know of his existence wouldn’t pose a threat to you anymore."

Estelle pondered this for a long moment. It was true... Nathaniel was right.

If there was any real danger, a man like Grandpa Lockwood would never have uttered that name. Since he had told her, it meant it was safe for her to look for him. She could investigate everything about Silas Lockwood.

But... she had no idea where to start.

Even Nathaniel had never heard the name or found any trace of the man. Estelle didn’t even know if her father was still alive. Meanwhile, the Yeats family only knew that her mother had suddenly disappeared; they knew absolutely nothing about her father.

Why was it all so mysterious?

She racked her brain but couldn’t make sense of it.

After packing up the belongings and locking the door, Estelle took the stack of photos with her, hoping she might find some clues. Back at Imperial Crest, she spent an entire day studying them.

But she came up empty-handed.

However, she could tell that her father was truly gifted at painting. The photos showcased oil paintings, landscapes, traditional ink paintings, pen-and-ink sketches, and more. There was a wide variety of mediums, yet they all shared a distinct personal style.

It was surprising that he hadn’t become a professional artist.

Thinking of artists reminded her of Evan Yeats. She wondered whose skills were superior—Evan’s or her father’s?

Moreover... since her father had created so many pieces, perhaps he had made a name for himself in the art circle? Estelle wondered if she should take one of the photos to ask around.

But it was strange. Why had Grandpa Lockwood only kept photographs instead of the physical artworks? Where were her father’s actual paintings? Had they all been destroyed?

Tapping her fingertips thoughtfully, Estelle was suddenly struck by inspiration and began to copy one of the pieces.

Nathaniel watched her the entire time, an affectionate smile in his eyes. "Mrs. Sloan is quite gifted at painting herself."

Estelle nodded. "Just messing around."

A few days later, Evan Yeats’s art exhibition officially opened.

The exhibition was scheduled to run for seven days, and ticket holders could visit at any time. Liam Sloan had made plans to go on the third day. While the crowds had thinned slightly by then, there was still a steady stream of attendees.

"Evan’s drawing power is pretty insane," Liam remarked. "It seems he really does hold some weight in the art world."

Estelle raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Liam pointed with his chin. "See that guy over there? That’s the Vice President of the Art Association. Evan has a very unique standing in the industry. He’s not like other artists. Sometimes he’s incredibly prolific, and other times he won’t produce a single piece in a year. Sometimes his work is top-tier, and other times it’s technically proficient but lacks soul.

"Basically, Evan’s art is a roll of the dice. You never know when he’s going to drop a masterpiece. But anything that makes it into his exhibition is guaranteed to be exceptional.

"The Art Association didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity, so they brought along a bunch of artists and reporters. They’ve probably all witnessed Evan’s moments of sheer brilliance in the past."

Before Estelle even stepped through the doors, she overheard a group of artists gathered together, their faces flushed with excitement.

"You have to admit, Evan Yeats is an absolute genius! For the past few years, his work had the technique but none of the spirit. I thought he’d dried up, but he’s completely exploded onto the scene this year!"

"Right? Exhibiting thirty pieces of this caliber all at once... Word is, he painted all thirty within the last two years. To be so prolific and so breathtakingly good—if that’s not a genius, what is?"

"Then what was going on with him over the last couple of years?"

"He was probably just uninspired. It happens to a lot of artists. But whenever he hits a block, he switches up his art style."

"Haha, well, he is the prodigy who mastered eighteen different styles. Of course, some are better than others. But I will say this: the pieces on display today are leagues above his past work."

But someone else muttered under their breath, "Evan is only in his twenties, yet he has hundreds of completed works, with nearly half hailed as modern masterpieces. It’d be one thing if his style was consistent, but he’s all over the place and extremely prolific. Has no one ever suspected he might be using a ghost artist?"

It was a valid suspicion.

But even the Art Association was present. The Vice President shook his head. "Do you have any idea how many eyes are on Evan? If he were using a ghost painter, cracks would have shown by now, even with the Yeats family covering for him. If there’s no proof, it means it’s not happening. Reign in your jealousy."

With that, the Vice President put on a sycophantic smile and hurried forward to greet him. "Mr. Yeats, the exhibition is a spectacular success."

Evan shot a glance at the man who had questioned him earlier. With a casual wave of his hand, the detractor was promptly escorted out. No one dared to utter a word in protest.

He finally felt a profound sense of vindication.

In the Yeats family and at the corporation, he was always the one being suppressed and unfavorably compared to others. It was one thing to constantly fall short of his eldest brother, but now, people were actually comparing him to Estelle. It was a slap in the face!

But here, in the art world, he was the undisputed king—a genius showered in praise and adoration. Here, no one would ever claim he was inferior to anyone. They would only talk about how incredible he was and how no one else could even hold a candle to him.

This completely satisfied his vanity.

Watching from the sidelines, Liam and Estelle took in the entire scene.

The ousted artist looked indignant, while several bystanders pointed at him and whispered, "He’s so bitter. No wonder his work can’t hold a candle to Evan’s."

"Exactly. Hasn’t he always had a vendetta against Evan? Five years ago, he was making a scene, claiming that one of Evan’s art styles was stolen from his late friend."

"I mean, an art style is something anyone can learn. You can’t exactly ’steal’ a style. The only way it counts as theft is if Evan stole the actual physical paintings and passed them off as his own. But how is that even possible? If he did, he would have been exposed ages ago."

"Right? It’s just baseless jealousy. Frankly, I think Mr. Yeats was too kind for even letting him into the exhibition in the first place."

The middle-aged artist stumbled slightly, his face contorted with bitter resentment as he gritted his teeth in silence.

He couldn’t speak for Evan’s other pieces, but that specific pen-and-ink style absolutely belonged to his late friend! Since his friend had passed away without any surviving relatives, naturally, there was no one left to expose the truth.

It was laughable. No one believed him.

Liam scoffed. "See? This is Evan’s so-called ’power.’

"Part of it is just people sucking up to the Yeats family, sure. But the main reason is that his art is genuinely breathtaking."