'In the Garden'?", he asked. I turned and looked at him, my mouth opening slightly. How dare he mention it, let alone even notice! My father looked at the painting then back to me, "Yes, I believe Selene was making a copy to hang on the wall while the original is being restored. Tell me Carter, what made you think this wasn't the original?". Carter looked at the painting again, "Well," he said, "Although the colors match almost exactly, and the brush strokes are similar," he paused and glanced up at me, "it was the lack of feeling in the painting. It can't be seen but it's noticable when it is not there". At that point I was boiling. I had been working on this piece for over two months, and for this amerature to come in and tell my father that my portraite lacks feeling?! I knew I did not like this boy for a good reason. Dad turned to look at me, he said queitly, "Can we talk for a moment, excuse us Carter for just one moment please". My father and I walked down the hall and into his study. The study is my favorite room in the entire house. Two entire walls were lined with book shelves, containing all the great classics of literature, Austen being my favorite, I considered myself a Classics Junkie. The shelves were a beautiful dark wood (find a legit wood) and the book ends were each carved like the face of a different author. The other two frames contained some of our greatest pieces of work; our forgeries. Some are just too good to give up, even for the real thing. There was a Van Gogh, a Da Vinci, a Bellini, and a Raphae, all too good to replace for the original. These were more precious to my father and I than the orginal works of art, because even though they weren't worth anything it was our time, and our feeling that had gone into them. Originals only put bread on the table. In a corner sat the desk where my father filled out papers and met with clients. While in another a rather large and comfortable chair with a floral print was lay, that was my chair. The spot were many great novels were read and numerous plans were devised and revised. As I stepped into the room my father quickly grabbed my arm and looked at me, "We need him" he said simply. the first word to pop into my head and out of my mouth was "No!". There was no way I was going to let that thing into my crew. Nope, not a chance, and no matter how much convincing my father did I still would not agree. "Who even knows he isn't going to run to the police and tell them about what we do?", I asked, "I'm sure he would be rewarded for turning in wanted criminals! He isn't one of us". My father began to say something, but then stop