Dropping his forearm onto the armrest of his chair, Theo listened to what Zeckendorf had to say as he twirled his pencil idly between his fingers. The man seemed to show genuine interest at the mention of Marcantonio and he sounded sincere in the information he relayed. He wasn’t lying either. “If they were going to ask, do you know who it would be then?” He already knew the answer, of course; but he wanted to see if the good doctor was going to be forthcoming with him about it. “I’m sure Dr. Marcantonio would have had some sort of will written up. Maybe he left the Rembrandt to someone in his family? Son or a daughter, perhaps?”