Rebny's agreement to actually meet at the FBI surprised Peter and appalled Mozzie. But he insisted he'd done nothing wrong. So they met in a conference room. After the introductions, Rebny leaned forward, and asked "May I see it?"

Peter studied him thoughtfully. "You'll need to wear gloves."

Neal glanced between them as Rebny pulled on grey gloves and carefully inspected the painting Jones brought in.

The man sucked in a concerned breath. "Blasted good imitation, I'll give them that. I suppose I should be complimented." But he didn't look happy.

"Do you still have any of your legitimate stuff? Is there anything anyone could have copied off of?" Neal inquired. "Most people wouldn't know..." he glanced at Peter, warily, "about any ...alleged forgeries you've done to copy the secret signature."

Rebny slowly. "I only know of one I was charged with and," he smiled dryly, "I got off on a technicality." He reached into a portfolio he'd brought, and carefully laid out three paintings. Jones whistled.

"Nice!" Neal leaned forward appreciatively. They were semi realistic, with a touch of something unique to the artist. One of them showed a woman holding a child, with tears in her eyes, an American flag, and ghostly twin towers behind. Their eyes all were drawn to it.

"I've had prints made of that one. But I can't bear to part with the original." He said quietly. "All the money goes for a charity to help the survivor's and families. Some of them still have health problems."

Peter picked up a magnifying glass and looked at the signatures. Neal was doing the same.

After a moment, Neal looked at the Orwin forgery, a much more abstract modern piece and compared it to Rebny's originals.

"Your style really isn't anything like his."

"No." Peter shook his head.

"Truth be told, I'm not a fan of Orwin's style at all. And I can assure you, I've only ever imitated those I like."

Peter studied the man. He was not as casually dressed as Mozzie, but neither was he anywhere near as impeccable as Neal. His suit had a well worn quality to it.

"So how many have you sold? Who would know you were a forger and be close enough to you to get a hold of your artist's signature from back then then?" Peter asked.

Neal added "This isn't quite the same. This one has a symbol at the end." He was looking at the current forgery.

Rebny's fingers tapped the table lightly. "My attorney for one. Family, a few friends, I felt I owed them the truth. I've actually taught art classes at some of our charity outreach events. Anyone who bought the art could do the signature this well. But I only do a few a year. I really haven't the time for more. And..." he smiled "hypothetically speaking, I might have had one similar to that, back when I didn't sign my whole name."

"I think they'd need your actual art to come so close on the stroke style." Neal studied the special tribute painting. "Not a print."

"Yes. So someone who either bought it or studied it. But my former career, well, I guess the charges were on record but very few people know about them now."

"I guess we'll start there than." Peter decided. "Maybe someone wasn't happy about that verdict."

"What about someone not happy you quit the business? Did you back out of any jobs when you retired?"

"Well...there was Philrone. He had a woman lined up that wanted a forger for a job. We'd nearly settled the details when I...decided to retire." His voice faltered at the memory. I gave back the retainer fee for the paints and supplies, but they weren't happy."

"We'll check that, too." Peter said thoughtfully. "Thanks for your help."

"Please...find a way to stop this person without, ...without destroying what I've built since. Please."

"We'll do our best."

Neal turned back to Peter. "Well?"

"I'll allow he seems to be on the up and up. But it's not going to be easy. We can run checks on all the people surrounding him but word is liable to leak. And we need to search his studio."

Neal opened his mouth to object.

"You said they are close, Neal. What if they are so close they even used his own equipment?"

"I can't imagine anyone hating Rebny that much."

"We couldn't imagine the events of September 11, either." Peter considered sadly. Then he turned to Jones, who was reading over a file. "Jones, do a discreet search of the charity. See if anyone is on our watch list. Maybe someone is working there that isn't retired."

"Will do."

Neal shivered.

"Problem?"

"I just feel bad for him..."

"You weren't in New York when it happened. September 11th I mean."

"No."

"What were you doing?"

"Ha. Nice try."

"It can't just be previously unknown crimes keeping your mouth shut."

"No. I just don't want to talk about it."

Peter nodded, studying him. "If you ever do...I'm here. Okay? I just want to help. And I know you must have some kind of issues leftover."

Neal smiled slightly. "Maybe someday," he replied in a not – likely - but -thanks - for - the - offer tone.

"What were you doing?"

Peter's lips tightened. "Working. Everyone in law enforcement got the call to come to work, no matter what division. And everyone was distracted by concern for their own families. I finally got through to Elizabeth. It was before we moved to the place we live now. She was frantic, I was frantic. People I knew died that day."

"I'm sorry." Neal whispered.

"Bad day for everyone."

"Yeah. No limits. No barriers. I heard guys in lock up were locked down because they were in a panic over their families. The guards were having issues too for the same reason. And even they couldn't get home."

Peter shook his head. "That day it was just American. Not con nor free, cop or robber. Just American."

Neal nodded slowly.