Neal was proud of his ability to create forgeries. In most cases, his worries had circled around them being discovered for what they were: fakes. When he stood beside Kramer, who was inspecting the painting with light and lenses, Neal felt another kind of worry: he had done it too well.
He had to paint it well enough to be taken for the real thing by someone who knew art, or Richmond would not have bought it and caused suspicion. But what if Kramer was not expert enough to see it? Then he would go down just the same.
"Any verdict yet?" Peter asked, waiting patiently on Kramer's other side.
"This is consistent with the period where his dark palette gave way to bold colors," Kramer said. "The strokes angle slightly to the right."
"So it's real?" Peter asked.
"Ehh, the signature is dead on."
"Degas was losing his sight toward the end," Neal broke in, pointing. "There's a crispness —"
"Neal, stay out of this!"
"No, no, he's quite right," Kramer said. "But the oil is the real tell." Neal relaxed and took a step back, 'staying out of it,' as commanded. "To make a work look authentic, pigments are bound with linseed oil, which takes roughly 50 years to dry. When that finally happens, the oil starts evaporating, causing the surface to crack. However..."
Kramer turned to Neal, looking at him.
"May I?" Neal asked, gesturing towards the painting.
"Please."
"Thank you." Neal looked through the magnifying glass. "Yeah. These micro-cracks are slightly immature for a work that's supposed to be over a hundred years old."
"Good eye, Mr. Caffrey. Little more time in the oven, and it would have had me fooled."
Peter sighed in frustration.
"So it's a forgery."
"Mm-hmm." Kramer nodded.
Neal watched Peter's disappointment. It hurt. He had thought winning would feel great, but it didn't.
"I'm sorry, Peter." His handler looked up. "I know how much you wanted this."
He did not wait for a reply to that but left the conference room.
"So it's a forgery."
Kramer nodded.
So he had been chasing fool's gold. He still did not know if the art from the sub was out there somewhere. And he had let his partnership with the kid go through Hell for nothing.
"I'm sorry, Peter." He looked up into Neal's blue eyes. "I know how much you wanted this."
A bang of guilt hit him. And surprise. The kid was not mocking him for being right, he seemed honestly sad. Neal left them.
"Petey..." Kramer said softly from the end of the table. "We took down an arms dealer and recovered a number of missing paintings. This is still a win."
"I thought for sure it was the real thing... That the treasure was out there."
"Searching for the truth is what makes you a good agent. You can't always be right. In fact…" Kramer chuckled. "The hardest thing to do is admit you're wrong." He made a pause and looked out over the office. "Like I seemed to be about Neal."
He did not expect to hear that from his old mentor.
"You think he's changed?"
"I can't say it with conviction that he's reformed yet... But I can tell you, he wants to be here."
"Hmm." Peter smiled. It was a good sign. It made the day feel like a win, after all.
Kramer packed up his equipment.
"Whoever forged that painting is gonna make our work a whole lot more interesting."
"Why's that?" Peter asked, watching Neal and Melissa talking by the kid's desk. Kramer took his jacket and his bag.
"Because it's the best I've ever seen."
Melissa left, and so did Kramer. Peter stood mute, thinking about those last words. His eyes met Neal's. He didn't know how, but somehow the kid had switched that painting to his own forgery. The way he had acted around Kramer when he studied it… Neal had not said a word about the quality of the forgery. It was Neal's work. Of course, the kid had not wanted to get caught, but he could've run. But he wanted to stay. His pet convict liked working for the FBI.
Peter smiled. He enjoyed working with Neal. Neal enjoyed working with him. It may be time for him to realize where things were going and handle it better than he had so far.
When Neal left the conference room he found Melissa searching his desk.
"Find something interesting?"
"Hi, Chris," she said and Neal looked around, checking if anyone might have heard. "You went all out for your undercover assignment. Really settled into the Bureau. The tie drawer's a nice touch."
"Maintaining cover is my specialty." He glanced around again.
"Oh, I know." She leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Agent Jones told me how much he's enjoyed working with you all this time."
If was obvious she had figured things out. Denying things would make damage worse.
"All right. You caught me. I'm not who I said I was."
"No." She rose and faced him. "You're Neal Caffrey, infamous con man and forger."
"Guilty as charged."
"How long did you think you could keep this up?"
"Not long. But I needed to buy some time, and it was the only play I had." She was not buying that. "Melissa, working with Peter has been one of the best things that's ever happened to me. But he started cutting me out. You know how that feels. He wasn't trusting me."
"Imagine that."
"I needed to know why so I could fix it. I'm sorry I brought you into this."
She had listened to him and seemed to accept the apology, but she was still a federal agent.
"Obviously, I'll have to tell Kramer everything."
"Of course," he agreed. "We'll tell him the truth." He looked at her. "The whole truth."
She got the message. Her eyes wandered over the office, and then back to him.
"If I tell him I told you about the existence of the U-Boat manifest over Martinis, my career is over." He could not deny that. "And you know that." He could not deny that either. He knew he had won. "You really are Neal Caffrey."
"Welcome to White Collar."
She moved to the door but paused.
"It was impressive watching you work."
He smiled.
"Likewise." She took it for the compliment it was.