Neal Calder writes literary thrillers about clever people and the elegant, ruinous lies they tell to get what they want.
He is the author of the Cross and Vance novels, a series following an art forger and the federal agent who should have arrested him as they run beautiful cons through the art world's shadier rooms, and of the standalone psychological thriller Good Company, about two couples, one snowbound glass house, and the terrible warmth of being chosen.
His books share a fascination with a single dangerous idea: that the most convincing performance a person ever gives is the one meant for the people who love them. Expect slow-burn tension, characters you're not sure you should be rooting for, and endings that ask what a person is willing to become to survive.
He lives in the mountain West, where the winters are long and the nearest neighbor is a decision rather than an accident.
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Neal Calder writes literary thrillers about clever people and the elegant, ruinous lies they tell to get what they want.
He is the author of the Cross and Vance novels, a series following an art forger and the federal agent who should have arrested him as they run beautiful cons through the art world's shadier rooms, and of the standalone psychological thriller Good Company, about two couples, one snowbound glass house, and the terrible warmth...
A forgery so perfect that everyone who touches it will be telling the truth.
It takes four minutes to add sixty years to the record. A polite, forgettable man in white cotton gloves visits five archives in three countries, and in each one leaves behind three sheets of paper — a letter, a ledger, a receipt — aged to the decade, planted in the...
The most valuable art in the world hangs in a room no one is permitted to see. Getting in means being seen.
A bonded freeport above the high desert holds eleven hundred objects and no light: paintings, bullion, and antiquities parked tax-free in the dark by people who never intend to look at them again. Nothing in the building is stolen. Nothing...
The most dangerous book in the world is a list of true names. Four hundred people are alive because nobody has read it.
For forty years, the finest maker of false identities of his generation built new people for the hunted: witnesses, defectors, women who needed to stop existing before Thursday. He died in 2005 on his own stairs, of an ordinary...
