My stomach clenched as I watched the director locate Jude’s collection in the database.
I signed the required papers, and a vehicle almost the size of an SUV transported us to the area that held Jude’s collection. A young man in a black suit and crisp white shirt escorted us through a set of double steel magnetic doors which opened with a remote fob. A few more feet and we stopped at a large red steel door numbered 727. He showed us how to enter the code to gain entrance and how to leave the room secured when we finished. The attendant offered to help with the unpacking of the boxes, but Cillian declined. Before leaving, the attendant gave Jackson the tools they needed to open the wood crates, then he shook my hand and left.
Driving through the 30,000 square feet of secured climate-controlled area was anti-climactic. Jude’s 900-square-foot room of boxed crates was deflating. I had envisioned the place to be a treasure trove of wealth much like the Indiana Jones or Tomb Raider movies. It wasn’t even close. Tall upright light wood containers lined three of the four white walls and several lay flat atop each other on the concrete floor. The only containers of interest were ones that looked like heavy-duty steel lockers that were heavily secured. Although it was a temperature-controlled area, my arms broke out in goose bumps and dread shivered up my spine. Eloise impatiently tapped her fingers against her thigh which meant she was getting bored, and a bored Eloise was a pain to deal with, much like a toddler.
Cillian and Jackson tossed their jackets aside rolled up their sleeves and set to work opening the crates. We were told not to touch the steel lockers and that the ATF would be investigating those. Well, that answered one question. Together they laid out the contents, unwrapping each painting, vase, pottery piece, and bust. Jackson placed a numbered tag in each right corner of the canvases and on the bottom of the vases, pottery, and busts. I inventoried each painting, vase, and bust on a spreadsheet and triple-paper document the FBI required. My spreadsheet described in detail the period, subject matter, the medium used, what labels were present, and the type of frame used. The vases and busts were generically described as this was not my area of expertise, and I didn’t know Roman from Greek so why fake it? I’m no expert, but my guess was these were looted antiquities from Iraq and Syria with maybe some Italy thrown in for good measure. It was a tedious job and when I yawned, Jackson shrugged not giving me any support or sympathy.
As I casually examined a painting, something caught my attention. Affixed to the back of the painting I noted a signed certificate of authenticity and appraisal with my signature. I had neither examined nor authenticated this painting. I turned over painting after painting, and in total, ten had my name attesting to their authenticity. The letters and documentation we had found on Jude’s desk now fell into place. Those were his tickets to proving authentication of provenance, and with my certificate of authenticity, it would smooth the way to a sale of a fake piece. Oh my God, were these heading toward an auction house or museum?
“Cillian, Jackson, look at these. All of them have me authenticating them as real. Can we burn these?” I asked knowing the answer.
“Nope, they will be stored in our Washington office and will only see the light of day if there is a trial,” Cillian responded.
My personal and professional life was headed toward an implosion. It wasn’t if, but when. This would decimate my career and expose me to lawsuits for years to come, not to mention the criminal implications. There would always be a cloud hanging over me. The deceased fake Emma Collier could not testify on my behalf. Had Jude and Roselov planned to kill me as well so I could not protest my innocence, or would they leave me to twist in the wind?
“Why this building?” Eloise asked. “Why not keep it in a more isolated undocumented warehouse under some bogus name?”
“Remember we spoke earlier about a freeport?” Jackson stood and stretched his long body. “Greed. We might never have found this collection had Jude not opted to use this place to avoid tax and duty payment. People use a facility like this as a haven from taxes. If someone bought something from him or Roselov and walked out the door in possession of the purchase, it would trigger tax and paperwork. Not something they want. Storing it here bypasses that problem.”
What a massive mess. “Diana has been doing this for two years. That woman Sopia misrepresented me for two years. It appears over a two-year period, my name has defrauded countless people, and when they realize they got robbed literally, I will be in their crosshairs.” I was on the verge of collapsing. “And no matter what I do, it will be nearly impossible to know for sure if someone twenty years from now might come back to me. Look, we have to do something. You people have the US government behind you, and you have to hunt these people down and get this cleared up. I seriously want to throw up on my shoes.”
“As soon as we finish here, I think we need to talk to Alexi. You need to get ready for what shit storm is coming your way and get ahead of it. This is straightforward identity theft,” Eloise said stabbing her finger toward the paintings.
Jackson rubbed his tired eyes, stretched his back, and stood. “I will get the manifest from the manager of everything that has shipped to or from here under his name. At least we have a place to start. Maybe we’ve saved some city or small village halfway around the world from being blown up because we confiscated what’s here. Or slowed some drug cartel’s roll.”
Within the hour, the FBI had swooped in and were bagging and tagging everything as evidence. We had identified eighteen paintings as Diana fakes, twelve in total with my name as authentication expert. The director gave Cillian documentation from the last two years listing destinations of US, Europe, Russia, the Middle East, and China. Well, they had their work cut out for them. I guess you could say the upside was job security.
When I asked what was in the steel containers, all I was told was weapons. Little did Cillian know I had overheard the contents held grenade launchers, Russian something, and wiring for bombs when the ATF was inventorying the lot. It didn’t take much of a leap to figure out what that meant.
We returned to my home and made a pact not to speak of the findings any further tonight. Sadness smothered me, and my nightmares chased me throughout the night.
Cillian
AFTER SECURING THE HOUSE, I dropped my exhausted body into Aunt Mary’s king-sized sleigh bed. Great pillows. I awoke to the early morning light with an extra body at my feet. It was Lucy. Pushing her body with a nudge, she reacted to my suggestion to move with a moan telling me she was rolling over to continue her sleep. Fifteen minutes later when I rolled out of bed to take a shower, Lucy started down to the kitchen for her morning romp and meal. If I were her, I would capture a few extra minutes of snooze.
Quietly dressing after I emerged refreshed from my shower, I snatched my laptop off the writing desk and tucked it under my arm.
I navigated to the kitchen, disarmed the inside alarm and gave the camera a nod. After letting Lucy out, I set the coffee pot to brew ten cups. I was certain I would have some alone time this early. One could only hope.
As I waded through my emails, Jackson sauntered into the kitchen with bare feet, shirtless, hair a total mess. His pants were not buttoned and he looked like he had been in a wrestling match and lost to someone twice his size.
Right behind him trailed Eloise, still half asleep and wearing his shirt from yesterday. She too appeared to have been in a similar brawl and lost. Interesting.
“Morning,” was the only greeting I received from her as she stumbled toward the coffee pot. I watched with interest as she removed the pot and stood her cup under the drip, intercepting the coffee on its way from the machine to the pot and never losing a drop. When her cup was full, she replaced the glass carafe back under the still flowing liquid.
“Hey, what about me?” Jackson asked. Slouched against the counter with his feet spread, he looked as if he did not intend to move.
“What about you? Morning coffee. Every man for himself, Sparky,” she said as she walked to the
refrigerator. Bundling the milk and flavored creamer in the crook of her left elbow and holding her coffee in the other hand, she placed the cup on the table. Satisfied she completed her coffee preparation, she sat with her legs tucked under her.
“So, what have we learned?” Jackson yawned and then raked his hand through his hair as if it would help the untamed mess. I raised an eyebrow at Eloise. He said, “She’s fine, she’s of counsel. She would not want an interference of an investigation on her record.”
She promptly flipped him the finger. He bopped her on the top of her head as he passed her to get his coffee.
“Okay. The manifest at the freeport was useful. We found out that White has shipped previous collections to three storage facilities overseas all with bogus owners. One of the paintings we found is slated for an auction house in Paris, and several for an auction house in Dubai. What caught Thad’s eye was the collection in each house is marked for the attention of one particular employee, so that’s our inside person.
“In Paris, it is scheduled for delivery to Omar Abboud who has been an employee for four years. The instructions for him were that he should perform an independent valuation on it and then set it aside for a private sale. It’s set to ship from the freeport today, so we are letting it go, but our new trustee has changed the plans. When she wakes, we’ll fill her in.
“Under the new instructions from the trustee, the Matisse is to be listed and placed for public auction with a reserve bid of thirty-two million dollars. The provenance is one previous owner, and the exhibition stamps are all in order as well as Emma’s authentication.
“Derek tagged the painting we retrieved and sent it off to that person. He will monitor it. Thad has contacted Paris to make sure the painting does not leave the auction house when sold, and the money is held for the customary seventy-two hours. Emma and I will attend the auction but not make ourselves known until the transaction is complete and only if necessary. We might need to use her trust to find out who the buyer is and where the painting lands after the sale. When he finds out about our last-minute change, he might go through an agent.” I emailed a note to our travel department to secure airline tickets and a hotel.
“Does she know this? Because I can’t see her agreeing,” Eloise added. One hand on her mug and one stroking Sigmund, she used her leg to try to trip Jackson as he returned to his seat at the table. That earned her a shake of his head and raised eyebrow. Yes, more than interesting.
“Free trip, Paris. I sure wouldn’t argue,” Jackson said.
“It’s my opinion that I should be the one to go in her place. I speak French, have more experience with getting the trust to open doors, and better acting skills,” El said as if that would ever happen.
“Not happening, Angelina Jolie,” Jackson said as he poured creamer in his coffee.
“Why Paris and not New York? I would think getting the paintings in and out of Customs will be a bitch.” She had a point.
“Don’t have the answer because I agree. Viewing last year’s shipment, very few went to New York. It’s possible they lost their inside person there or perhaps there are fewer regulations at the Paris auction house. And depending on the final destination, it might be easier to move it from Paris, who knows. Either way, we will have it tagged to follow where it goes once it leaves Paris if we decide to let it go.” I stood to retrieve my cup and opened up my previous email so I could read it to Jackson.
After pouring my cup, I leaned back against the counter. “I don’t know if someone tipped Roselov off that we have the trust and are using it. As a consequence of our intercepting the freeport, Roselov will be calling Emma today for a meeting. He must have a suspicion we are monitoring his calls by this point. It might be a fishing expedition to determine what she knows and if she’s put any pieces together. He didn’t mention anything about Sopia’s body turning up. When he comes today, I suggest we make this appear like we are all here brainstorming over a lecture and listen to what he has to say from another room.”
“Nope, I disagree. I think we get the hell out and let Emma handle this with the cameras monitoring. I think he will speak more freely with her alone,” Jackson said.
“Are you insane?” Eloise interjected. “If this man is as dangerous as you say, he could kill her after he extracts whatever information he wants. Or force her to sign something. I say the more witnesses with guns the better.”
Emma dragged into the kitchen with her robe hanging open. She wore a long tee shirt beneath it and still pulled off sexy. “Guns? Who has guns and why are they needed? Did anyone let Lucy out?” she asked as she slouched into a chair and rubbed her eyes.
“Yes, I fed Lucy and Lucifer, and Lucy has been out. Here, sit. Let me get you a cup.” The pot was almost empty, so I set another one to brew.
When she settled with her cup, I continued.
“Sometime around eight or nine, Roselov will call you. He will ask you to meet him today, and we need you to agree. Perhaps he caught wind of the trust, or this is just a follow-up to put some pressure on you. I believe we should be here to monitor the situation. Jackson feels he will be more open to talking if you were alone. What are your thoughts?” I asked.
She took a sip of coffee, then adjusted her hair clip as she crossed her legs. “I want to be an asset to this case and help any way I can. But, and here is the big but, I will not be in a room alone with a man who can kill me and haul my body to his car. So, no. I will not be in the room alone with him. How about Eloise stays, and if necessary she can jump on his back while I kick him in the balls,” she offered as she glanced at Jackson who grinned back at her.
“Tempting, but no,” Eloise said. “I’ve seen those movies about the Russian Mob.”
“Then the plan is he will come here at a mutually agreed upon time. Take him into the living room so he can see nothing is disturbed, and you have not sold off anything in the house. It’s just another day in the life of Emma. We’ll set you up in the living room, so it appears like you are working in there and we will be in the dining room.” I paused to look at my phone when a text pinged. “Excuse me one second. Let me read this text from Sam.” What I read was disturbing. Money had started to move again with still no chatter, but social media chatter was heavy regarding Rome, Paris, and London. I handed the phone to Jackson and continued.
“We are your colleagues putting together a class plan. Our setup in the dining room will give you some privacy, and he shouldn’t be able to see us when the doors are closed. But we will watch the live stream in there from the cameras. If things appear like they are going south, we can walk out to get a cup of coffee. You can use that time to introduce us and cut the meeting short. Don’t mention the trust. If he brings it up and presses it, then refer him to Eloise.” That caught Eloise by surprise, and she almost choked on her coffee.
“I don’t see this getting out of hand, and like I said, we are here and there are cameras all over the place. I just got a text from Sam, and something is moving so perhaps he’s here to exert a little pressure. We’ll know soon. Anyone want French toast?” I asked to which Lucy responded with a thump of the tail.
The call from Roselov came, and Emma invited him to the house for an 11:00 a.m. meeting. Should he peek into the dining room, he would find a table covered with school papers and people hard at work. Against our better judgment, Eloise remained with us promising she would not emit a sound under threat of having her mouth duct taped.
The cameras alerted us to Roselov’s approach. The doorbell rang at 10:50 a.m.
Emma welcomed him and escorted him into the living room area. As he passed by each room, he visually scanned the pieces and paintings making mental notes about the collections.
We could easily hear the conversation, but were isolated enough that he had no idea we were hanging on his every word. If he looked our way he wouldn’t view our faces, only the backs of our heads. We instructed Emma not to make introductions to us and act as though we were background noise if he saw us.<
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“Wow, now that is one hot guy. You sure he is a criminal?” Eloise studied the monitor screen as if it was the Rosetta Stone.
“Quiet or you will be bound and gagged,” Jackson threw at her.
Emma offered him refreshments, and he accepted a cup of coffee and made himself comfortable in the chair kitty-corner to the dining room. We observed as his eyes occasionally scanned the room, but we remained confident he could not see the cameras. I could also see him checking out Emma’s ass as she bent over. If ever I had the good fortune to arrest him, I would give him a kick for that transgression. But it was the Van Gogh and Gauguin canvases that truly garnered his attention.
“So, Mr. Roselov—” she started as she smoothed her trousers and sat across from him on the couch.
“Dmitri,” he interjected, tilting his head and grinning widely.
“Dmitri, what brings you here?” she asked ignoring his flirtatious behavior.
“Well, Emma, if I might call you Emma. I am very concerned that I have had no communication from Jude. He was taking possession of some art that a client, a very significant client, is waiting on. I am surety for that transaction, and Jude’s disappearance has placed me in a bad position. If I lose this sale, it will cost me dearly. Not only in money but reputation,” he said. “I hope he has had communication with you or someone else.”
Bingo! He was trying to see if she would give Diana up.
As we practiced, she waited the appropriate length of time as if confused and then responded. “Dmitri, I have not heard from Jude, and I am concerned as well. At the end of the school year, my contract expires, and it will not be extended. I will be looking for other employment and have consulted with an attorney to do a quick and clean termination of our domestic partnership. So as our time has come to an end, I also wanted to discuss this with him. I am loathed to leave a note with my lawyer and permanently depart. But it seems that might be my only way to go,” she said with the practiced touch of sadness.
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