Chapter Nine
Tess
“FORGERY IS AN interesting topic, Sasha,” Wallace said, and my heartbeat sped up a few tics.
“It’s become a recent obsession of mine,” Sasha replied. “And very much one of the reasons I’ve invited you both into my home tonight.”
Sasha knew.
He knew the Matisse was a fake. I don’t know how he knew but he did. And I had no idea how Wallace or I was going to convince Sasha it was genuine.
“Oh?” Wallace replied, cool as a cucumber.
“Yes, in fact, one of the paintings hanging in this very gallery is a forgery. Isn’t that interesting?”
“In more ways than you can imagine,” Wallace replied, flashing that million-dollar smile of his.
“How’s that?” Sasha asked, looking taken aback.
“Well, first of all, there’s more than one forgery in your gallery.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The Eli Ghorst painting you have, Springtime in Rome. It’s a fake.
A very good one, but it’s not the genuine article.
The real painting was stolen from the Schauffenbeg Gallery in 1987 but never publicly declared as missing.
In fact, a replacement painting, which is very likely what you own, was displayed at the museum for years.
Also hidden from the public was the painting’s recovery and return in 2007.
Of course, the general public knew nothing of the painting’s disappearance so why announce its recovery. ”
“And how could you possibly know all of this?”
“Because I saw the original four years ago when it was being restored in Milan. It’s still under lock and key in storage and not available to the public. Yours is a very fine duplicate but judging by the look on your face, it was not the forgery you were expecting to discuss.”
“It was not, but please, continue,” Sasha replied, tersely.
“Now, I can’t be sure about this without closer inspection, but your Suzanne Kalen sculpture is highly suspect to me. I’ve overseen the sale of four of her pieces, and something is off about yours. The outside edges are too thick. Kalen’s work is far more delicate. I’d look into it if I were you.”
“Anything else?” Sasha asked, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.
Wallace nodded. “The reason you’ve asked us here tonight is to talk about the Matisse. La Servante. Right?”
“That’s correct.”
Wallace chuckled. “You know, Sasha. You wouldn’t have any way of knowing this, but you’re about to take ten grand out of my wallet and put it into my fiancé’s purse.”
“Is that so?”
Wallace nodded. A big fat grin plastered on his face. I had no clue what he was doing, but I was fairly confident that it was going to get both of us shot and fed to hungry pigs.
“Isn’t that right, honey?” Wallace asked.
“That’s right,” I said, following his lead, grinning and nodding like an idiot too.
“You see, Sasha,” Wallace continued. “I said you’d never figure out the Matisse was a fugazi, but Eleanor said you’d sniff it out. She was so confident, in fact, she wagered me ten thousand dollars cash that she was right.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sasha hissed.
“You’ve brought us here to accuse us of selling you a forgery, right? You figured out the painting is a replica and now we’re in a world of shit. That’s it, right?”
“You seem awfully jovial for a man whose about to have both his hands cut off,” Sasha hissed.
“You could do that, but it would make delivering those sacks full of money to you a little difficult,” I said.
“You’d better stop with the cute jokes and start making some fucking sense before I toss your girlfriend to Vova and Dima.”
As if on cue, Sasha’s bodyguards stepped forward.
Wallace raised his hands. “Alright, alright. It’s time to come clean. You’re right about the painting. It is a forgery, but we weren’t trying to rip you off. Quite the opposite, actually. We’re trying to make you money. A lot of it.”
“If this is some sort of attempt to save your lives, don’t bother—”
“The painting was a test,” Wallace said.
Sasha turned to the man on his left, “Vova, you and Dima take them down to the basement and tie them up, I—”
“Hold on,” Wallace interrupted. “Give me one chance to explain and then you can do whatever you want with us, but I’m telling you, you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
Sasha waved his men off. “You have three minutes.”
“The forged Matisse didn’t come from us. It was given to us to pass along to you. Both as a gift and as a test.”
“A test from whom.”
“Someone who knew your particular taste in art and also wanted to be sure about the quality control of your operation before reaching out. A man who is very slow and methodical when it comes to forging new business partnerships. A man who’s had his eye on you for several years now.”
“Who is this man? Who the fuck are you talking about?” Shasha asked.
Wallace looked to me as if he was asking permission to tell Sasha who he was talking about, as if I had a clue. For all I knew, he was about to name Santa Claus. We were so far off the script I didn’t even know what play we were in anymore, so I did the one thing I could. I nodded along.
“The man from Brussels,” Wallace replied and I found myself wishing he’d said Santa Claus. At least I knew who Santa was. I didn’t have the foggiest idea who the man from Brussels was.
“Bullshit,” Sasha replied.
Wallace shook his head. “I know who you are, and I know who you’re backed by.
We lie, we die. I know that. I’m telling you straight.
Mr. B wants to do business with you, and he sent us to find out if you were his eastern European man or not.
So far, you’ve passed his tests, and all that’s left is a meeting. ”
“What do you mean, tests? I thought you said La Servante was the only forgery you sold me,” Sasha asked.
“It is, but this was far from his first test. The man from Brussels has had his eye on you for quite a while, but he’s had a few problems with connections attempting to pass on forgeries, and needed to make sure you’d spot a ringer.”
“I don’t believe you. You don’t work for Mr. B.”
“He could double the amount of marketplace connections for you. That would triple your earnings the first year alone. Don’t be stupid. Wait until you talk to him before you do anything.”
“Call him on the phone, right now,” Sasha ordered.
Wallace calmly shook his head. “He doesn’t do phone calls with perspective clients. It’s why we’re here in person. He’s expecting a report on how our meeting is going. If I give him the green light he’ll speak with you directly. Blow this and you’ll never hear from Mr. B again.”
“Fine, if he wants to do business and he doesn’t want to talk on the phone, have him meet me here within the next forty-eight hours. That shouldn’t be a problem for a man with his own jet. Otherwise, I’ll assume you’re lying and I’ll kill the both of you.”
“That sounds like a demand,” Wallace said.
“It’s an invitation for Mr. B to visit me at my home. An invitation, you’d better pray he accepts, because I swear on the Holy Mother, if you are lying to me, I will make your deaths as slow and painful as possible.”
“I know who I’m talking to, and I wouldn’t dream of disrespecting you.”
“Won’t disrespect me? What the hell do you call that bullshit forgery test, huh?”
“Mr. B needed to make sure you’d be able to spot forgeries.
If you knew you were supposed to be looking for one, it would negate the efficacy of the test. But if a fake was smuggled into your possession.
One that you already had a positive bias towards, and you were able to sniff it out anyway, that would be a definitive result. ”
“So, where is the real painting?” Sasha asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. As you know, the original was stolen and has stayed hidden ever since. But I assure you, the replica that Mr. B has gifted to you is quite valuable in and of itself. It was painted by LaRoche.”
Sasha tried to hide his excitement, but his widening eyes gave him away. “LaRoche?”
“Why do you think it was so hard for an expert such as yourself to identify it?”
Wallace was buttering him up like a bucket of movie theater popcorn. Owning a forgery by the anonymous painter known only as LaRoche carried as much street cred as owning an original work.
“I should still kill you both just for lying to me.”
“You stand to make a lot more money with us alive, Sasha. I promise you that.”
Sasha turned to face me. “If I’m not standing face-to-face with the man from Belgum within forty-eight hours, there’s no amount of begging or pleading you could do to escape the fate I have planned for you and your silver-tongued loverboy.
Do you understand? I’ll cut that tongue out and feed it to you if you’re lying to me. ”
“I understand. But Noah’s telling the truth. Once you meet with Mr. B, you’ll see,” I said, praying he’d buy whatever bluff it was we were selling.
“Forty-eight hours. Not a second more,” Sasha said. “And if you try to run, I’ll break every bone in your bodies, starting with your legs first.”
“We’ll be in touch. Don’t worry,” Wallace said.
* * *
Tess
The car ride back to my apartment in St. Petersburg was far quieter than our trip to Sasha’s house. We made small talk so as not to seem suspicious to the driver, but we clearly both had a lot on our minds.
As we neared our destination, I asked our driver to drop us off at Pokrovsky Park. I still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure that I wasn’t being spied on in my St. Petersburg apartment and Officer Wallace, and I had a lot to talk about.
“I’d like to take a walk in the night air, before bed,” I said. “It’s near my apartment and we can walk home from there.”
“V eto vremya sutok ne stoit khodit' v park.,” he warned. (You don’t want to go to the park at this hour.)
Wallace leaned forward and gave the driver a pat on the shoulder. “Ne volnuytes'. YA smogu zashchitit' etu damu.,” he said in almost flawless Russian. (Assuring him that he could protect me.)