Chapter Two
Steele
My men opened the crate, and I stepped back and took in the contents. I kneeled down against the concrete, not caring if my Brioni suit got dirty—I’d just buy another one. I held the blacklight up against the painting, checking the details and making sure it was the real deal. After Tony fucked up and accepted a piece of trash replica, I’ve inspected every single piece of inventory that’s come into my docks. It was annoying, and I had better shit to do, but I wasn’t about to let that happen again. I would have been able to spot that piece-of-crap fake a mile away.
I looked up and down the canvas, noticing the wet-on-wet technique. This piece was iconic of the Northern Renaissance. Intense in color, the figures seemed to almost glow. It really was a masterpiece. And authentic. There was no doubt about it. Down to the strokes making up the fur on the little dog, everything about this piece was legit. I only hoped the forgery we replaced it with would hold up under the same scrutiny. So far, out of all the pieces I’d amassed, no one had spotted the fakes we left behind.
In the beginning, I used to be moved by every single piece of history that came into my hands, but I quickly learned to appreciate them in the moment, before shipping them off to their next owner. These treasures would trade hands many times, and sometimes the transition was bloody. I was just grateful to be their keeper for a moment in time. In a way, it was better than owning them. No matter how many times you told yourself it was yours, pieces like these came with consequences and, more often than not, they owned you.
Stepping back, I nodded to Cooper and turned away from the dock. I could hear the men behind me closing up the crate, getting ready to load the priceless piece of artwork into an armored vehicle, where it would be taken to the airport and guarded heavily until it exchanged hands again. The new owner would experience the unique adrenaline of possessing something no one else could have. Sadly, the artwork would most likely end up sitting in some combination vault or secret underground bunker, and it would never again see the light of day. But, to men who acquired these pieces, possession was all that mattered.
I buttoned up my gray suit jacket and straightened my tie as I walked from the dock to the massive warehouse. Not only did I smuggle in priceless pieces of art and history, I also operated a regular exporting and importing business, which helped shelter my illegal activities.
I could hear Cooper following behind me, but I ignored him as I made my way to the temporary office that was set up at the far end. I did my legal business in a high-rise in Paris, but Cooper managed the warehouse on site for me. Not only did I control what came in and out of both France and England, I also owned several art galleries worldwide. It was the perfect cover, and it helped me get in touch with individuals who were more than willing to assist me here and there in exchange for insane amounts of money or help procuring their own sought-after obsessions. Through my enterprises, I’d hand-picked many board members at museums across the globe. So many were in my employ across the world I could no longer keep track without detailed records.
I reached the office where Cooper spent a good portion of his time. File cabinets housed all of the legit records for the boring items that came through the warehouse. The real, juicy paperwork was kept securely on my estate in the French countryside. Cooper’s desk was cluttered and stacked high with papers, a lone laptop sitting in the middle. Several partially opened boxes sat stacked in the corner, their packing material sprinkled on the office floor. I riffled through the one on top until I found what I was looking for. A box of Cubans. I grabbed a couple, and then changed my mind and took the entire box.
Cooper didn’t say a word as I pillaged our product. That was one of the nice things about being in charge of an empire–I could take whatever I wanted.
I gently kicked at one of the boxes. “You need to clean up this mess,” I said to Cooper.
He followed me like a stray dog as I made my way out of the warehouse, my dress shoes echoing on the pavement. My driver was parked right out in front, and I smoothly slid into the backseat of my town car. Cooper followed behind me, entering from the opposite side. He was silent, not wanting to piss me off when he could sense my foul mood. I had every right to be angry. Cooper had vouched for the wrong middleman, and when news got out that I had been swindled, by an American of all people, I’d lose my standing in my world.
Finally, I broke the silence.
“How did the trade go down?” I picked at a piece of lint on my sleeve, seemingly disinterested. I knew the answer. My men were the best of the best.
“Without a hitch. The National Gallery has no idea that their prized possession has been replaced with a fake.”
“Excellent. The proper people paid off?”
My driver, Mario, started the engine, and the car pulled away from the secluded cove where I received the most precious cargo known to history.
“Five million euros each. Even with such a high sum, we’ll still clear over six hundred million alone. Well worth the effort.”
I nodded, glad the risk had paid off. It wasn’t necessarily the most valuable piece of artwork I’d procured, but I knew the sultan would stop at nothing to acquire it. He was oily and untrustworthy, and I wanted him off my back and my business with him concluded. “Make sure he pays us in full before the hand-off happens. I don’t trust him.”
“The men have already been given those instructions.”
I reached into my breast pocket and withdrew a flask, tipping my head back and letting the scotch burn my throat before I broached the subject I cared about the most—revenge. “Any news on Phillips?”
“He’s hiding out of sight right now. My guess is that he’s left the States and headed to Canada or Mexico.”
“Anything we can use to lure him back?”
“His wife passed away a few years ago. Cancer. Even before she died, they didn’t spend much time together. He’s a major Lothario, a different girl on his arm every week. No one he’d probably care about. But…”
“What?” I asked irritably. I wanted him to get to the point. Every minute Topher Phillips went without punishment, my position in the underworld became more and more precarious. Once people knew I had been taken in, my standing would topple. People would no longer fear me, and fear was the only thing that kept my clients from stabbing me in the back.
“He has a daughter.”
“I’m not going to threaten some child.”
“She’s in her mid-twenties. Not a child. Fair game, if you ask me.”
I scratched at the stubble starting on my chin. It had been a long day, and I was traveling for most of it. I was ready to head home to my estate, take a shower, and then maybe hit a bar to pick up a woman. But, first, I wanted to ensure there was a plan in place to take care of this backstabbing pest. “What do we know about her?”
“I took it upon myself to put a few men on her the second we agreed to work with Phillips. They’ve been watching her for the past couple of weeks. She’s in Derbyshire. Graduated from Cambridge.”
“She’s in England? That’s convenient.” I pushed a button and the partition between me and my driver lowered. “Mario, change of plans. Head to the airport. Call ahead and tell them to have my jet ready. And tell Quincy to prepare the townhouse in Kensington.” I pressed the button again, giving me and Cooper some privacy.
“Steele, she sleeps over at the Harrington Estate. Multiple times a month.”
I frowned. I knew Edward Harrington a bit. He circulated some of the same parties as me. He hadn’t purchased anything from me, but several of his acquaintances had. Little did the world know that instead of residing in museums, the vast majority of the world’s historical treasures were in the hands of the excessively rich and extremely elite. Several of Harrington’s friends and distant relatives were good customers of mine.
I knew Harrington had several extramarital affairs, like most men in his position, but I couldn’t believe he’d be bold enough to have his mistress stay over. Especially an American. “She must be good between the sheets.”
Cooper shrugged his shoulders, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket for his phone. He hated suits but wore one whenever he knew I was coming into the warehouse.
“I have a picture of her, hold on.” He swiped a few times, then handed me his cell. I took it and lazily glanced at Topher Phillips’ daughter. There was no resemblance between her and her father, so she must have taken after her mother. She had long brown hair, pulled back in a ponytail away from her face. Her eyes were dark hazel, and she was dressed in a soft peach-colored blouse and tight jeans that hugged her curves. She wore a backpack over her shoulder and an iced coffee was clutched in her hand like a lifeline. To me, she just looked like an average woman. Thoroughly American. Nothing special about her. Certainly not enough to have some kind of permanent arrangement with Lord Harrington.
“Why did she stay in Europe if she graduated? Did they form a connection while she was at university?”
“Our men haven’t found out yet. What are you going to do?”
“I’ll take her. Keep her for a while. Use her to draw him out. Should be easy enough.”
“Easy? We’ve never taken a hostage before. We don’t do that shit. We might run a massive black market auction, we might get our hands dirty when people betray us—but taking the daughter of one of the richest men in Manhattan? I was merely suggesting you threaten her or send someone to scare her a bit until daddy comes to save the day. Are you sure you’re willing to take on a hostage for the sake of revenge?”
I glared, reminding him I was still furious over his idiotic mistake. Cooper knew better than to question my judgment, especially after the huge error in his. “Absolutely. No one fucks with me and gets away with it.”