Chapter 39 #2
The directeur général continues explaining the process for the afternoon. “Because we did not do the requisite viewing period, we will let you examine the painting for the next hour, and our experts are available for questions and discussion.”
It’s all very orderly, with potential buyers lining up single file like a group of kindergartners on their way to recess.
The next hour is spent with individuals getting a couple of minutes of up-close-and-personal time with the painting.
They then break off into smaller groups in various meeting rooms around the auction house.
Pascal and his companion cuddle in the corner.
Every once in a while a collector approaches to ask him his opinion.
I know he lives for these moments and that’s why he brought his latest girl.
I wonder where he found her since he’s no longer teaching.
Caroline probably wonders the same thing.
I notice her walk up to the girl when he’s indisposed and whisper something in her ear.
“What did you say to her?” I ask when she walks over to me after.
“I warned her to be careful. I heard her companion has a touch of the clap.”
I stifle a laugh as she returns to her father’s side.
I take a turn walking past the painting I’ve come to know so intimately.
I’ve touched it, smelled it, slept alongside it.
We’re intimates now, though I may never see her again, depending on who wins this auction.
We think we know what will happen today, but when the ultra-wealthy are involved, anything is possible.
A bell chimes from somewhere in the back of the room, once, twice, three times, indicating everyone should take their seats for the auction to begin.
Paddles are distributed. It’s exactly the way you imagine an auction will take place.
Buyers who couldn’t attend have Sotheby’s specialists on the phone for them in the back of the room.
The auctioneer takes the stage. He’s a ferret of a man, small and thin, with an impressive mustache that he can’t stop touching as he bangs down an actual gavel on the rostrum.
The bidding is in francs but I am watching the numbers in American dollars.
They start at $10 million, but the bids rise quickly, the amounts displayed on a digital screen in the front in seven different currencies.
By the time the bidding hits $50 million, only five contenders remain: one of the Emirati gentlemen sitting with the twins; the CEO of a major luxury conglomerate; a mysterious phone bidder whose proxy’s face reveals nothing; a newly minted technology billionaire treating the auction like a competitive sport, his face flushed with the thrill of the game; and, finally, Louis Swanson.
It seems odd that the twins would be working with someone bidding against their father, but Colette assured me it was standard practice to have various representatives of the company working on their clients’ behalf.
“They like to pretend there are standards in place, but don’t worry.
The twins will never let anyone outbid their father,” she explained.
“I bet they only brought them here to show off anyway.”
A cold sweat breaks out across my back when the auctioneer calls “sixty million.” The painting—our painting—blurs before my eyes.
At $70 million, the bidder for the sultanate places his paddle on his lap with quiet resignation.
My stomach lurches with each new bid. Eighty million.
The tech billionaire slams his paddle down and storms out of the room like a tantrumming toddler.
The luxury exec follows soon after—rumor has it he was trying to buy the painting to make up to his Hollywood starlet wife for having a scandalous affair with an intern.
The whispers around us swell like a wave.
It’s only the bidder on the phone and Louis now. I can barely breathe.
At $90 million, there’s a click as the phone is replaced in its cradle. That bidder has dropped out.
It’s over. Louis Swanson and Swanson Enterprises will pay a world-record price for the lost Van Gogh. Louis hugs his daughter; the twins stand and come over and pat their father on the back, proving that all of this is indeed theater to them. Matthew pumps his fist into the air.
Caroline stands and shakes Helene Moray’s hand.
Somewhere in a back room of the auction house, the money is already being transferred to Sotheby’s, where it will be placed in holding for the owner of the painting, for us.
The transactions are nearly seamless. You can’t bid on a painting here unless you have verified the funds are ready in advance and the money is moved immediately.
It’s all part of the show, part of the thrill.
There’s a curt nod from an assistant in the back of the room. The transfer is complete. If only I could breathe and enjoy the moment, but it’s impossible since I know what’s about to happen next.
Caroline huddles in conversation with her father for a moment. At first he seems irritated by whatever she is saying, but then he pushes her toward the podium at the front of the room.
“Well, that was something else. I could use a drink.” Caroline laughs into the microphone.
And within moments a glass of champagne is in her hand.
“I deserve this,” she says to more laughter.
Even those who lost out are reveling in this, in what it means for the art market to have seen the value of a Van Gogh increase by this much.
Many of their own collections have now similarly appreciated because of this sale. Champagne is passed around the room.
Caroline makes the obligatory thank-yous as her father beams up at her.
That’s when the door in the back of the room creaks open, revealing a crew of plainclothes police officers, all of them in well-tailored black suits.
They’re representatives from at least five different law enforcement agencies, but you’d never know it.
The fact that the money has already come out of the account is important.
Caroline is certain that she’ll be able to save Swanson Enterprises once Louis is locked away.
She even thinks it will thrive without him.
But it will take time, and she wanted to force her father to compensate Stella, and all of us, what we deserve. Now he has.
“I do have an announcement to make,” Caroline begins.
“It was important for me, for Swanson Enterprises, to acquire this painting as a fresh start to my tenure as chief executive, and I will be donating it to the Van Gogh Museum as soon as it makes a tour to institutions around the world so that as many people can see it as possible. That’s what this piece deserves. ”
I see Louis Swanson subtly shift in his seat as he keeps his beady eyes on his daughter. This is not part of his plan.
“I’ve made a startling discovery as I’ve been working through Swanson’s finances since becoming CEO,” Caroline begins.
One of the officers strides quickly down the aisle.
He slaps handcuffs on Louis before he knows what is happening to him.
Caroline keeps her gaze fixed on the sea of reporters in the back of the room.
When her father tries to shout over her, two more agents step closer, their hands on his shoulders forcing him back.
“My father has been systematically—” Caroline’s voice catches when Louis bellows at her.
“What have you done, you ungrateful little bitch.”
Her hands grip the podium edges, knuckles white, but she continues in that same measured tone, explaining exactly how Louis created forgeries of works by Van Gogh, Picasso, Monet, Gauguin, Rothko, Pollock, and more.
The entire room is silent, even Louis, who is being held back by two large officers.
Caroline carefully recounts the amount of the fraud.
Matthew sits there dumbfounded, his head twisting from left to right to clock both his father and his sister, trying to determine where he fits into all of this.
The twins have identical expressions of terror, their glacial eyes narrowing at Caroline just as another set of officers escorts the two of them from the room.
According to the records Caroline has unearthed, it was the twins who aided their father in his scheme.
He must have decided that of all his spawn, they were the most amoral.
Matthew stands, clearly confused, but Caroline nods at him to sit back down.
He’s innocent. Once again, she plans to protect him.
“The next generation of Swanson will not tolerate these actions, and we are fully cooperating in the investigation,” Caroline finishes.
A smug sense of schadenfreude floats through the room.
Everyone in here has their secrets, yet they delight in someone else’s being exposed.
Louis finally yells for his lawyer as he’s dragged from the auction house along with the twins.
Everyone’s eyes are on them as the agents theatrically kick open a door behind the podium.
And this is when she chooses to arrive. I see her standing in the back of the room at the threshold of the aisle like a blushing bride.
Caroline beckons her grandmother forward.
“I’d like to officially announce the new president of Swanson Enterprises, the woman who has been running the show behind the scenes for a very long time, Ms. Stella Swanson.”