Free Web NovelMurdoch and Peterson looked at each other.
“Charlie, does the Hussein Collection really exist? No—how did something like that even end up in your hands...?”
At Murdoch’s question, I deepened my smile.
“If they’re items from Hussein’s collection, there’s a high probability they’re authentic. At the same time, they’re also artworks whose provenance is difficult to disclose.”
If Murdoch was excited, Peterson—the expert—was far more composed.
I nodded at Peterson’s words.
“I know. Hussein wouldn’t have acquired those artworks through legitimate means.”
The legitimate art auction market was large in scale, but the volume of artworks traded in the shadows was also estimated to be substantial.
After all, thefts of art and jewelry happened every year in this field.
“At least the good news is that those two pieces aren’t stolen goods. One is a piece of jewelry known to exist but with an unknown owner, and the other is believed to be a Picasso painting that has never been made public.”
Whenever stolen artworks are discovered, disputes always arise between the original owner and the current holder.
The current holder claims they purchased the piece at a fair price without knowing it was stolen, while the original owner insists it belongs to them. Such controversies can devalue the artwork, and sometimes they attract public attention.
The reason art thefts occurred so frequently was, in the end, ‘money.’
Artworks and jewelry that traded for large sums relative to their size were prime targets for thieves.
“Even if it’s stolen, doesn’t it become a legitimate auction item depending on how the auction house handles the storytelling?”
Most stolen artworks ended up flowing into London and New York.
The two cities housing the major auction houses were the centers of the art market, both in the light and in the shadows.
Legal auctions by day, stolen-goods auctions by night—this was nothing unusual for them.
Even auction houses, which were supposed to be strict, quietly turned a blind eye to stolen works. The reason was simple. They could collect hefty commissions.
Peterson, an industry insider, readily admitted it. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com
“That’s true. Still, it’s a fact that new works with unclear ownership are preferred over outright stolen pieces.”
“Would you like to check this as well?”
Manager Ma took out a small jewelry box and handed it to me.
I placed the box on the table and smiled.
“Go ahead and open it.”
Peterson put his gloves back on and opened the box.
Inside was the Fabergé egg I had brought along as a gift for Russia.
“T-this is!”
Peterson recognized the Fabergé egg instantly.
“A Fabergé egg! Is that right?”
Murdoch also seemed to recognize it and asked Peterson, but it was as if Peterson couldn’t hear him at all.
“It’s the Alexander III commemorative egg made in 1909. It matches the photographs I’ve seen. To think this was in Hussein’s possession—how on earth did a piece like this end up in the hands of someone like him...”
Peterson examined the Fabergé egg meticulously for a long time.
“...Do you have any intention of selling this?”
Eventually, he lifted his gaze from the egg and asked me. Desire burned in his eyes.
I smiled and shook my head.
“This item already has an owner.”
“If you were to put it up for auction, it would fetch an incredible price. Just the rarity alone—only fifty to fifty-two were ever made...” freeweɓnovel.cøm
Peterson looked at the Fabergé egg with clear regret.
“Of those, forty-four are already confirmed to be in collectors’ hands, and none of them would ever put their eggs on the market.”
Limited editions stimulated purchasing desire.
It was the most basic principle of marketing. Control the quantity to stoke collectors’ desire to own, and drive the price up.
A Fabergé egg made a hundred years ago, with only fifty-two in existence worldwide, was the perfect object to ignite that desire.
“The mere fact that a new Fabergé egg has surfaced would send the art market into a frenzy. It could even set a record as the highest-priced lot in Sotheby’s auction history.”
His voice was earnest. But I shook my head.
“I know. However, this item already has a place it must go.”
“Who on earth is the owner of that egg?”
“The Tsar of Russia. I intend to give it to him.”
“A gift? Are you saying you’re giving this artwork away as a mere gift?”
At the mention of gifting a Fabergé egg, both Peterson and Murdoch’s eyes widened.
I continued, smiling.
“It’s not because of money. This is a legacy of the Russian Empire. Yet most Fabergé eggs are now in the hands of collectors in Britain and the United States, not Russia.”
A gift is most effective when you give the other party what they desire most.
There was no better gift for the Tsar of Russia than a relic of the Russian Empire itself.
All the more so if he dreamed of ruling as a despot like the emperors of Imperial Russia.
“If I present this Fabergé egg—whose existence was known only through photographs and whose ownership was uncertain—I’ll gain something that money can’t buy. Money isn’t that important to me.”
“Still...”
Peterson’s regret was written plainly on his face.
“The Hussein Collection doesn’t end there. This alone can’t really be called a collection.”
At the mention of more artworks, Peterson’s eyes lit up again.
“There’s more? Where is it? Please, show me.”
“This is everything I brought here. I brought about twenty pieces into the UK. They’re probably being moved to a mansion on the outskirts of London as we speak.”
“Would you be willing to consign at least a few pieces for auction? It could be the greatest auction in history.”
An auctioneer’s career could be defined by what artworks they brought to auction.
A successful auctioneer conducted landmark auctions that captured public attention.
It would have been strange if Peterson hadn’t been tempted.
“Most of them have provenance that can’t be disclosed. Wouldn’t it be a problem to put them up for auction?”
“For artworks and art objects, collectors usually care less about artistic merit than about the story attached to the piece. That’s what stimulates their desire.”
Gesturing toward the Picasso painting, Peterson continued.
“This piece is believed to be something Picasso painted in his youth. You construct the story like this. A young Picasso, struggling in his early years, paints pictures on the street and sells them on the spot—and this is one of those works. Something like that.”
He then pointed to the necklace and the Fabergé egg.
“This necklace and the Fabergé egg already have perfect stories. A necklace made by Nicholas II to celebrate his daughter’s birthday—there’s no better story to stimulate a collector’s desire. And as for the Fabergé egg, there’s hardly any need for explanation. It’s a relic of the last emperor of the Romanov dynasty, Nicholas II, from the glorious Russian Empire.”
Peterson’s words cut straight to the truth of the art world.
The auction market for art and artifacts was a place where stories were bought and sold.
Rarity mattered, of course, but works with stories became even more valuable over time.
Even among Picasso’s works, prices were determined by the narrative attached to each piece. That was the art market.
“If you entrust the auction to me, I’ll launder it cleanly and sell it.”
“Hmm... For now, I’ll review all the pieces I brought to London and then decide which ones to put up for auction. But these two will never be consigned.”
“...It’s a shame, but I’m looking forward to the other pieces as well. When should we visit? I’ll come with proper equipment and a team of experts.”
Equipment aside, experts? I narrowed my eyes slightly.
“Will confidentiality be maintained?”
“The fact that this is the Hussein Collection will be known to no one but me. Even if my mouth were torn open, I wouldn’t say a word. Other than that, there shouldn’t be any major issues. Even if they realize the items are illicit, it’s fine. They’re professionals too.”
“Very well. Then let’s adjust the schedule.”
“Thank you. Here...”
Peterson took out his card holder and handed me his business card.
I glanced over it once, then passed it to Manager Ma, and Manager Ma handed Peterson his own card.
“This is Manager Ma’s contact information. He’s always with me, so if you need to reach me, contact him.”
Having received the card, Peterson stood up.
“Thank you for the remarkable viewing. I have another appointment, so I’ll be leaving now.”
“Please make sure the secret is kept.”
“Yes. Confidentiality is an unspoken rule in this industry. You have nothing to worry about.”
After Peterson left, Murdoch and I were alone again.
“Charlie, how on earth did you acquire the Hussein Collection?”
Murdoch asked the moment Peterson was gone.
“It just happened to end up in my hands.”
“At least let me have a few pieces.”
“Haha. I haven’t even finished cataloging them yet. Once everything’s sorted, I’ll choose something suitable for you and get in touch.”
“Please do! Absolutely!”
I could only smile at Chairman Murdoch’s words.
Truly incorrigible.
“And what about the matter I asked you to look into last time? How far has it progressed?”
I spoke with Murdoch for quite some time.
* * *
As promised, Peterson visited my London mansion with a team of specialists.
He stayed for two days, appraising every artwork I had brought with me.
A week later, all of them were certified as authentic.
Among them, we decided to put one Picasso—whose existence ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) had been confirmed but whose whereabouts were unknown—and one Monet up for auction.
“Not long ago, at one of our auctions, Picasso’s 1905 work ‘Boy with a Pipe’ sold for over one hundred million dollars.”
The piece I chose to consign was a painting of a dove—one of Picasso’s favorite motifs—holding a green pea.
Peterson recognized it at first glance and was beside himself with excitement.
“It might even break that record. This piece was painted in 1911, and after being displayed at an exhibition in Paris in 1939, it has never been seen again.”
The Monet was one of his water lilies.
“This, too, should fetch quite a good price. Though it will likely be somewhat lower than the Picasso.”
The hammer price didn’t really matter to me.
As long as I secured a strong connection with Peterson, that was enough. It would be useful down the line. I readily agreed to consign both pieces.
“I’m entrusting this to you, Peterson. Let’s see what you can do. Whether we continue doing business or this ends here will depend on your performance.”
Soon, the day of the auction arrived.
Peterson assured me that invitations had been sent to all the VVIPs and guaranteed a success.
Though Sotheby’s prided itself as one of the world’s two great auction houses, it was still trailing Christie Auction.
Could this auction put an end to that rivalry?
Eager to secure me—the owner of the Hussein Collection—Peterson poured everything into this auction.
I arrived at the Sotheby’s auction house in London.
“If a bomb went off here, the entire world would shake.”
Entering the auction house with Manager Ma, I saw that even before the auction had begun, the interior was already crowded.
Each person already there and engaged in conversation was a face I recognized from the news. The world’s art collectors had gathered in one place.
