Page 75 of Conning the Billionaire
Dammit, Grande had called Kylie by her old name. Well, it wasn’t like she would have to answer questions because she wasn’t going anywhere with Micah.
Before Micah could say anything, she blurted, “He was in my section when I was waitressing in the high roller room at the Tropicana. He was with some guy talking about all the art he had and how Mr. Shine here had helped him prove that it was worth millions instead of the ten thou he’d bought it for. I thought of you and the paintings that you weren’t sure if Carrau Abategiovanni was telling you the truth about or not.”
Salvatore unbuttoned his suit jacket again and sat down in his chair, opening his hand toward a chair in front of the desk and indicating that Micah should sit. He squinted at Micah. “Do I know you?”
Kylie retreated to stand against the wall with the door, where she could see both the men. Her body wanted to flee, even if she couldn’t.
Micah sat in the chair and beamed at Grande again. “Do you get over to London often? Perhaps Oxford or Eton?”
“Not so much,” Salvatore said, drawling it from the corner of his mouth.
Micah grinned at Grande. “Well then, it would be the generations of inbreeding on the British Isles. All of us Englishmen appear as similar as clones.”
Salvatore smiled with one side of his mouth. “Yeah, that must be it. Chiarina, you vet this guy you bring before me?”
Kylie kept her voice as steady as Micah’s. “Yes, sir, Mr. Grande. He has a passport with his name, and the Ocean Resort verified that his room was also reserved under the name Micah Shine.”
“Good. But what do you know about him?”
“I know that the high roller at the Tropicana was positively giddy with the analysis results and was spending money like he’d won the lottery.”
“You do an analysis for him?” Grande asked Micah.
“Privileged information.”
“And the scientific tests came back good?”
Micah winked at him. “Very privileged information. We use the utmost discretion when people ask us to identify our clientele or results.”
“And the cops? Whaddya gonna do if the cops ask you about me?”
“Our records are stored on computers maintained offshore in a country that does not recognize American or European legal authority.”
“Huh. I might want to talk to you about how you do that. But I’m interested, Mr. Shine, in why you’re pitching your services to me instead of some museum? Wouldn’t museums be more interested in whether or not they got the real thing?”
Micah leaned on Grande’s desk. A flicker of amusement played in his striking opalescent eyes. “Museums have spent millions of the taxpayers’ dollars on acquiring their collections. As far as they are concerned, all their works are authentic and they have the provenance to prove it, whether they actually are or not.”
Salvatore’s half-smile spread into something resembling a ghoulish grin, and he pushed the keyboard to his computer aside to lean on his mammoth desk and talk to Micah. “That’s quite a racket.”
“Indeed, one of the recourses for a collector who might have some private information that their art piece might have a scientific irregularity is to donate it to a museum, thus encouraging no further scrutiny and yet taking a hefty tax deduction.”
Salvatore nodded sagely. “So what’s in it for you? I don’t trust anybody who says they’re doing something just because they respect me.”
Micah grinned larger, and Kylie realized she was watching a consummate con artist in action. His British accent remained perfectly intact as he said with a dry wit, “As I said, our clients are all private individuals who prefer discreet information. I’m sure you have many high-income friends, such as yourself, with art collections. Perhaps next time one of them laments that they are unsure of the authenticity of one of their pieces, you might tell them that you ‘know a guy.’”
Salvatore Grande burst out laughing, a terrifying bray of bleached-white teeth and sallow skin. “I like you. I like you, Micah Shine. You remind me of somebody. I don’t know who, maybe some English guy. Fine, you want to tell me if my paintings here are real or not, I’ll listen. What you gotta do to ‘em?”
“It’s a relatively simple process. The most difficult part is prying the art out of the frames. I expect you want both of these looked into?” He waggled a finger at the art on the wall behind Grande’s desk.
“Yeah, I was told these were real. I’d like to know if Carrau Abategiovanni screwed me over. If he did, he’s about to have a serious headache.”
“And did the seller tell you who the artists of these pieces might be?” Micah asked him.
“Why don’t you tell me, wise guy?”
“Oh, I’m no art expert. I don’t have to be. Science tells us whether or not these materials are consistent with the era in which they were supposed to have been used, and of course, we use carbon-14 dating as well. I form no opinions because opinions are irrelevant. Only facts remain. It does help if we have an idea of when the paintings were supposed to have been produced, but we can also do that with a bit of research. It’s all included in the service. Then we can say whether the materials are consistent with that era or not. But nevertheless, the first thing we need to do is get these paintings off the wall. Let’s break open those frames and see what we’ve got, shall we?”
Salvatore Grande stood. “You aren’t going to damage them, right?”
