“This is the young man I spoke to you earlier about who appears to have stumbled across a letter that lists a significant amount, of what we think, may be works of art. Whether they are fictional or real is what we hoped you could shed some light on.”
“I appreciate your coming back to take a look at this.” Ferguson retrieved the letter once again from inside the folder and removed it from the plastic bag. “I assume Dr. Karl has filled you in on what little we know?”
“He gave me a brief overview of how you got the letter and the gist of what was in it.”
“The list in question is on the front, numbered as you can see. If you need me to translate, please point out anything in question,” said Dr. Karl.
Courtney gingerly received the letter and leaned back against the wall as she scanned the contents. Her reaction was much more animated. A series of raised eyebrows, a twist at the corner of the mouth, finished off by a whistle.
“This is artwork alright, and there’s nothing fictional about what I’m seeing. In fact, I recognize a few of these pieces and they are quite famous. Some of the others I don’t know, but I’m very aware of the artists, and they are a who’s who of the art world. Where exactly did you get this?”
“I inherited it. Why?”
“Some of these works that I recognize have been missing for years. My guess is they are presumed lost or destroyed. Two in particular were known to have perished in World War II.”
“Take a look at the top Miss Lewis,” interjected Dr. Karl, “the letterhead.”
Courtney took in the embossed Nazi eagle’s wings and the name of Riechmarshall Herman Goering at the top of the letter. “Wow! He was a huge collector of art. Most, if not all was stolen and looted during the war. You’re not going to tell me you know where this stuff is?”
“No, we don’t know, but there is a chance it might still exist. Finding it might be a different matter,” Ferguson said.
Dr. Karl stood up from his desk and began to walk over to Courtney. “There are some notes and other musings on the other side that indicate a geographical location. Whether there is any relevance to that description, and if these goods could be there, together and intact, is not entirely clear.”
At this point, it dawned on Ferguson that maybe this whole process had gone too far. There was an awful lot of information and knowledge being accessed by two total strangers, who unfortunately seemed to know more about his letter than he did. Now might be the time to take possession of the letter, return home for a clearer review of his situation, and how to proceed from here. He reached out at Courtney, physically asking for the letter back. She handed it back to him with great care.
“Do you really have any idea if these works are still around?” inquired Courtney. She was beginning to feel the excitement of the potential existence of an incredibly significant find of lost masterpieces. The implications to the art community would be incredible.
“I don’t have a clue,” Ferguson said, packing the letter away again.
“But the clue might be on the back of the letter Herr Ferguson. Should we not try to analyze it further?”
Ferguson was looking to stall, and it was time he made an exit. “Dr. Karl, let me go back and look through some of the other stuff that was with this letter to see if there’s anything else that might be able to help.”
“Miss Lewis and I would be glad to help in any way we can.”
“Yes, definitely. Here is my card. You can reach me at the Speed Art Museum during the day, and here’s my home number.” Courtney scribbled down her number on the back of the card and handed it over to Ferguson. She was beginning to understand that this was starting to become overwhelming for him, and that he was looking for some time to think.
Nevertheless, Dr. Karl was still pressing to get some answers. “If you would like to stay late this evening, I’ll be happy to phone in something to eat, and we can work until we flesh out some details.”
“Not tonight, thanks. I think I’m going home to examine the other things and think this out. I’ll contact you soon.”
“Ja, quite. If I were you, I wouldn’t let too many other people in on your discovery. Information like this has a tendency to take on a life of its own if it were to become public.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Dr. Karl. Would you please keep this between us Miss Lewis?”
“Courtney, please. And yes, this goes no further than this room.”
“Thank you Courtney. And thank you Dr. Karl for all your help.”
With that, Ferguson walked out of the office with Courtney trailing him.
She accompanied him to the parking lot and grabbed him by the forearm as they reached his car.
“Mr. Ferguson, I didn’t want to pry in front of Dr. Karl, but do you have anything, any tangible evidence that this is whole thing is real?”
Matt looked at her skeptically, but thought that with her background and connections she could help him determine if what he found was real. He decided to let her in on his artistic discovery, and he opened the rear passenger-side car door, retrieved a portfolio case, and laid it on the front hood.
“I have two paintings.” He held his hands about a foot apart. “Small, but I’m assuming very valuable. They were in a safe at my great uncle’s house. Here’s one of them.”
As he unzipped the case and lifted the bubble wrap encasing, Courtney leaned in to look at the gold leaf framed oil painting of a young girl perched upon a split rail fence. As her heart nearly skipped a beat, she searched the bottom corners, and found the Morisot signature in the lower right.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled aloud.
“That was my first reaction,” said Ferguson. “My second reaction was is it real.”
Courtney touched it gingerly. “No way to know unless you have it authenticated and appraised.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can’t, and I’m not confident of any talent here in Louisville for something of this magnitude, but if you don’t mind taking a trip to Chicago, I know someone we can trust to get it done.”
Chapter 3
May 17, 2001. Louisville, Kentucky
Courtney Lewis was beautiful. She had recognized it when she was young, and so had several others. Her zest for enjoying life, and the persuasion of one very influential modeling agent, had led Courtney to drop out of college her freshman year and pursue a career as a model.
The jobs were plentiful, as well as the money, and the travel was fabulous. The majority of her time was spent in New York and Paris, the latter affording her the luxury of traveling all over Europe. She developed an intense interest in art and architecture, and found herself increasingly involved with the art community. It was an interest that came as no surprise, since her father had been an artist in his younger days, and was now curator of the Chicago Art Institute. His connections also accelerated her association with some of the who’s who of the art world.
After three years, her interest in modeling dwindling, she decided to go back to school and pursue a degree in the field of her newfound passion. Four years after that decision, she had a degree in art history. Through the help of her dad, she landed in Louisville at the Speed Art Museum, functioning more as an intern than the glorified title of “assistant curator”.
Sitting in her office at the museum, she had just finished her second cup of tea when she glanced up at the clock on her computer screen and knew it was okay to call Chicago, which was an hour behind. She picked up the phone and dialed her father’s office. Grayson Lewis picked it up on the fourth ring.
“Hi daddy, it’s me.”
Hello sweetheart, how are you doing?”
“Life’s good Pops.”
“How’s your love life, still stuck in neutral?”
“Stop it. Listen up. I’ve stumbled across some
thing that is very interesting. It involves some stolen artwork from the World War II era that has been missing for over fifty years, but may be intact and discoverable. The list I’ve seen is unbelievable… Renoir, Degas, Cezanne, Seurat, Monet, and many others. The Peach Orchard, Steps of Clay, Tulips in Water, just to name a few of the works I had heard of, but were presumed lost. There are two pieces I know that do exist, and I’ve seen one of them. It’s a Berthe Morisot… Girl by a Fence.”
“What do you mean by discoverable?” Mr. Lewis inquired.
“Well, I traced this piece and several of the other pieces I recognized to a collection from Franz Tolberg, who was killed in one of the Nazi concentration camps in 1943. His collection was missing, suspected to have been stolen, and never recovered. “Well, I may have found somebody that has information that could possibly lead us to their whereabouts.” Courtney responded excitedly.
“Who is this somebody?”
“A young man I met recently. He inherited information from a deceased family member that catalogued the works and actually details where they were lost in a plane crash in 1945, but that they survived the crash and may still be undamaged, if sixty years of weather hasn’t destroyed what was left of them. Dr. Karl, the professor at the University of Louisville I told you about… the one I’m taking language classes from, he was able to translate a letter and shipping manifest that confirms everything I’m telling you about. Dad this could be huge and I need your help. I promised the person who discovered this that I would keep it as hush-hush as possible. You know as well as I do that if this leaks out, it will stir up the art world like proverbial flies on you-know-what.”
“I understand,” acknowledged Mr. Lewis. “You’ve got an incredible discovery little lady, if it’s truly intact and the works are genuine. I know a little about the Torberg collection. He was up there with the Rothschilds, Schlosses, Kahns and other well-known Jewish collectors. The Commission for Art Recovery has been looking for a sizable balance of his collection for years with no luck. In particular, he held a large collection of impressionist works rumored to have been stolen and funneled to Maria Dietrich, an infamous German art dealer in Paris during Word War II. The looting of art in France was particularly obscene, and her dealings with Hitler, Goering, Goebels, von Ribbentrop, and others was well known.”
“Most of the Nazi’s were interested in the old masters and German romantics and thought the 20th century and impressionist works degenerate and lacking in worth. However, it was rumored that late in the war Goering secretly was hording anything he could get his hands on, including impressionist works that he publicly disdained. Ironically, their stupidity did not foresee the incredible value of impressionist works today. There is no question that what you have described tells me that what you might be dealing with is one of the greatest missing treasures from World War II. If they were packed and stored carefully, and the elements, particularly moisture, have not gotten to them, there’s a chance they could be restorable.”
“So you think it’s worth pursuing? It’s not a wild goose chase?” Courtney was beginning to think there was no way this collection could have survived.
“I would tell you to have this gentleman take his two pieces to get them authenticated, and if they’re authentic, immediately have them appraised and insured. There’s no question that what he has is worth millions. His only concern will be rightful ownership, but as we all know possession is nine-tenths of the law. If I had to make a guess, I would say it’s unlikely that something like the other pieces in the crash could have survived unless they were stored correctly and protected. But anything’s possible.”
“You read my mind Dad! You have the contacts. I want to bring him, by the way his name is Matt Ferguson, and the two paintings to Chicago, and was hoping you could have some of your experts there that could authenticate, appraise and insure them on the spot.”
“I’m sure I can arrange that.”
“Great, how about tomorrow?”
Mr. Lewis tried to suppress the chuckle. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow… or the next day would be okay.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Can I reach you in your office?”
“I’ll be here ’til lunch. After that, I’m headed to Keeneland to watch the horses. Try me on my cell phone.”
“Fine. Let me get on the phone and you’ll hear back from me by the end of the day.
Ferguson was in the middle of a “don’t-interrupt-me” strategy session with the creative director and copywriter on the Papa Johns Pizza account, when his secretary tapped on the conference room’s glass wall, held an imaginary phone to her ear, and shrugged her shoulders apologetically. He swore under his breath as he excused himself and walked out on the meeting to answer the phone in his office.
“Mr. Ferguson, Courtney Lewis. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
“No, not at all,” lied Ferguson.
“I told your secretary it was urgent, because I have arranged to have your new art collection authenticated and appraised. If it is genuine, you will want to get it certified and insured immediately, particularly if you care to sell it. You may also want to speak to people that may be able to help you find the original owners.”
“Sounds good. Where and when?”
“Well, I told you it would probably be Chicago, and it is. Unfortunately, I have set it up for tomorrow afternoon.”
“Damn lady, you don’t waste any time.”
“Sorry, about the timing, but what you have Mr. Ferguson is explosive. The sooner you can determine if we’re talking the real thing, the sooner you can determine the disposition of the two pieces you have, and for making plans to determine the crash site and investigate the remains. I am not sure you understand the significance of what you are sitting on. This is huge, and believe me when I say; it won’t take long for the rest of the art world to catch on. Things in our business can sometimes get seedy and the sooner you can head off those eventualities, the better.”
“It’s beginning to soak in. The thought of millions of dollars usually has that effect on me. By the way, please call me Matt.”
“Matt, I have already taken the liberty of purchasing you a ticket on an eight o’clock Southwest flight, and if you’re available, I can pick you up in the morning at 7:00.”
“Like I said, you don’t waste any time. Fortunately, we are slow right now, so I’ll be ready to go at 7:00. Let me give you directions to my home.”
“Already done. Matt Ferguson on Elmwood?”
“One and the same.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter 4
May 18, 2001. Chicago, Illinois.
Grayson Lewis hugged his daughter as she emerged from the limousine on to the sun-drenched steps in front of the Chicago Art Institute. He greeted and shook hands with Ferguson as he climbed out after her. The chauffer met the three of them with two hard case portfolios in each hand, and passed off one to Ferguson and Mr. Lewis.
The walk to the second floor offices was filled with idle small talk as Lewis showed them down a marbled hallway into a wood paneled conference room.
As they entered, Mr. Lewis offered up introductions to the three gentlemen that were standing in unison around the antique Cherry conference table.
“This is my daughter, Courtney Lewis, and Matt Ferguson.” Lewis turned and gestured across the table from left to right. “Mr. Ron Keeney, Vice President of Fine Arts Department of Sotheby’s Chicago office. This is Jason Allen. He is an art consultant, authenticator, appraiser and broker and is assisting with the evaluation. And lastly, Clark Hancock is the Midwest Regional Director for AXA Insurance out of New York, one of the premier art insurers in the world.”
Everyone immediately began exchanging handshakes form across the table, while Ferguson and Lewis laid the portfolios on the table next to a laptop
, an elaborate microscope, and a hi-tech tabletop video camera platform.
Ferguson was immediately uncomfortable with the additional number of people that were involved in this process and he eyed Courtney with an apprehensive look.
She caught his stare and understood. She too, was a little concerned with her father’s inclusions.
Mr. Lewis restored order to the meeting, and turned over the room to Courtney.
“First off, thank you to everyone for coming, particularly on such short notice. Mr. Ferguson, excuse me, Matt, has recently inherited what I believe are two beautiful Pisarro and Monisot impressionist works and is anxious to have them evaluated and determine their authenticity, and based on their worth put an insurance policy in force. Matt, I’ll let you do the honors.”
Ferguson, opened up both cases and carefully removed the wax paper and padded bubble wrap, and placed the two paintings in the center of the table.
With nodded approvals and a low whistle, Jason Allen and Paul Keeney each sat and slid one of each in front of them. After several quiet minutes of close inspection, they pushed aside the Morisot, slid the Pissaro in front of the microspectroscopy and reflectography equipment, and began their technical evaluation.
Grayson Lewis looked at Courtney, Ferguson, and Hancock. “This might take a while. Can I offer you some coffee or soda?”
In unanimous agreement, the four of them left the conference room and walked down the hall to a small break room, where they selected soft drinks and accepted Lewis’ additional offer to a private viewing of the upcoming Van Gogh and Gauguin-The Studio of the South exhibition.
The ink had barely dried on the appraisal certification, letter of authentication, and insurance policy, and Ferguson, in a much more relaxed state, was now in possession of nearly four million dollars worth of art. The whole process was eye popping, and had now opened up more questions than it had answered. Grayson Lewis surprisingly asked the biggest question while they all sat around the conference table.
Ghosts of the Past Page 5
