Page 32 of Stuart Woods' Smolder

Petry leaned back in his chair and looked at Nico for the first time. “Let’s hear it.”

“We go after his mother’s artwork.”

Petry cocked his head. “Excuse me if I’m wrong, but I distinctly remember you saying that getting back into the house was not an option?”

“I’m not talking about the paintings at his house.”

“Then what the hellareyou talking about?”

“Barrington has several art dealers on the lookout for any Matilda Stone paintings that might come up for sale. Apparently, he’s dead set on acquiring most of them.”

“Yeah, you told me that, too. How does that help us?”

“What if we get our hands on some of them before he can?”

“What? Like outbid him? Why would I waste money doing that? And even if I did, who knows when any of her stuff might come up for sale? It could take years. I’m not waiting that long.”

“Not a bidding war. And not years. There are alternative ways of obtaining art besides through legitimate dealers.”

Petry stared at him for a moment, then leaned back. “Go on.”

“I’ve made some inquiries and have identified someone who specializes in obtaining art from private sources for a fraction of the cost compared to the open market.”

“By obtaining, you mean…”

“Stealing.”

The corner of Petry’s mouth ticked upward. “And your plan?”

“We hire this guy to steal a few Matilda Stones, then record them being ripped apart, and send the video to Barrington. Not only would his mother’s work be destroyed, her legacy will be tarnished. Any time her work is brought up in print, online, or is shown at an exhibit, what was done to her paintings will come up, keeping the wound fresh. And the cherry on top: Stone will have to live with the knowledge that these were paintings of hers that can never be his. You want to demoralize Barrington? That should do the trick.”

Petry thought for a moment and nodded. “Okay. This is good. Really good.” He chuckled. “I’m not going to lie, you’vesurprised me. I was convinced you were going to crawl in here and tell me there was nothing we could do. But this? This is the kind of creative thinking I hired you for.”

“I’m glad you like it. Itwillrequire more cash than we’d originally allocated.”

“How much more?”

“I’m guessing it could be up to a few hundred grand.”

Petry thought about it for a second. It was more than he originally planned, but if he could humiliate Stone,breakhim, it would be worth every penny. “I’ll okay you up to half a million but try to keep it under that.”

“That should be plenty.”

“No mistakes this time. I’m not putting up that much cash for you to blow it again.”

“No mistakes. I promise.”

Petry held Nico’s gaze for a moment, then said, “Get moving. I don’t want to wait forever.”

—

Simon Duchamp was in the American Airlines business class lounge at O’Hare International Airport when his cell phone pinged with an e-mail notification.

It was from Reed Langston, a New York City investment banker, and one of his special clients. The last time Simon had spoken to him was last year, at an exhibit at Simon’s New York gallery.

He assumed the banker was in the market for something new, but that was not the case. Langston was passing on contact info for a potential client named Nico Savage. And since it wascoming from Langston, Simon knew this Savage guy would not be the kind of client interested in anything hanging in one of the legitimate art galleries Simon owned throughout North America.

Simon checked the time. He was headed to Santa Fe, New Mexico, to attend one of his gallery’s exhibition openings happening in a couple of days. His flight wouldn’t start boarding for another twenty minutes.

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