Ghosts of the Past (7 page)

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 something 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 20
th
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.

“So Matt, Courtney tells me you have some additional information on the potential whereabouts of several more pieces similar to what we’ve seen today.”

“Have you had any opportunities to determine if the others are salvageable?” asked Jason Allen selfishly. “A find like that would be incredible. I’d love to help in any way I can.”

“I’m fluent in German,” chimed Hancock. I would be happy to help you translate the information if Professor Karl was unable to help.

Courtney nearly passed out as the blood flushed to her extremities, and Ferguson was caught completely off guard. It was as if everyone in the room could smell the money, and they all had a chance at jumping on the gravy train. They were both thinking the same thought, hoping her father’s lack of discretion had not gone any further than this room.

“Dad, I believe that’s private information that Matt would care not to share with anyone at this time.”

“I’m sorry honey; I thought Matt might like to ask any questions of these experts, while they are assembled together. No one else besides these folks knows anything about what we discussed. I can certainly vouch for everyone in this room and their ability to keep a secret.”

Ferguson thought it time to speak for himself.

“Thanks for the offer Mr. Lewis, but I believe I have everyone’s business cards, so if you all don’t mind I’ll call you if I have any questions. I appreciate that all of us here will not discuss this information outside this room.”

Affirmative replies came from everyone.

Mr. Lewis recognized Ferguson’s message, stood and signaled an end to the meeting. “I’ll have the limo pull around. Are you sure you won’t stay the evening Courtney, I would love to treat you and Matt to dinner. Matt we have a suite reserved across the street at the Hilton, and you’re more than welcome to stay the night.”

“Thanks for the offer Dad, but I need to get back.” Courtney glanced at Ferguson, who gave a discreet nod in agreement. “I know Matt has to be back as well.”

With that, everyone shook hands for the last time and the meeting adjourned. Allen and Keeney left first together, While Grayson Lewis and Clark Hancock waited another ten minutes and escorted Courtney and Ferguson down to the waiting limo. Hancock hailed a cab and said his goodbyes, as Ferguson’s newfound wealth was loaded into the back seat.