Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I want someone who values this treasure for its beauty and its history. Not just because it’s a wagyu cash cow.
Honestly, that’s where Dad went wrong, why he never found success.
Art isn’t transactional. In an ideal world, it shouldn’t be.
He expected overnight success, fame, money for mid sculptures that never wowed anyone.
That’s a lesson I’ll take to heart. If you want to make big things happen, you have to do it right.
So I dive into the next one, punching the name into my search on the laptop.
Jasper Fairfax.
The deeper you dig into these people, you sometimes find little hints of trouble. Shady side ventures, connections to cutthroat art dealers, even an indictment or two for flirting with stolen antiquities in the last five years. Probably after Gramps threw this list together.
A lot can happen.
It doesn’t make the news like the celebrity scandals and it usually falls short of criminal charges, but it’s enough to scream caution.
Almost an hour later, Jasper still seems clean.
His credentials look solid. I cross-checked them to make sure they’re legit, and they are. He’s done a lot of charity work without bringing in money wolves who only see dollar signs.
He has high praise and accolades from credible people, too. His website and socials look clean.
So far, so good.
Only one way to find out if he’s as neat as he looks…
I grab my phone and type in his number, waiting as the call connects.
“Jasper Fairfax’s office. How may I assist you?” a cool female voice answers.
“Hi, I’m calling about an artifact I’d possibly like to have appraised with Mr. Fairfax’s assistance.”
“Oh, sure. What’s your name? I’ll put your details through and he’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
“Cleopatra Blackthorn.” I hesitate before I give my full name.
“Blackthorn?” Even in New York, the name perks her up.
Sad, but nothing new.
In the art world, there are two responses to hearing the name Blackthorn.
You have the people who think of PopPop, his power and wealth and years of respected art collecting.
Then you have the people who think Dad. Gordon Blackthorn, failed sculptor, legendary grifter. Not someone you want to be associated with.
But from the cheery shift in her tone, I’m guessing she thinks Gramps.
“Wonderful, Miss Blackthorn! Thanks. Shall I have him call you on this number?”
“Yes, please.”
“He’ll be in touch as soon as he can.”
I hang up and stare blankly at the black screen.
I hate having to play coy when my mind hums with a thousand questions. I can’t just come out and admit I have the Hera Egg for obvious reasons.
I’m glad the family name has enough aura to make Fairfax return my call. If I wasn’t a Blackthorn, I wonder if she would’ve demanded more details before promising a response.
And I don’t have to wait long.
I’m two more names down my list when my phone buzzes on the desk with a New York area code and an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Miss Cleopatra Blackthorn?”
“Speaking.” I tense.
“Ah, so good to speak with you,” a pleasant, refined voice says. “Thank you very much for calling. My assistant, Kyla, told me you have a significant piece you’d like my consultation on?”
“That’s right,” I say carefully. “Ideally, I’d like to bring it in.”
He hesitates.
I wonder if I’m asking for too much, too soon, all while I’m holding my cards close to my chest. Will anyone waste their time if they don’t know what it is?
“I must confess, I don’t often schedule time for a personal appraisal with everyone. However, Leonidas Blackthorn’s reputation speaks for itself. Are you calling on behalf of Scott and Elvira? I helped move a few items they inherited recently to auction.”
“Um, I’m from the other side of the family, actually,” I say weakly. I hope to God he doesn’t think about Dad. “Leonidas was my grandfather. I only inherited one piece from him, but it’s a beauty. Very rare. We’re talking possible unicorn.”
“I see. From his Far Eastern collection? The Japanese murals he acquired over the last decade were godsends for research.”
“No, this one is… a little hard to classify.” I’m being so vague it hurts. “But what does your appraisal process look like?”
“Well, first I’d need to see the item in question, certainly,” he says, each word enunciated carefully. From the way he speaks, I imagine an older gentleman with greying hair and a thick mustache. Probably a cane. Basically, the genteel art fiend with a lifetime of dealing with treasures under his belt. “Then I’ll have to do some research. The rarest pieces must always be authenticated, you understand. I typically need to connect with experts abroad to help determine a firm price. If you have any documentation to support it, that would be tremendously helpful.”
I nod. He’s telling me everything I want to hear.
“Sounds reasonable. I saw online that you’re an expert in European artifacts,” I say.