Heads You Win

“You must,” said Lawrence. “It’s clear that my sister’s deceived both of us.”

“But you didn’t know,” said Alex, “and that’s all that matters.”

“But without the money you won’t be able to open Elena Two.”

“Then it will have to wait. Anyway, I learned more in one weekend with your sister than I’ve done in a year at business school.”

“Perhaps we should consider an alternative plan,” Lawrence suggested.

“What do you have in mind?”

“In exchange for my five hundred thousand, I get a ten percent stake in your company. The one that’s going to end up bigger than my godfather’s.”

“Fifty percent would be fairer.”

“Then let’s compromise. I’ll take fifty percent of your burgeoning empire, but the moment you return my half a million, it will fall to ten percent.”

“Twenty-five percent,” said Alex.

“That’s more than generous of you,” said Lawrence as he signed the check.

“It’s overgenerous of you,” said Alex. When Lawrence handed him the check, they shook hands for a second time.

“Now I understand,” said Lawrence as he placed his checkbook back in the drawer, “why Todd Halliday slipped away so soon after dinner on my birthday. Originally he was meant to be staying overnight.”

“The Empress Catherine herself would have been proud of your sister,” said Alex. “She knew the only way I was going to see the Warhol was if I spent the night with her.”

“Five hundred thousand,” said Lawrence. “An expensive one-night stand. However, I’ve already been working on a plan to make sure she pays back every penny. Let’s have supper.”

* * *

Lawrence waited until Alex had checked over the questions a second time. He only added the words insurance company? before he handed the crib sheet back. Lawrence nodded, took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed an overseas number.

He once again studied the list as he waited for one of them to answer the phone. He had chosen his time carefully: 12 noon in Boston, 6 p.m. in Nice. They should be back from lunch at La Colombe d’Or, but not yet have left for the casino in Monte Carlo.

“Hello?” said a familiar voice.

“Hi, Eve, it’s me. Thought I’d bring you up to date on the Warhol.”

“Have the police found it?”

“Yes, it was hanging above the mantelpiece in Karpenko’s apartment in Brighton Beach. They could hardly miss it.”

“So is it now safely back in the Jefferson room?”

“I’m afraid not. The Boston police department decided to have the picture valued before they pressed charges, and, here’s the surprise, it turns out to be a copy.”

“Why are you surprised?” asked Evelyn, a little too quickly.

“What do you mean?” asked Lawrence innocently.

“He obviously substituted a copy for the real thing. My bet is the original will have been smuggled out of the country. It’s probably somewhere in Russia by now.”

Somewhere in the south of France is more likely, thought Lawrence. “The insurance company agree with you, Eve,” said Lawrence, checking his list, “and they wondered when you’d be back in Boston, as you were the last person to see Karpenko before he left for New York.”

“I wasn’t planning on returning for some months,” said Evelyn. “I assume the police have arrested your friend Karpenko.”

“They did, but he’s out on bail. He claims he gave you a check for five hundred thousand dollars to invest with Todd in a start-up company, and you offered him the picture as security.”