The Looters Read Online Free Page A

He wouldn’t tell me, and I didn’t expect him to. It was his money, even if he never personally earned a cent of it. I would have to wait and listen, picking up clues from nuances in his words and tone. Obviously, there was a point where he would not go a penny higher.
    So far, the most expensive piece for the museum had come in at $10 million. That wasn’t chump change, but it was a small fraction of what some works had gone for in the past. Somewhere beyond the initial authority he gave me was an amount above which he wouldn’t go. I doubted if he had the exact figure in mind himself. Even if he did, auctions were akin to horse races—in the heat of the moment, the horse can be whipped to go those extra lengths.
    Hiram would also be influenced by what I reported about the mood of the room as the bids were made.
    My current authority was to let someone else open and stay in the bidding to $30 million. Hiram was hoping to get the piece for that amount. I knew he wouldn’t. In a market where some paintings had brought in over a hundred million dollars, a masterpiece of antiquity could easily bring in more than $30 million. The Semiramis was certainly not the
Mona Lisa
or
Venus de Milo
, but it was unique… and it had a history. Buyers loved pieces with a history.
    I figured the Semiramis would go for $45 to $50 million. Part of its attraction was its legacy of ill-fated love… and, of course, love’s close kin: jealousy and murder. What would romantic tragedy be if passions didn’t flare to the point of murder? Jealous rage had been fueling literature for eons and was the mainstay of Hollywood.
    I had an inside source for coming up with the $45 to $50 million estimate—Neal Nathan was my lover.
    I don’t want to leave the wrong impression about our relationship. It wasn’t just business. The international trade in art and antiquities was a tough business. While it wasn’t unusual to mix business with pleasure, I drew the line at sleeping with someone
just
to enhance my career.
    I will admit that on a couple of occasions I had arranged “dates” for visiting out-of-town art dealers whom I wanted an inside track with, but I wasn’t alone at doing that. Nor was it unheard of even for auction houses and museums to pamper their potential clients and donors with sexual favors. The idea repulsed me at first. I felt like a pimp. But then I found out that I wouldn’t have to do the actual procuring. Eric told me to ask my apartment building doorman.
    “They do that kind of stuff all the time. Just slip him a few bucks. He’ll take care of the whole thing,” Eric said.
    He was right. When I mentioned to George, my doorman, that I had a couple of “visiting firemen” who needed a date, he acted like it was just a routine request that came up every day.
    “No problem. Give me the name and hotel. I’ll take care of it.” The hundred bucks I slipped into his hand helped, too.
    Okay, people could say I turned a blind eye to providing sex for a couple of out-of-towners, but there are worst things that happen than two people hooking up. A lot worse.
    As for my intimate connection to Rutgers, I actually liked Neal. I wouldn’t have had sexual relations with him otherwise. I’d sooner go back to telling tourists that the Egyptian exhibit was on the first floor of the Met before I’d lie down on the couch to further my career.
    Romantically, I was going through a quandary. After my fiancé left to further his career in the nation’s capital, I fell passionately in love with a man who I thought was Mr. Perfect and considered spending the rest of my life with but who turned out to be Jerk of the Century. I caught Mr. Jerk in bed fucking my best friend. The fact that my best friend was a guy added insult to injury. Pretty tough on a girl’s self-image when she can’t compete with another guy. I got rid of both of them.
    After experiencing the heartbreak of true love of an undeserving bastard, I wasn’t ready to jump