Stuart Woods - Family Jewels

“It’s not a copy?” Niven asked.

“In my opinion, it is undoubtedly the original.”

Stone took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Niven. “I found this in Carrie Fiske’s jewelry safe,” he said. “I believe the piece was stolen when the U.S. Army ransacked Hermann Goering’s alpine retreat in 1945, and the grandson of the soldier who stole it had that letter, ostensibly from Blume, forged when he gave the piece to Carrie Fiske as a wedding gift. The people who found the designs and photographs in the Paris archive also searched the years 1945, 1946, and 1947. They found no reference to Blume having copied the necklace.”

“Who searched the archive for you?” Niven asked.

“Paul Eckstein and Randol Cohn-Blume, the great-grandson of the designer François Blume.”

“Paul is a good man,” Niven said. “Does anybody have the slightest doubt that this piece is the original as depicted in the drawings and photographs?” His two colleagues shook their heads.

“Then that settles it for me. Stone, let’s go back to my office.”

When they were settled, Niven said, “How can we help?”

“I’d like you to auction the necklace, with the proceeds to go to the National Holocaust Museum, in Washington, D.C., and to waive your fees.”

“We have a fifteen percent buyer’s fee that we’d need to collect. Our expenses will be considerable.”

“That’s reasonable. I will be selecting items from the estate — American antique furniture, artwork, and jewelry for sale. By way of thanks, I’ll assign those to Sotheby’s at your usual rates.”

“Thank you, we accept. When would you like to sell the necklace?”

“As soon as planning and publicity will allow,” Stone said.

“I’d like you to leave the necklace with us,” Niven said, “for cleaning and any necessary repairs, which, I assure you, will be carried out with the greatest care.”

“Then I’ll need a receipt, of course, with a value of ten million.”

“Of course. Is the piece insured?”

“Yes, for that amount.”

“Good.” Niven took a sheet of stationery from his desk, handwrote a receipt, and handed it to Stone. “Good enough?”

“Good enough.”

“Did you have any security with you when you came here?”

“No.”

“It was just in your pocket?”

“Yes.”

“Stone, I am appalled. This necklace should never be alone with anyone again.”

“I’m glad it will be in your safe, not mine. One more thing, Jamie.”

“Yes?”

“I will be a bidder for the piece.”

“Personally, or for someone else?”

“Personally, and I would like my interest held in the strictest confidence.”

Niven turned to his computer, typed a few keystrokes, then printed out a sheet and handed it to Stone. “You now have a numbered buyer’s account with us,” he said. “When you speak to your bidder, or anyone else here, give your number, not your name, and your identity will be known only to me.”

The two men shook hands. “I’ll speak to my people, and we’ll come up with a sale date.”

Stone elected to walk home, feeling lighter than before, now that the necklace was in the safekeeping of someone else.

Stone helped Fred get Gala’s luggage into the Bentley, then took her in his arms. “I’m sorry you have to leave,” he said.

“I’ve had a wonderful time, but my screenplay is finished, and now I have to do some revisions and attend some production meetings in L.A.”

“I understand, I just don’t like it.”

“I want you to think of yourself as having a house in Santa Fe,” she said. “I’ll share anytime you can come.”

“What a wonderful offer! I’ll take you up on it.”

She kissed him, got into the Bentley, and was driven away by Fred.

Stone went back to his office. Paul Eckstein was due any minute with his report on the Fiske real estate. He looked at his watch, and as he did, Joan buzzed.

“Paul Eckstein is here.”

“Send him in.”

Paul entered Stone’s office and placed three leather-bound albums on his desk. “Here we are,” he said. “Shall I go over them with you?”

“Please.”

Paul took him through each of the three albums, showing him photographs of all the rooms of each house, along with shots of furniture and art that had been individually appraised. Paul handed him a bound report. “Here is the detail that supports the photographs. I think you’ll want to read it carefully in your own time, but I’ll give you the short version.”

“Please do.”

“We appraised the New York apartment at fifty million dollars. The Palm Beach house came in at thirty-six million, and the East Hampton house at thirty million, for a total of a hundred and sixteen million dollars, without the separately appraised pieces of art, of course.” He handed Stone some sheets of paper. “Here is a list of the pieces of furniture and art, keyed to the photographs in the albums, each with a range of predicted sale prices. At the mid-range sale price, the art and furniture from both houses and the New York apartment are valued at another thirty-six million dollars. That gives you a total value of the estate of a hundred and fifty-two million dollars. Again, that’s a mid-range valuation of both the real estate and the art.”

“I’ve had an offer of a hundred million for the three residences,” Stone said, “without some of the art.”

“That’s low, I believe. As for the furniture and art, some of it could go at lowball prices, while other pieces might attract competition at an auction and bring top dollar. Ms. Fiske’s jewelry and clothing are not included. There’s a separate sheet for what those might bring. There are some ball gowns and haute couture dresses that the Metropolitan Museum might like to have for their costume collection, if you want to donate them. Or they might bring a couple of hundred thousand dollars at auction.”

“How much is her jewelry worth?”

“Without the Bloch-Bauer necklace, around eight million dollars, sold at auction. Again, that’s a mid-level price.”

“This is very fine work, Paul,” Stone said. “Send me your bill.”

Paul took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Stone. “Here you are.”

Stone opened the envelope and looked at the bill. “This is acceptable. I’ll have Joan write you a check on the estate account.” He buzzed her and gave her the instructions. She brought the check in to be signed.

“I have one more thing for you,” Paul said, “a little surprise.”

“I love a surprise.”

Paul opened the larger of his two briefcases and took out a handsome box.

“What is it?”

“It’s the Blume box that the necklace was delivered in.” He opened it. “We found it in the closet, near the jewelry safe. It’s rosewood, lined in velvet, a tiny bit worse for the wear, but quite beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I do.”

“And it has a plate on the bottom with the Blume name and the date 1899.”

“The perfect companion to the piece. Sotheby’s will be thrilled.”

The two men shook hands, and Paul took his leave.

Stone called Nicky Chalmers, told him that the estate appraisals were in and that they should meet to discuss the matter.

Nicky and Vanessa came in that afternoon, and Stone went over the appraisals with them. “The estate makes you this offer,” he said. “You may purchase the three residences for a hundred and sixteen million dollars, furnished, with the exception of these pieces.” He held up the document. “You may purchase any of the pieces of furniture and art on the auction list at the projected mid-range price. I’ll leave you to look over the list.”