Николас Спаркс - The Longest Ride

“Excuse me…”

“Can we talk?”

“I’d like to schedule a meeting with you…”

“What are you going to do with the Warhol?”

“My client is particularly interested in one of the Rauschenbergs…”

Instinctively, Luke grabbed Sophia’s hand and pushed back his chair, making room for their escape. An instant later, they were dashing toward the door, the audience in pursuit.

He pushed open the doors, only to find six security guards standing behind two women and a man wearing badges of the sponsoring auction house. One of them was the same attractive woman who had taken his information and almost all the cash he’d had in his wallet.

“Mr. Collins?” she asked. “My name is Gabrielle and I work for the auction house. We have a private room for you upstairs. We anticipated that it might get a little hectic, so we made special arrangements for your comfort and security. Would you please follow me?”

“I was thinking of just heading to my truck…”

“There’s some additional paperwork, as you can probably imagine. Please. If you wouldn’t mind?” She gestured toward the hallway.

Luke looked back at the approaching crowd. “Let’s go,” he decided.

Still clutching Sophia’s hand, he turned and followed Gabrielle, flanked by three of the guards. Luke realized that the others had remained behind to keep the audience from following them. He could vaguely hear them shouting at him, bombarding him with questions.

He had the surreal impression that someone was playing a practical joke on him, though to what end, he had no idea. It was crazy. All of this was crazy…

Their group turned the corner and headed through a door leading to the staircase. When Luke turned to peek over his shoulder, he realized that only two of the guards remained with them; the other stayed behind to guard the door.

On the second floor, he and Sophia were led to a set of wood-paneled doors, which Gabrielle opened for them.

“Please,” she said, ushering them into a spacious suite of rooms, “make yourselves comfortable. We have refreshments and food inside, along with the catalog. I’m sure you have a thousand questions and I can assure you that they will all be answered.”

“What’s going on?” Luke asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “I think you already know,” she said, without directly answering the question. She turned toward Sophia and offered her hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Sophia,” she said. “Sophia Danko.”

Gabrielle tilted her head. “Slovakian, yes? A beautiful country. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then, turning to Luke again: “The guards will be posted outside the room, so you don’t have to worry about anyone disturbing you. For now, I’m sure you have a lot to think about and discuss. We’ll leave you alone for a few minutes to review your collection. Would that be all right?”

“I guess,” Luke said, his mind still spinning. “But —”

“Mr. Lehman and Mr. Sanders will be in shortly.”

Luke lifted an eyebrow at Sophia before surveying the well-appointed room. Couches and chairs surrounded a low, round table. On the table stood an assortment of drinks, including a bucket of champagne on ice, a platter of sandwiches, and a sliced fruit and cheese selection on a crystal dish.

Next to the table lay the catalog, opened to a particular page.

Behind them, the door closed and Luke found himself alone with Sophia. She glanced at him, then cautiously approached the table and studied the open catalog page.

“It’s Ruth,” she said, touching the page. He watched as she ran her finger lightly over the photograph.

“This can’t really be happening, can it?”

She continued to stare at the photograph before turning toward him with a dazed and beatific smile. “Yes,” she said, “I think it’s really happening.”

Gabrielle returned with Mr. Sanders and Mr. Lehman, whom Luke recognized as the silver-haired gentleman who’d presided over the auction.

After Sanders introduced himself, he took a seat in the chair and blew his nose in a linen handkerchief. Up close, Luke noticed the wrinkles and bushy white eyebrows; he suspected the man was somewhere in his mid-seventies. Yet a hint of mischief underlay his expression, making him seem younger.

“Before we begin, let me address the first and most obvious question that I’m sure you’ve been pondering,” Sanders began, resting his hands on his knees. “You’re probably wondering, Is there a catch? Did you, by purchasing the Portrait of Ruth , indeed inherit the entire collection? Am I correct?”

“That’s pretty much it,” Luke admitted. Ever since the commotion in the auditorium, he’d felt utterly at sea. This setting… these people… nothing could have felt more foreign to him.

“The answer to your question is yes,” Sanders said in a kindly voice. “According to the terms of Ira Levinson’s will, the purchaser of that particular piece, Portrait of Ruth , was to receive the entire collection. That is why it was offered for sale first. In other words, there is no catch. There are no strings attached. The collection is now yours to do with as you wish.”

“So I could ask you to just load it up in the back of my truck and I could bring it all back to my house? Right now?”

“Yes,” Sanders answered. “Though considering the size of the collection, it would likely take a number of trips. And given the value of some of the artwork, I would recommend a safer mode of transportation.”

Luke stared at him, dumbfounded.

“There is, however, an issue which you will have to consider.”

Here it comes, Luke thought.

“It concerns estate taxes,” Sanders said. “As you may or may not be aware, any bequest in excess of a certain amount is subject to taxation by the United States government, or the IRS. The value of the collection is far in excess of that amount, which means that you now have substantial tax obligations that you will have to meet. Unless you’re worth a fortune – and a large fortune at that – with substantial liquid assets to cover these taxes, you will most likely have to sell a portion of the collection to meet them. Perhaps even half of the collection. It depends, of course, on which pieces you choose to sell. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so. I inherited a lot and I’ve got to pay taxes on it.”

“Exactly. So, before we go any further, I’d like to ask whether you have an estate attorney with whom you prefer to deal. If not, I am happy to make recommendations.”

“I don’t have anyone.”

Sanders nodded. “I suspected you didn’t – you’re rather young. That’s fine, of course.” He dug in his pocket for a business card. “If you call my office on Monday morning, I will provide a list. You are not required, of course, to use any of the names I suggest.”

Luke inspected the card. “It says here that you’re an estate attorney.”

“I am. In the past, I served in other areas, but estate work suits me these days.”

“Then could I hire you?”

“If you wish,” he said. He motioned toward the others in the room. “You’ve already met Gabrielle. She’s a vice president of client relationships at the auction house. I also wanted you to meet David Lehman. He’s the president of the auction house.”

Luke shook his hand and exchanged pleasantries before Sanders went on.

“As you can probably imagine, arranging the auction in this manner was… challenging in many respects, including a financial one. Mr. Lehman’s auction house is the one that Ira Levinson preferred. While you are not obligated to use them in the future, as Ira and I were working out the details, he asked me to request that the purchaser strongly consider his preexisting relationship with them. They are considered one of the top auction houses in the world, which I think your own research will bear out.”