Chapter 8 - The Mercer Dynasty’s Vault
Andrew Mercer did not return to his estate in Lexington that evening. He retreated to his private penthouse above the Mercer Bank Tower in downtown Louisville.
The mahogany-paneled library was quiet save for the crackle of a dying gas hearth. On the desk lay three separate cease-and-desist orders from international auction houses, alongside a subpoena from the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York.
Arthur Vance sat across from him, loosening his tie for the first time in thirty years.
"The board in Switzerland has suspended all sales of Fontaine works," Vance said quietly. "The Getty Museum has already begun pulling their three Fontaine landscapes off public exhibition for forensic analysis. By tomorrow morning, the French Ministry of Culture will open an inquiry into how Arthur Fontaine received a Chevalier des Arts medal in 1982 without a single living person ever attending his induction."
"My father built this empire," Mercer whispered, staring into his scotch glass. "He took this family from regional coal traders to international patrons of high culture. Fontaine was his masterpiece. It wasn't just a collection, Arthur—it was our pedigree. It was what made New York invite us to the Met Gala. It was what made London open its drawing rooms to us."
"Your father committed grand larceny and forty years of wire fraud," Vance replied bluntly. "And he left behind a paper trail that Mrs. Bennett preserved in an old cedar chest."
"Can we buy the magistrate?"
"No," Vance said, shaking his head. "Tessa Morgan streamed the forensic findings directly to the Association of Independent Art Historians an hour ago. There are already two hundred journalists camping outside the Belmont gallery. If we attempt to touch this evidence now, the Department of Justice will indict you on federal obstruction charges before nightfall."
Mercer set his glass down so hard the crystal stem shattered, dark amber liquor pooling across the polished mahogany.
"I will not be brought down by a cleaning woman!" he hissed. "She cleaned our offices! She emptied our trash bins! She is nothing!"
May you like
"She is the widow of the greatest American landscape painter of the twentieth century," Vance said softly, standing up and gathering his files. "And right now, Andrew... she owns you."
***
