Page 24 of Trailer Park Billionaire (Distinguished Billionaires #3)

HELENA

I knew he was following me!

But also—and more importantly—did that actually work?

Do I not have to flee to Laos after all?

“But,” Ben says, stifling my optimism for a second, “we’ll need to be smart about this.”

Alex nearly chokes on his own breath. “We can’t give her a hundred grand. We’re not even going to make that much off this painting! Plus, it’s money we need!”

If I were being smart about this, I wouldn't willingly join a criminal operation that’s bound to get me behind bars again, but what fucking choice do I have?

“Well, if you wanted someone to work for free, you should’ve kidnapped an intern,” I deadpan. “Which, by the by, I also do not condone. Pay your interns. And your artists too. Maybe also don’t kidnap them.”

Alexei and Ben exchange a look. One of them is frowning; the other sporting an almost hellish grin. Alexei shakes his head. Ben nods.

“Alex, you know this is what we’ve been waiting for. If we play it right, it could come with a sizable payout for our other projects. We just need to make sure our trickery is thoroughly planned, well executed, and seen through to the very end.”

Alexei’s head slowly stops swinging side to side.

What other projects are they pursuing?

And why would I care? It doesn’t matter.

I shouldn’t have any interest in their criminal activities.

The less I know the better.

What matters is the 100k.

“A sizable payout,” I repeat, and get the feeling that there’s something else Ben is hiding. “You’re thinking of stealing a more valuable painting than the one you were originally intending to steal, aren’t you?”

Alex shakes his head. “We can’t. It’s just not how this works. What are we going to do with an expensive painting if we don’t have a buyer? It would just sit around gathering dust. Buyer comes first. If it were that easy, we’d always just steal the most expensive painting.”

I sigh. That makes sense, unfortunately.

“But this is different,” Ben murmurs, obviously still working something out in his head. “Because this isn’t just any expensive painting.”

Something seems to dawn on Alex. He shakes his head vigorously.

“Yes,” Ben says before his accomplice can interject properly. “The Vindicta.”

Did he just say ‘Vindicta’?

“Indeed,” he replies with sudden certainty. “We’re going to steal Gentileschi’s Vindicta. It makes perfect sense. Usually, we stay away from jobs like this,” he explains to me, “because we can’t draw this much public attention to us, but with your help…”

The tiny room falls silent. Then Ben turns back to Alex. “You just said it: it’s money we need. Can you find a buyer for it? ”

Ben’s friend thinks about his response for a moment, lets out a sigh, then starts wiggling out of the booth before leaving through the door—only to return a minute later with a notebook and a plastic plate of sushi.

He sets the food down and gestures for us to eat.

By now, I am starving and eagerly reach for a piece, but am stopped by Ben before I can grab one.

“I wouldn’t,” he says. “His stomach is that of an animal. He somehow never gets sick. You probably would.” He looks over to his friend. “One of these days, this is going to land you in the ER.”

Alex scoffs. “It’s perfectly fine gas station sushi from the day before yesterday. It’s even been refrigerated… for the most part.”

When I retract my hand, Alex scoffs again. “Your bloodline is as weak as his, my dear.”

“Alex,” Ben cuts in, “can you or can you not?”

Alex tosses a piece of maki into his mouth and begins browsing through his notebook, which looks tiny in his massive hands.

He squeezes back into the bench. It seems like he’s going through a list of names, with his fingers running over each page, his head occasionally shaking or wiggling as if he’s not sure whether someone might qualify as a buyer.

“What’s the value?” he asks finally, his eyes still scanning the notebook.

Ben looks at me, waiting for a response.

“Priceless,” I say simply. “It should belong to a museum, to the public. A long-lost painting like this? For decades—centuries even—there were only rumors of it existing. The fact that it was found after all is just incredible. Stuff like this rarely ever happens. And then it gained even more public notoriety when my grandpa forged it. Plus, Artemisia is one of the most well-known women artists in history ever. It’s literally priceless. ”

Ben interjects. “It’s privately owned. It could be sold. And it would fetch a price.”

I mean, yes. But also—it shouldn’t.

This painting is far too valuable to be sold and disappear into some rich asshole’s private collection. At least, for now, that rich asshole has it on loan to a museum.

“Look for someone who has actual knowledge of art. Not someone using it as an investment or a money laundering scheme.”

“And someone extremely wealthy,” Alex adds.

I rub my eyes, the pain stinging immediately.

I am tired, and hungry, and… yeah, no, that’s it.

I don’t have the emotional bandwidth today to feel more than that.

“This wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t be smart,” I say and rub my eyes, while Alex quietly hums in agreement.

“First of all, security would—hopefully—be increased for the exhibition, making it harder to get the painting.”

“Harder but not impossible,” Ben comments.

“Right, but it’s a moot point anyway since I wouldn’t be able to produce a forgery this big, that quickly. And without a forgery there would be a massive hunt for a painting that already has a lot of attention on it.”

“You wouldn’t have to create a new forgery,” Ben says, more sure of himself now. “We already have one.”

Of course.

He’s talking about my grandpa’s forgery.

“It’s already nearly indistinguishable. You’d just have to fix it up and finish it. And then there’s the forgery for our other painting, for our other job. But that one’s a lot smaller.”

I drum my fingers against the table, watching Ben watch me. He’s not entirely wrong. It could be done. The question is: should it be done?

This feels a bit like fate.

Or, you know, complete and utter folly. A cosmic joke dressed in oil paint. Me standing in the footprints of the man I love most in this world, committing almost the exact same crime that tore us apart for years. Alexei mumbles something about ‘Bad Omens’ to himself, and I’m inclined to agree.

Then again, how else am I going to get the money?

How else am I going to prevent more bad stuff from happening to me if I can’t pay the debt?

This is what it ultimately comes down to: money.

Everything is always about money.

The fact that I’d be directly responsible for the fucking St. Clairs losing maybe their most coveted work of art is just karma. I’ll be able to pay one criminal with the money from another.

So if this is what I have to do, then so be it.

“What amount should we ask for?” Alex inquires again.

“Twenty…” I sigh. “Twenty-five million.”

His head jerks up from the notebook, his eyes wide. “That would be our biggest score by a long shot.”

“The highest amount ever fetched for a painting by Artemisia was a little over five million,” I go into detail.

“This was years ago, and unless we’re in a significant economic crisis, prices don’t drop.

Add inflation, the fact that this painting has one of the most compelling and astonishing backstories since the Mona Lisa, the growing recognition and appreciation for women artists—her being practically the original one—and the work going on a literal world tour…

then twenty-five million is a reasonable asking price on the black market.

With a bit of luck, it could go for double that at an auction.

With a lot of luck, ten times that. Who knows these days. ”

And with the right amount of luck, my grandpa would have never gone to prison if it weren’t for this painting. In a way, it would be poetic justice to finish what he (unwillingly) started.

For a second, Ben touches my hand that’s resting on the table and sends shivers down my spine. “What do you need to create the forgery?”

“Well, I have to create not only a forgery, but a copy—two copies—identical ones. Which makes it significantly harder. What painting were you guys originally planning to steal?”

“We have a buyer lined up who is willing to pay 80k for ‘The Burden of Leadership’ by John D. Swift.”

“A Swift?” I ask incredulously. “If you were planning on stealing a Swift, why would you ask to see a Swift? I could’ve easily made the connection that you were the thief once we would have noticed it missing.”

Ben looks at his friend then quickly away. It would appear he didn’t know about that. “Because I needed to know where to find it. This was the easiest way. We were gonna ghost-town it eventually anyway, no?”

Alex just shakes his head.

I pull out my phone and look the painting up online.

There are some pictures of it, none in good lighting or high definition.

“I can get the paint and most everything else to look like this. A one-to-one recreation of the craquelure is impossible, of course, but I’m reasonably confident we’d get away with it for this one. ”

“The what now?” Alex asks.

“The cracks,” Ben answers before I can. “Old paint and varnish cracks as it dries and ages. That’s not an issue when creating forgeries of previously unknown works—only when copying existing paintings.”

I nod. Sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.

“It shouldn’t be too much of an issue with this one.

It’ll be harder with the Artemisia.” A quick search pulls up better pictures, though none professionally taken, full-frontal, and in good lighting.

“It could work. We might be able to get away with it. At least for a while.”

“So what do you need?”