Page 21 of Trailer Park Billionaire

“Wait, so you didn’t even want this kind of tour?” I ask, wondering if I’ve just squandered hours of my precious time away from my lab.

“Had I known how lovely the tour and performance piece would be, I certainly would have requested it as a bonus!” That smile is back with a well-calculated compliment, though this time it seems a little less practiced than before. “Anyway, lead the way, Ms. Beck.”

For a moment, I weigh my options. At this rate, I’m not getting back to the lab today. Then again, that might be an acceptable price to pay if it means selling off paintings we don’t really need—even to a private collector.

“Very well,” I say at last. “Did you have a specific painting in mind? Several maybe?”

“I am after a John D. Swift. But I’d like to see more—you never know what might catch the eye.”

“Good choice,” I lie. “He’s a favorite of mine,” I lie even more. I wouldn’t mind one bit if we sold every canvas that man had ever touched.

“That’s a little surprising,” Mr. Lyon says as we head to the archive of the museum. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Swifty.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, well, for one, he was an absolute piece of shit and a terrible excuse for a human being.”

True.“Unfortunately, if that was a criterion, I’d be forced to hate about 80% of the pieces in our museum. For better or worse, his work was influential and as such holds historic value.”A very diplomatic answer for: I guess I wouldn’t mind so much after all if they disappeared in a private collection, never to be seen again.

“You make a good point. Anyway, I’d like to see them all.”

“Certainly. As far as I know, we’ve got three or four of his paintings in our archive.”

Ben reaches for the door to the annex and holds it open for me. “No, I meant all of them. All the paintings.”

“All the—” I pause for just half a second. At this point, the surprise quickly gives way to the familiar feeling of:Of course you want to see all the paintings. “That would take days… at least.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I have nothing but time.”

Yeah, well, you might.“Plus, not all of them will be available for purchase.”

“That won’t be an issue,” he says, like someone who knows that it really wouldn’t be.

That’s probably the most infuriating thing people like him have in common—problems are just a matter of price.

“Not everything can be bought with money, you know.”

He follows me down the dim corridors, opening each door we pass before I can reach the handles, until we make it to the large hall stacked with rows and rows of shelves.

“Well, I think you have the wrong idea about me, Ms. Beck. I’m not trying to buyeverything. Just a few paintings will suffice. And as long as it’s not the Mona Lisa, most things do come with a price tag.”

We both stop at the first intersection, where rows branch off in every direction. A dozen on either side, just in this hall alone.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit, more to myself than to him.

“Oh, easy. Why don’t we just start at the beginning.” He motions toward the closest shelf and starts moving in that direction.

“Woah, woah, woah.” I cut him off immediately. “Hold it right there. Before we begin, I need you to promise me that you’ll keep your hands to yourself. Got it? If you don’t… see that statue over there in the corner?” I nod toward it. “That’s what I’ll do to you.”

Mr. Lyon’s head swivels around, inspecting the statue for a moment. “You’ll turn me into stone? Are you secretly a witch?”

“No, that’s not?—”

“You’ll undress me? Like that statue is undressed?” he teases.

“Check again,” I say, squeezing myself between him and the shelf to shield the dozens of invaluable works of art stored there.

His eyes wander from the statue’s head lower, until he notices a somewhat crucial part missing. “Oh!” he exclaims, turning back to me, which forces me against the shelf to avoid touching him. “Noted. Being made rock hard is one thing. Getting eunuched? A totally different one.”