Peter was emboldened enough to continue talking without any prompting from Fritz. “I’m not surprised the plaintiffs latched onto that testimony. Without it they haven’t alleged anything that’ll withstand a motion to dismiss their complaint. Once you drill down into the facts behind Jack’s bankruptcy testimony, Fritz, you’ll see there’s nothing of concern.”
“Oh, really?” It was the only thing Monica would say all morning.
Fritz pushed back in his chair. Kate knew he was in a bind. He’d have to tell his people they’d be stuck with Ascalon for a while. If what Peter said held true, the shareholder lawsuit would devolve into a he said/she said affair between Kate on one hand and Jack on the other, the kind of case that’s settled under the radar and soon forgotten.
Kate could live with that result.
TWENTY-TWO
Andrew Butler called Kate the next morning.
“Are you available Monday? Larry Wolf would like you to come over.” Andrew explained that talking to Ascalon’s carriers wasn’t enough. Greene’s lawyers now wanted to interview Kate without Peter in the room.
“Does eleven work?” It was more of a command than a question.
“Clive Daley, who is our Larry Wolf, said the same thing about the carrier here. Maybe we all just should sit in the same room at the same time and get this over in one shot. I’m going to be in Europe Monday. I’ll be back Wednesday night, so Thursday might work.”
“May I ask if you’re visiting Marta Hirsch?”
Wall Street lives on bits of information, so Kate wasn’t surprised Andrew knew her itinerary. After a moment, Kate said only, “News travels fast.”
“Chris Franklin called me yesterday afternoon to tell me Drake arranged a bridge loan and to thank me for Greene’s time and effort. He was in a chatty mood. That’s some bet you’re making.”
“Can we just say Ed was feeling charitable and leave it at that?” Andrew hardly needed to know of the table-pounding, threats, and accusations behind the decision. But with Ed having bought another thirty days from the Harvard endowment fund on the promise things were picking up, he could hardly turn around less than a week later and scuttle the only deal Drake had in its pipeline. Ed justified the loan by taking options to own twenty percent of Majik. He then blamed Kate for all the difficulty and tied her bonus to the value of the Majik options. He might as well have put her feet in cement and thrown her into the Hudson.
Andrew went on. “I’m not surprised you found the woman. You’re the best damned detective in a generation. Kate the Goalie. Nothing gets past you.”
“Just let me know when you need me to be your goalie again.”
Andrew sighed. Kate let it go.
“Andrew, as long as we’re not competing for this deal any longer, let me ask you something.”
She described the receipt, the meeting with Ingrid, and the picture she’d taken at the Hirsch factory. She asked Andrew how he’d handle the meeting with Marta.
“It’s never been in my repertoire to prove someone else’s case, if that’s what you’re asking. I’d probably start and stop with the receipt.”
“That seems to be the prevailing wisdom here.” She didn’t bother telling him Ed insisted Steve accompany her on her trip. Ed said he was protecting his investment, but Kate knew he didn’t trust her enough to follow the game plan.
Andrew continued. “Even the picture in the factory only accounts for the painting up to the eighteen nineties. In and of itself, that one photograph doesn’t speak to the question of whether the family later sold it. You’re assuming they still held it when the Nazis came to power. Families suffer reversals of fortune all the time. You shouldn’t leap to conclusions about this one.”
“Part of me can accept that, Andrew, but I still feel as though I’m rationalizing why I should hold something back. Don’t I have a moral obligation to do more than to sit idly while we take advantage of this family’s naiveté?”
“Naiveté is your word, Kate. Not necessarily theirs.” Andrew continued when Kate didn’t respond. “There are very few absolutes in life. Given all its shadings and nuances, I’m not certain the truth about the provenance of this particular painting is one of them. Have a safe trip. I’ll tell Larry we’re on for Thursday at eleven. No sense having two meetings on the same topic with the same people, so you might as well bring Clive.”
TWENTY-THREE
Marta Hirsch was waiting by the elevator when the doors opened to the sixth floor. She was about Kate’s size and shape and in her late thirties. Her eyes were dark and deep-set. Her skin was the color of refined olive oil, her jet black hair cut fashionably short. She was dressed simply, in a black pants suit and red silk blouse, with no makeup or accessories other than a pair of small pearl clip-on earrings. Kate hadn’t given herself more than a couple of hours to freshen up after landing in Barcelona, so she was afraid she looked flustered and perhaps even disheveled. But at the same time, she was ready to get the meeting started.
“Ms. Brewster, Marta Hirsch,” Marta said. Her voice had a deep, throaty sound as though it were trapped in coils inside her before being released.
Marta’s office was small, but neat. Her desk was a workbench covered with blueprints and models of the buildings she was renovating. A man close to Marta’s age stood as they entered the office, introduced himself as her cousin, Eric Hirsch, the son of her father’s older brother. He had Marta’s color and dark, intently focused eyes.
Four chairs were arranged away from Marta’s desk. Copies of the receipt from the Gallerie Marc Kate attached to her introductory email were on the chairs Marta and Eric were to occupy.
A horn sounded outside Marta’s window, then another, and a third. Voices were raised. A traffic incident, no doubt. Kate was acutely aware of every sound inside and outside the office. She took two deep breaths to calm herself.
“We were quite impressed that you discovered this receipt, Ms. Brewster, but your email failed to advise why you were looking for it in the first place. Eric and I debated whether we should email you back on that point before going any further, but as you seemed to be looking into our family’s private affairs, we felt it best we talk through matters in person.” Marta did not apologize for the burden of the trip her invitation imposed. It was her privacy being intruded, after all.
“We certainly understand the sensitivity of the matter and are happy to be here,” Kate said. She resolved to see as much of this meeting through Marta’s eyes as possible.
“Most people involved with the return of looted artwork are affiliated with a museum or a social services agency. Is that a cause in which Drake Carlson has an interest? I saw nothing on your web site suggesting you support the mission.”
Kate had no better answer about her motives than she had when Chloe Marc asked her the same question, although this time she knew Steve would use whatever she said to Marta against her. She replied by telling Marta only what Clive told her to say. “We are considering acquiring an interest in the painting and there was a gap in the provenance. I was referred to the gallery by a colleague at the Yale Museum of Art.”
Steve nodded, seemingly both to acknowledge his perceived control over Kate and for the substance of her remarks.
Eric spoke for the first time. “We have been searching for this and other paintings taken from our grandparents for at least ten years. We became aware of the litigation involving Yale over another Courbet some time ago. We tried to find information through our lawyers in the US, but Yale was uncooperative. No one in a position of power likes to hear from victims.”
Steve spoke before Kate could say anything. “We fully respect what your family endured in Austria during the war, but is it possible for you to account for the painting in the seventy years between the time Karl Hirsch bought it and the time your family left the country?”
Hearing Steve actually say those words to the faces of the heirs of victims made Kate feel so much more offended than when the question had been debated as some theoretical construct in a conference room in New York.
Marta walked behind her desk. She brought back a manila folder from which she took a photograph. It was the same snapshot Kate took at Karl Hirsch’s factory. Kate was so embarrassed she closed her eyes, like Mack did when he wanted to wish bad things away.
“Are you in a position to divulge the name of your potential seller?”
“We are sworn to secrecy.”
Eric shuddered at the comment. Marta reddened, plainly angered both by Steve’s resistance and by his tone. Kate shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Steve continued as though he were the only one allowed to ask questions. “This photo is from before the turn of the last century. Do you know what happened to your family’s business between the time this photograph was taken and either of the world wars?”
“How do you know, Mr. Reed, when this photograph was taken? Have you seen this before? If so, why did you withhold that information from us?”
“Before we move forward, Ms. Hirsch, we are trying to understand what happened to this painting. It is possible it was sold at some point.”
Marta refused to be diverted. “Mr. Reed, your comment suggests your objective is to disprove our ownership of the painting. If that is your intention you will fail. Both my father and Eric’s father will testify the painting remained on the wall of their family home until they were driven out a few months after Kristallnacht.” She turned to Kate. “Mr. Reed did not answer my question about the photograph. Did you visit my family’s textile plant when you were in Linz? There is no other way Mr. Reed could know the date of this photograph.” Marta would be restrained no longer. “If that is the case, why did you not share that information? I feel as though you are some sort of a spy. Under these circumstances, I must insist that before this meeting goes any further you tell us the name of the potential seller.”
“We are not able to do so.” Steve raised his voice the way any common street bully does when he has nothing to say. “Do you have any evidence beyond what could be a self-serving statement on their part?”
The schematic that Kate gave Chris, which sat no more than two feet away from her in her briefcase, mocked and lessened her.
“People tend not to gather up photographs when jack-booted soldiers are at their front door giving them fifteen minutes to gather their belongings, Mr. Reed. I’m afraid this meeting is over.”
Marta looked to Kate. “You secured my invitation by saying you were interested in discussing our family’s claim to the painting. We have established that interest beyond any reasonable doubt. Unless you tell us either how you intend to facilitate its return or to identify whomever now claims to own the painting so that we may prosecute our own claim, I see no reason to waste our time any further.” There had never been another moment in Kate’s life when she felt so humiliated.
Steve spoke before Kate had a chance to form her thoughts. “Even though there are gaps in your possible claim, we are prepared to discuss a reasonable economic solution, Ms. Hirsch.”
“Gaps? Possible claim? A reasonable economic solution? Are you so base and so merciless to suggest that to force us to accept some token amount of cash you will throw obstacles in our path? You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Mr. Reed. Our parents lacked the resources to pursue this inquiry because it was their job to rebuild their lives, so this task has fallen to us. Eric and I do not shrink from that responsibility.”
Marta walked behind her desk. She put her hands on the back of her chair. Eric spoke. “May I please ask a question? You said your firm is interested in acquiring this painting. Why is this one particular painting so important to you? I’m certain an American investment banking firm can afford any one of a hundred paintings from the same period. Why have you gone to all this trouble for this one Courbet? Why did you make inquiry in the place of our father’s birth about our family? Why did you not tell us you visited our family’s textile plant? You would be asking the same questions if someone showed up at your door with detailed knowledge of your family, but speaking only half-truths. Your motivations appear quite suspect.”
Neither Kate nor Steve responded. Eric pressed his point in the face of their silence. “We must presume something more is going on than an interest in a single painting. You wouldn’t have bothered traveling to Linz, Ms. Brewster, and the two of you wouldn’t have bothered coming here, if your interest were limited to the acquisition of a piece of artwork. May we ask if this painting somehow is tied to a business opportunity you are exploring?”
“Our interests are proprietary,” Steve said.
“Proprietary? I don’t understand, Mr. Reed; how do you expect us to engage in a discussion about this matter when you draw an arbitrary line about the information available to us? I know investment banking firms depend upon the commissions they earn for facilitating transactions. Is this painting somehow tied to a proposed business arrangement?” Piece by piece, Eric was dismantling the façade Steve built around the truth. Kate wondered how long he could refuse to respect Eric and Marta’s concerns.
“Again, Mr. Hirsch, our motivation is not relevant to the fact that we are here to determine any possible legitimacy you may make to the ownership of the painting.” Steve was as adept as any good politician in stonewalling. But even stone walls eventually crumble against the furious force of someone who is in the right. Neither Eric nor Marta were swayed by his refusal to respect their questions.
Marta picked up the receipt. Her face contorted with anger. “I can draw only one conclusion from your obfuscation. Although you refuse to admit as much, I believe firmly Drake Carlson stands to earn an outsized profit or a commission of some sort out of its dealings with this painting. Did you give one moment’s thought to how offended our family will be to learn you are opening these wounds so you can earn a few dollars? You Americans treat the rest of the world like some colony to be exploited for our natural resources.”
“Ms. Hirsch, let me assure you, that was not...” Kate paused.
“Ms. Brewster, you want to know about the history of that painting? It was taken from my grandfather when he and his family fled from Austria to avoid being sent to the gas chamber.”