Badeau did not respond to these last comments, but he heard them. Caron’s comments were so ambiguous. What the hell is a favor? he thought to himself. Claude Badeau was a well-respected member of the Louvre family and well known in Paris and in the world art community. He never had liked the fact that his wife, Catherine, and her small gallery had built a relationship with Caron’s wife, but that had the appearance of a respectable business relationship. He also did not like the fact that through his wife, Caron had become a benefactor to the museum, but at least that was not Badeau’s area of responsibility.
Caron said, “Claude, I suggest that when you leave, you confirm your plans with my associate Simon. The next time I am in Paris, we can perhaps have dinner, and we can laugh about this unfortunate event.”
“Monsieur Caron, again we want to express our regret, and I can promise that this type of problem will never happen again,” stated Badeau, whose mind was spinning and hands were shaking.
“Oh, I agree with you,” replied Caron.
Badeau reached across the table to take possession of the painting, and Caron quickly stopped him.
“Claude, I want to hold on to this painting for a while, if you don’t mind. It has taught me a great lesson, and now that we know that it is not genuine, you must agree that it has little value. Why don’t you take the copy of the report I received, and you can address any issues you have with your sources? If any of these people become a problem, just call me.”
Badeau was dumbfounded and could not put together a good reply. This was an unfair fight, and Caron had all of the ammunition. Caron and his wife rose from their chairs, and Simon opened the conference room door. Within seconds Badeau, his wife, Phillip Bertrand, and Simon had exited the galley and were standing in the rain.
“Simon, we may have some difficulty obtaining the money by this time tomorrow. I may have to sell some securities and talk with my banker. Would Thursday be satisfactory?”
Simon paused as if he was thinking and then provided his decree. “No. I will see you tomorrow at noon at your office at the Louvre. Thank you for coming.”
With that, the man named Simon turned and reentered the gallery.
Badeau and his wife were in shock. Their friend and consultant Phillip Bertrand seemed more composed.
“I need a drink, and we have to talk,” said Badeau. There was a cafe around the corner, and the three took a table in the corner.
Badeau held his face in his hands as his wife wiped tears from her eyes. Bertrand took the opportunity to order wine for all three.
“Catherine, how much money do we have in the business?” asked Claude.
She hesitated before saying, “Perhaps forty thousand euros. We just purchased those three paintings in Amsterdam, and that was almost two hundred thousand. We would have been in a better position if this had happened last week.”
“I should never have agreed to a twenty-four-hour limit. It is impossible to raise the cash by tomorrow.”
Phillip Bertrand did not let the pain continue. “Claude, I can provide the cash, but I must have the three paintings you mentioned. I hate to let it appear that I am being mercenary in my offer, but I also need to be protected. Perhaps we can talk about using the paintings as collateral, but I have to be compensated for the money I give you … and under the circumstances, the risk might be high. Unfortunately I don’t know when I can expect to see the money again.”
“Phillip, you were at that meeting as well, and you are on Caron’s list, so be careful,” said Badeau.
“I do not see it that way. I am a minor player, but if you see me as one under threat because of your company’s actions, then all the more reason for needing the three paintings to advance you the money. If I am to get the money transferred to your account, I must leave you now. I will be at your wife’s office this afternoon to pick up the paintings“ Bertrand eased himself from the table and slowly moved his large frame out of the café and into the rain.
Badeau found Bertrand’s offer welcome but stained by his demands. Hopefully they could resolve their problems once the money was paid. Badeau and his wife sat in the cafe’s dark corner trying to unscramble their lives.
“Catherine, how could that painting have been a fake? Andre knew the dealer we bought it from, and the paperwork was complete. I did not study the painting in detail, and I should have. Why Caron kept the painting is another question. Are we supposed to ask for our money back based on the report he provided? I would even pay for my own analysis if I had the painting. And if the painting is not a fake, we may have just been robbed. Something is not right, but the good news is that we will get past tomorrow. I hate to give Phillip Bertrand the paintings, but he has the money, and we are desperate. I feel so violated. It is almost like Caron and Bertrand set us up. Whatever happens, do not mention this to anyone. I have a reputation at the Louvre to maintain.”
Badeau rose from the table and went to the men’s room. Looking into the mirror he saw the eyes of an older man who, for the first time in his life, was very much afraid. Through the innocent actions of his wife, he was now much too familiar with key people in organized crime. Badeau and his wife had had issues in the past with a few investors that had questioned their methods, if not their honesty, but that had been resolved, and no one had felt they were at personal risk. Now, for the first time, he feared that lives were in danger.