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“He employs a man named Leonard Silk to watch his back. Silk is retired CIA. When he left the Agency, he opened a one-man private security firm here in New York. He called me when I was working on my profile and threatened legal action if the piece alleged wrongdoing of any kind. I also received messages from a man who somehow knew that I liked to take long walks in the park. He warned me to be careful. He said bad things happen to women who walk alone in New York City.”
“How subtle.”
“Leonard Silk doesn’t waste time on subtlety. That’s Phillip’s department. He was incredibly charming during our interviews. It’s no wonder your whistleblower agreed to work for him.”
“Actually, she saw through Phillip from the beginning.”
“What was the original connection?”
“Drugs. When she couldn’t sell any of her paintings here in New York, she earned a living dealing cocaine. Many of her clients were Wall Street types.”
“Phillip snorted a mountain of blow back when he was at Lehman Brothers,” said Evelyn. “It was just one of the reasons why they fired him. Even by Wall Street standards, he was out of control.”
“Your article said he left Lehman on good terms.”
“That was the public version of the story, but it isn’t true. Phillip was practically frog-marched out of the building, and a do-not-resuscitate order went out on the street. When no one else would hire him, he started a hedge fund called Somerset Asset Management. And when the hedge fund collapsed, he hit upon a novel idea.”
“He gravitated to the art world,” said Gabriel. “Because that’s where the money was.”
Evelyn nodded. “Phillip started turning up at gallery openings and museum fundraisers, always with a beautiful woman on his arm and a pocketful of business cards. You have to hand it to him. The art-based hedge fund was an intriguing idea. Prices for blue-chip artwere rising faster than equities or any other asset class. How could he possibly go wrong?”
“It never worked. That’s why he started loading up his book with forged paintings.”
They had arrived at Grand Army Plaza. “You never mentioned your whistleblower’s name,” said Evelyn.
“Magdalena Navarro.”
“Where is she now?”
Gabriel glanced toward the Pierre Hotel. “It’s her New York address. She has fifty-six million dollars invested in Masterpiece Art Ventures, all of which she earned selling forgeries for Phillip.”
“So she says. But I can’t accuse Phillip Somerset of the greatest art fraud in history based solely on the word of a former drug dealer. I need proof that he’s knowingly selling forged paintings.”
“What if you were able to hear it directly from Phillip’s mouth?”
“Do you have a recording?”
“The conversation hasn’t happened yet.”
“When will it?”
“Tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock.”
“What’s on the agenda?”
“Me.”
They threaded their way through the gridlocked traffic along Fifth Avenue and came whirling through the Pierre’s revolving door, into the refrigerated cool of the lobby. Upstairs, Gabriel knocked softly on the door of Magdalena’s suite. Sarah confirmed his identity before opening the door.
“How’s the prisoner?” he asked.
“The prisoner is resting in her room.” Sarah offered Evelyn her hand, then turned to Gabriel. “Do we need to clarify the ground rules before we begin?”
“Ms. Buchanan has agreed that your name and the name of your highly regarded gallery in London will not appear in her copy. She will describe you only as an art world insider.” Gabriel glanced at Evelyn. “Isn’t that correct, Ms. Buchanan?”
“And how will I describeyou?”
“This story isn’t about me. It’s about Phillip Somerset and Masterpiece Art Ventures. Any information that I provide is for background purposes only. You may not quote me directly. Nor are you to say where this interview is taking place.”
