Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
“Okay, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Charlie inquired.
“Where the fuck are you? Who has those?” the stranger snapped.
Charlie sighed. “Turn your video on.”
A second later, the man groaned. “Ugh. I didn’t need to see your mug.” Charlie rolled his eyes and turned the screen toward him and Stephen, revealing a handsome man. “Oh! Stephen. These are yours?”
Stephen chuckled. “Good to see you again, Soren. I thought you and my brother weren’t speaking.”
The man flashed a devilish grin. “Yeah, well, we kissed and made up when he gave me some help in Amsterdam. We’re all good now. Back to the art. Is it yours?”
“Mine, actually,” Ehren said.
“Soren, this is my boyfriend, Ehren Galanis. He inherited the paintings from his uncle,” Stephen explained.
“Boyfriend, huh? Well, that sucks.”
Charlie grunted and turned the phone camera to him. “Absolutely not. You keep your sticky paws off this collection.”
Stephen lowered his mouth to Ehren’s ear and whispered, “Soren became a cat burglar after leaving the CIA. It’s why he and Charlie had a falling out.”
Ehren immediately had a thousand questions, but they would have to wait because Soren was talking. “Hey, I don’t steal from family. That’s tacky. Though, the Vergaras are tempting.”
“Okay, asshole. Who is this Vergara and why are the paintings so interesting?” Charlie demanded.
“Let me see the paintings.”
Charlie turned the camera toward the large painting, moving slowly from the first down the line to the last one.
“Okay, I’m not the biggest expert, but the last two are supposedly the last known paintings that he completed. Those other four I have never seen before, but they are definitely in his style. You’d need to get them authenticated, but I’d put money on the fact that they’re lost paintings of his.”
“But who is Thiago Vergara? Was he famous?” Stephen asked.
“Briefly. Held a hell of a lot of promise. He sold maybe only two dozen paintings total, and the last one that went to auction sold for sixty-two million. It was also half the size of these.”
Stephen’s fingers tightened on Ehren’s shoulder. “I’m assuming Vergara is dead now.”
“Presumed. He was young when he started making a name for himself. His career was just taking off.”
“What happened?” Ehren inquired.
“It was Buenos Aires in the seventies, and he was a known Montoneros sympathizer,” Soren replied, sounding as if that was supposed to be the most obvious answer, but it didn’t mean anything to Ehren.
“Los desaparecidos,” Charlie grunted.
“Sorry, my Argentinian history isn’t so great. What are you talking about?” Stephen interrupted.
“The military staged a coup in the seventies and seized control of Argentina,” Charlie explained in a low voice. “A left-wing guerrilla group called the Montoneros attempted to counter, but the military was stronger. Over several years, they rounded up an estimated thirty thousand people who were suspected Montoneros sympathizers. Those people simply disappeared.”
“And Thiago Vergara is suspected of being among those who disappeared,” Stephen finished.
“Yeah, the last anyone heard from him was in seventy-six or seventy-seven,” Soren added. “At that time, his studio was raided, and all his paintings that weren’t in the hands of collectors were destroyed.”
Charlie turned the phone toward him to face Soren. “And that makes what was out there incredibly valuable.”
“True, but where did the other four come from? And how did they end up in the hands of a single collector?”
“Maybe he didn’t die when everyone thought he did,” Ehren suggested.
“Or the paintings weren’t destroyed like people thought they were,” Stephen murmured.
There was a speculative expression on Charlie’s face, and Ehren nearly chortled. Charlie and his friends would not be coming to Greece. Charlie had a new mystery that was piquing his interest now.
“It’s something that deserves digging into. At least see how these paintings from a dark period in Argentina ended up in Istanbul,” Charlie said, proving Ehren’s thoughts right.
Soren snorted. “Yeah, you have fun with that. Alexei and I are off to the Maldives for some sun and fun. Don’t call me.”
“Keep an eye on that wild man. Your sacrifice will make the world a safer place.”
“Fuck off,” Soren said with a laugh. “Stephen?”
“Yes?”
“Stay away from your brother. He’s trouble.”
Ehren could completely agree with that. Charlie ended the call and glanced a little nervously at Ehren, which only made him laugh harder. “Go,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I’d love to know how my uncle ended up with these paintings. I’m personally hoping Vergara is still alive.”
Charlie grinned so wide he looked like he was going to pull a muscle. “Great. I’m going to go tell Kairo the good news. He’s going to love this!”
Ehren could only shake his head as the large man briskly walked out of the vault, his voice echoing down the hall as he shouted for Kairo.
Stephen sighed. “So, that’s my family in a nutshell. I don’t ever see my father, and my half sister only once every few years. My brother is ex-CIA and insane. All his friends—who are more like brothers and include one cat burglar—are also insane.”