Art Investment (2)
They were both fairly well known in this circle.
If he made inquiries, the gallery might investigate the matter separately. And if they learned the painting’s true value, they would never sell it, not even for ten times the price.
“And I’m still not one hundred percent certain. I need to see the painting with my own eyes before I can judge.”
Robert had a sharper eye than most appraisers, and that was why he had been able to handle serious money.
The moment he saw the painting in the catalog, an intense conviction had surged through him, something he had never felt before. Still, there was no harm in making a precise judgment after inspecting it in person.
They were both busy men, but neither of them had any intention of hesitating.
Robert left the tip and the rest of the money on the table, then stood up.
“Let’s go to Chicago right now.”
* * *
It took only two and a half hours to fly from New York to Chicago.
After landing at O’Hare International Airport, they took a taxi straight to Eppenfrit Gallery. Once inside, they found a lobby befitting a gallery, decorated with all kinds of paintings and sculptures.
While Patrick went off to speak with the staff, Robert let his eyes wander around the room. A young Asian man sitting on a sofa and writing something caught his attention.
A Chinese guy?
Asian clients were important to galleries.
Back during Japan’s bubble era, the Japanese had bought paintings like they were drunk on them.
One famous example was a Japanese insurance company that bought Van Gogh’s Sunflowers at Christie’s in London for 5.3 billion yen, the highest price ever paid at an art auction at the time.
Everyone had called it absurdly overpriced back then, but now the painting’s value had more than tripled.
After the Japanese bubble burst, China had emerged as the new heavyweight in the art world. Chinese tycoons bought the works of famous painters indiscriminately, driving prices upward across the board.
Maybe the painting they had just bought would end up in Chinese hands one day, too.
Whoever buys it, so long as I make money, that’s all that matters.
Still, something about the young man looked vaguely familiar.
Robert approached him casually and spoke first.
“Where are you from?”
The young Asian man smiled and answered in English.
“I’m from Korea.”
Robert extended his hand.
“So you’re Korean. Nice to meet you. I’m Robert Fandel. I’m from New York.”
“Ah! I was just on my way here from New York myself.”
There was a suitcase beside the sofa, so it looked as if he had come straight from the airport.
“Oh! Then have you been to Central Park? It’s my favorite place.”
At that, the young man nodded.
“Yes. I have. I only stayed for a short while, but it left me with very good memories.”
For a moment, Robert was reminded of some unpleasant memories, but he forced a smile.
“I’m glad to hear that. So what brings you here?”
At Robert’s question, the young man introduced himself and explained why he had come.
After listening to the whole story, Robert showed interest.
“Oh? You came all the way here from New York to buy a painting?”
“Yes. I couldn’t buy it online.”
“So you really liked the piece.”
The young man gave an awkward smile.
“To be honest, I’m investing.”
Robert stroked his beard.
“Hmm. That won’t be easy.”
Buy a painting, and its price goes up.
But not every painting rises in value. Even he had taken losses in this line of work more than once.
“Art investment isn’t simple. Only certain paintings appreciate in price. And those are usually priced so high that ordinary people can’t afford them.”
The market for high-end art auctions was, to put it plainly, a league of its own, one that ordinary individuals could scarcely hope to enter.
“Of course, every now and then someone does strike gold by finding a pearl in the mud.”
But that required access to the market and an eye sharp enough to distinguish originals from fakes. It wasn’t something a person could develop in a day or two.
“But for a layman, catching that opportunity is absolutely impossible.”
Even I saw a Ranksy painting with my own eyes and still missed it.
The young man smiled awkwardly and scratched his head.
“The art market really is difficult.”
“It’s not a place for random people to waltz into. Still, what are you writing?”
“I was filling out a membership form. But the enrollment process is a bit complicated. There are quite a few documents to submit, and they said it would take several days.”
There were paintings anyone could buy if they paid the money, and then there were paintings that were not sold so easily.
A painting that sold for a high price had a transaction history of its own, and that history served as its certificate of authenticity. That was why some galleries managed buyer identities with extraordinary care.
He decided to offer a small kindness.
“Since we’ve met like this, consider it fate. I’ll help you.”
Robert Fandel was a director of the American Gallery Association. With his recommendation, one could become a member without much paperwork or process at all.
Robert identified himself to a staff member and wrote his name in the recommender section. Thanks to his help, the young man was able to join Eppenfrit Gallery with nothing more than his passport.
The young man bowed with obvious delight.
“Thank you so much.”
Robert patted him on the shoulder.
“No need. We all have to help each other.”
They were still chatting pleasantly when Patrick and a middle-aged white man with a mustache and a slightly receding hairline approached them.
He greeted them politely.
“Welcome, Mr. Robert Fandel. It is an honor to have you at Eppenfrit Gallery. I’m Gary Rooney, the director.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Director Rooney.”
The two men shook hands warmly.
“Please, allow me to escort you to the reception room.”
Robert said to the young man, “It was nice talking to you.”
The Asian young man bowed his head.
“Likewise.”
Robert and Patrick were guided to the VIP reception room on the third floor.
Director Rooney said in a friendly voice, “Thank you very much for coming all the way here yourselves.”
Both of them were well-known names in the art world. Patrick Walsh was a famous New York art dealer with connections to wealthy people on Wall Street, and Robert Fandel was known for his wide network across the art scene. Painters, professors, curators, historians—he knew them all.
“We at Eppenfrit Gallery would like to build a good relationship with the two of you through this opportunity.”
Robert laughed heartily.
“Haha! We’d like that too.”
Over coffee, they talked about recent trends in the art world and promising painters.
Once the atmosphere had become warm and comfortable, Patrick got down to business.
“Before we came here, we looked through the catalog online. There are a few works that have caught our interest.”
At that, Director Rooney brightened.
“Which paintings are they? Since the two of you came all this way personally, I’ll give you the best possible price on whichever ones you want.”
“Oh, thank you.”
He recited a list of more than ten paintings, quietly mixing in the one he actually wanted.
“Could we take a look at these paintings?”
“Please wait just a moment.”
After the director left, Robert immediately gulped down a glass of water.
Patrick handed him a handkerchief.
“Wipe your sweat.”
“Ah, right.”
If he looked too tense, the other side might notice. Better to study the other paintings and look at things naturally.
And if he was sure that the painting was the one, they would buy it immediately.
Robert and Patrick waited, keeping their nerves in check.
A little while later, staff members brought out the paintings Robert had named and laid them out before them.
The two of them pretended to examine the works carefully. But the painting they had actually come to buy was nowhere in sight.
Patrick looked confused and said, “It seems one is missing.”
“Which one?”
“The sixteenth-century religious painting.”
Director Rooney lowered his head and replied, “Ah! That piece was just purchased by someone else a moment ago.”
Both men were stunned.
“W-what did you say?”
Who the hell had bought a painting they wouldn’t even bother to glance at?
The thought that they had missed it right in front of their eyes made Robert’s stomach churn.
He couldn’t hold back and shouted, “How could you sell it! Do you know who painted that thing?”
Startled by the sudden change in his tone, Director Rooney asked, “Who painted it?”
“It was….”
Patrick clapped a hand over Robert’s mouth before he could blurt it out. If they knew the painter’s name, they would never have sold the piece.
“Who bought it?”
Galeries and auction houses verify customer identities to keep a transaction record, but they never reveal that information to outsiders.
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose a client’s personal information….”
Robert grabbed him by the collar and shouted, “I asked who bought it!”
Flustered, Director Rooney answered without thinking.
“A Korean man….”
Robert immediately thought of the young man he had spoken with in the lobby before coming upstairs.
“Oh! My God!”
Patrick looked out the window and shouted, “There he is!”
The Asian young man was already leaving the building outside, suitcase in one hand and a painting in the other. In his other hand was the wrapped artwork.
This is insane! He flew from Korea to Chicago just to buy that painting? That means he knew who painted it?
The catalog had been online for more than a year. Yet no one had shown the slightest interest in the piece during all that time.
They had thought no one besides themselves would ever notice it….
And we helped him join the membership without knowing any of this!
Without another thought, Robert dashed down the stairs. He didn’t care that his shoe slipped off; he ran with everything he had.
If I offer him twice what he paid right here and now, will he sell it?
No—if he would only sell it, Robert was prepared to offer ten times, even a hundred times the price. And if he refused, then he would have to take it from him somehow.
When Robert pushed through the revolving door and burst outside, the young man was already getting into a taxi.
“Stop! Hold it right there!”
But in spite of his shout, the taxi pulled away.
Robert ran after it, screaming, “W-wait! No, no, noooo!”
* * *
Once I got into the taxi, the young driver greeted me in a friendly voice.
“Where to?”
“Grayton Hotel, please.”
He started the car and asked, “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Korea.”
“Your English is really good. Are you visiting Chicago as a tourist?”
“No. I actually came to buy a painting.”
“Judging by the fact that you’re holding it, I guess you just bought it.”
I nodded.
“Yes. It was a painting I absolutely had to get, but the purchase process was so complicated I almost couldn’t buy it. Fortunately, a kind American helped me out, so I was able to get it.”
“Really? In times like these, it’s not easy to meet someone like that.”
“Maybe this is why the world is still worth living in.”
We were chatting when the young taxi driver suddenly checked the side mirror with a startled expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. I thought someone was shouting and chasing after us.”
The taxi happened to turn a corner, and I looked back.
“There’s no one there.”
The driver gave an awkward laugh.
“I guess I imagined it.”