Chapter 8 - THE FRIEND WHO BUILT THE COLLECTION
Lionel Mercer lived in a restored mansion outside Greenwich, Connecticut.
He was seventy-one.
Retired.
Wealthy.
And widely described as one of America’s great private collectors of ancient art.
His library contained objects from civilizations whose languages had disappeared thousands of years earlier.
Dominic had visited that library as a child.
Lionel taught him how to handle ancient coins.
How to recognize carved seals.
How to discuss history in ways that impressed people who knew even less than he did.
Dominic had trusted him for years.
That made the next discovery painful.
Lionel had supplied Aurelian with several of the tablets now under investigation.
His provenance documents claimed they had entered European collections decades before the Iraq War.
But financial records showed he had acquired some of them much more recently through intermediaries.
Skylar, Henrik, and Leila met Dominic at the offices of an independent law firm.
Leila placed the documents on the table.
“The dates are inconsistent.”
Dominic looked at the photographs.
“These are the same pieces Lionel showed me years ago.”
“When?”
“After my father died.”
Leila nodded.
“That is not the ownership history represented in the catalogue.”
Henrik leaned forward.
“Dominic, when I considered investing in AtlasVault, you assured me your company had reliable provenance expertise.”
“I believed we did.”
“You did not verify it.”
“No.”
Henrik looked disappointed.
That hurt Dominic more than anger.
Then Skylar spoke.
“Why did you collect these objects?”
Dominic frowned.
“What?”
“Why ancient Mesopotamian artifacts?”
“Because they’re rare.”
“That isn’t a reason to study them.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to study them.”
“No.”
She looked directly at him.
“You wanted to own them.”
Silence.
Dominic felt the insult.
Then recognized the truth inside it.
Henrik finally said:
“Ownership without understanding is often where these problems begin.”
Dominic did not argue.
Later that afternoon, he went to see Lionel.
He took his attorney.
Not a security convoy.
Lionel welcomed him with a glass of expensive bourbon.
“Dominic. I heard about this unfortunate business.”
“Did you sell Aurelian objects with fabricated provenance?”
Lionel stopped smiling.
“You have been speaking to that waitress.”
“Her name is Skylar Hastings.”
Lionel waved a dismissive hand.
“An unsuccessful academic looking for attention.”
Dominic set the acquisition agreement on the table.
“Answer the question.”
Lionel stared at it.
Then laughed.
“You think your father built Hayes Technologies entirely through honest paperwork?”
Dominic felt something cold settle in his chest.
“My father built a data company.”
“Your father understood that information is valuable because someone controls it.”
Lionel leaned forward.
“We supplied Aurelian with cultural assets. Victor created the paperwork. Your systems made the records available to institutional clients.”
“Knowing the histories were false?”
Lionel shrugged.
“Provenance is frequently incomplete.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Lionel’s expression hardened.
“You have benefited from this arrangement for years.”
Dominic slowly stood.
Then Lionel said something that stopped him.
“The first tablet your father acquired was purchased the same year you founded Hayes Technologies.”
Dominic turned.
“What?”
Lionel smiled.
“Your company’s earliest financing did not come entirely from venture capital.”
The room went still.
He opened a cabinet and removed an old financial statement.
Dominic recognized his father’s signature.
A transfer.
Eight million dollars.
From a holding company connected to Lionel Mercer.
To the investment vehicle that had funded Dominic’s first data-processing business.
May you like
Dominic stared at the page.
His technology empire had been built, in part, with money connected to the very antiquities network he was now investigating.
