The Violin Conspiracy by Brendan Slocumb

Author:Brendan Slocumb [Slocumb, Brendan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2022-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Birdland

8 Months Ago

The offices of Mendel, Panofsky & Levine sprawled over the entire forty-seventh floor of a solid-glass skyscraper just below Central Park. One of the top art-and-entertainment law firms in the country, there was no art hung on the walls: just blank expanses of white, and glass windows with killer views of downtown Manhattan. The receptionist—pale blond hair, wearing a white sheath and white pumps—ushered him into the conference room. Five minutes later, Kim Wach was shaking his hand. She was short, barely over five feet tall, her silver hair cut short in a bob, wearing a beautifully tailored dark blue suit, dark pumps, and a crisp white shirt. She came at him smiling, hand extended. He had the impression that she should be wearing glasses. Her teeth were very square and white.

It was two weeks after the Markses’ visit, and he was back in New York, booked to play a recital of Biber’s Rosary Sonatas at Hunter College. Aunt Rochelle had found him several attorneys to advise him on the Marks situation, and one of them was in New York, so he made an appointment for a consultation.

Now he repeated how Andrea Marks had written him several letters and then how she and her brother, Dante, had appeared on his doorstep. As he spoke he felt almost physically ill. Andrea Marks’s chicken wattles swayed gently in front of him, and the slightly distasteful way Dante held out the $200,000 check refused to leave his mind.

“So let me get this straight,” Kim said when he’d finished. “These two people show up unannounced, read you some letter off their phone, and tell you they’re taking a ten-million-dollar Stradivarius? And you’re worried about this?”

He shrugged. “I’m just telling you what happened. Do you think there’s a case?”

“On the face of it, not much,” Kim said. “Stolen property cases are pretty clear. The Markses will have a lot to prove.” She thought a moment, then ticked off on her fingers, “First, they’re going to have to prove that the violin was actually theirs. It’s easy enough to say that they had a violin, and you have a violin—but they need to prove that their family’s violin is actually yours.”

Ray nodded. “Okay, I can see that.”

“Assuming they can prove that the violin is the same one, they’re going to have to show that it was actually stolen. Did they supply any kind of proof that your ancestor actually stole it?”

Ray shook his head. “My grandma always said that PopPop was given the violin. That the slave owner—who might actually have been PopPop’s father—gave it to him.”

“The claim seems very far-fetched, honestly. I bet that’s why they went to you directly instead of hiring a lawyer. They hoped they could intimidate you.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t worry?”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t stay awake worrying about it. They might try filing a claim against you, just so you’ll settle with them instead of going to court, but I don’t think you’re there yet.”

“Settle?” Ray said.

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