Free Digging Too Deep by Jill Amadio Page B

thought Whittaker as he waited impatiently for a traffic light to turn green. In Newport Beach that translated into sleek cars, sleek women and sleek boats. Later came the real estate crash. Monica’s company had folded, and she’d lost her shirt. He smiled at the memory. She’d sulked for days. Although he’d put up the money, he could afford the loss, which was less interesting to him than his wife’s failure.

 
     
     
Chapter Eleven
     
     
    Whittaker arrived at Vernays’ high-rise condominium building, parked in the private underground garage after punching in the access code and made his way to the coin dealer’s penthouse. He rang the bell, turning to wave a greeting to the security camera mounted on the ceiling. Vernays opened the door and ushered the professor inside.
    “Sit down, sit down,” he said, indicating the ornate Louis XV sofa.
    “I won’t be here long enough.” Whittaker removed the velvet bundles from his attaché case and handed them to Vernays, who laid them on the coffee table and unfolded them to reveal the coins. “Sell them, Gustave. All of them. Must be worth five million by now.”
    Vernays’ narrow lips pursed. Thin as a steeple, his lean, lined face was marred by large, puffy bags under pale blue eyes. His short, blond hair had turned completely white, Whittaker realized, since he’d had last seen him.
    “What’s wrong?” said the professor. “No buyers? Surely the market hasn’t dried up.”
    “It will take a while,” the Swiss murmured, his veined hands stroking the edges of the velvet covers as he bent closer to the collection spread before him. “What a wealth of world history these coins represent. Most impressive but,” his tone became brisk as he straightened up, “there will be a problem regarding their actual value.”
    Whittaker felt his body tense. “Why? They’re in superb condition, Gustave. Besides, you already know their value. I bought many of these pieces through you. I know very well that rare coins are the most liquid of all collectibles.”
    “I have to make sure each one is genuine,” Vernays said.
    “Now wait a minute. If there are any fakes here, they’re on your head. Each of the coins I acquired on my own has an impeccable provenance. I know their exact origins.”
    “Calm yourself, Haiden. Let’s go into my study. “Vernays carefully gathered up the velvet covers. He led the way to the back of his apartment, to a windowless room insulated with concrete walls covered top to bottom with rare fifteenth century tapestries. Here, in complete privacy, he and his sellers and buyers were able to barter over coins that originated from all four corners of the world. Vernays dealt only with multimillionaire private collectors and insisted on conducting business in person at his home in the sealed room. He was also known never to raise his voice or deceive a client despite striking a hard bargain. Cheating the authorities was something else again.
    The furnishings in the room were as luxurious as the medieval Belgian tapestries. A large French Renaissance sofa and two wingback chairs filled the space. Vernays sat down behind the ornate, gilt-trimmed desk, indicating a chair to the professor. Whittaker remained standing.
    “Please, sit down. I’ve never seen you so upset,” Vernays said. “Why so aggressive?”
    “I’m in no mood to be cheated.”
    “Don’t insult me.” Vernays’ voice was sharp. “We’ve done business for years. I don’t appreciate your attitude. Leave the collection with me, and I’ll start working on it.”
    The coin dealer got up abruptly and walked to the door, expecting his visitor to follow. When Whittaker remained standing in front of his coins, Vernays raised his eyebrows.
    “Surely you don’t want a receipt, Haiden. You know how careful I am about leaving a paper trail.”
    “It isn’t that. I’m not sure now whether I want to sell the entire collection. Maybe I’ll keep these.” He picked out five