4:00am at the Guggenheim.
Price was in the conservation room removing 'Montagnes a Saint-Remy' from the frame. A few days earlier he had ordered six paintings taken down for examination and possible care. He placed Van Gogh's masterpiece side by side with the copy. Looking from one to the other it was clear that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish them apart without scientific analysis. Hell, he couldn’t tell, and he was an expert. The tension drained from his shoulders. For the first time since this nightmare began it appeared as if they might pull it off.
"Sherry, I'm expecting a package at the front desk at noon. Please be there to receive it when it arrives." That was a little more than sixteen hours ago. Price wanted to make sure that the only person to handle it was his secretary.
In Philadelphia that morning a white cargo van pulled up in front of Simon's antique shop. Two men got out. The driver was DeAngelo's eldest son, Anthony, Jr. The other a nephew.
Simon opened the front door to the shop. The two boys removed a small antique chest of drawers and loaded it onto the van. A Schwinn bicycle was the only other item in the rear of the van.
Simon handed Anthony, Jr. a clipboard. "There's a black messenger tube in the bottom drawer of the chest. Park three blocks away from the museum. Deliver the tube to the front desk and have them sign for it. Give the receptionist the pink copy. And Anthony, this is the most important bit; make sure that it is there at twelve sharp. Not earlier, not a minute later. Twelve on the nose."
Anthony, Jr. was a handsome young man. He smiled and said, "No problem, Mr. Jones. Don't you worry now."
Simon liked the plan. Like DeAngelo had said, simple and elegant. Very few moving parts. The painting stayed in their hands till the very last minute. Brilliant.
The most risky aspect of this phase was about to begin. Personally, Price thought this part was either completely insane or genius. He spent the next couple of hours placing the copy into the original frame. Once finished, the faux Van Gogh was placed in the storage spot in the conservation room once held by the original.
Next was the dicey part. He carefully wrapped the real masterpiece and sealed it in a cardboard box. This box was then placed into a larger cardboard box. The space between the two boxes was then stuffed with styrofoam peanuts. With a black marker he addressed the box:
Olde World Antiques
919 Pine Street
Philadelphia, PA
Price took the box up to his office. It was now seven in the morning. No one would be in until about nine o'clock. He put on a pot of coffee; shaved with an electric razor and put on a clean white shirt. The box with the hundred million dollar painting would not leave his sight until the last possible minute.
He picked up the phone and got an outside line. "Sophia darling, I'm sorry. I worked late at the office and passed out in my chair. Perhaps you could come into town and join me for lunch?"
Price buzzed his secretary at nine-ten. She stepped into his office."Sherry, please post this box immediately."
"Insurance?"
"A thousand dollars for art supplies." Just enough that the post office would handle it with care. Not enough to cause suspicion.
Sherry closed the door behind her. Price leaned back in his chair and let out a huge breath.
"My God, what have I done?"