The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,140

much at stake.”

“Not at all. Because why would you want to ever part with it.”

Yeah, only a billionaire could say that with a straight face. And mean every word.

You really just had to smile at stuff like that, Lane thought.

“So you would be interested.” He held up a palm. “Provided, of course, that I give you a chance to review the documentation, the insurance policy we have for it, and talk to your wife. And yes, I know that you’re going to want to check with her, but keep in mind, if you beat me, you get to bring it home to her.”

Lenghe rubbed his strong jaw, his huge biceps curling up thick. “Let me get this straight. I put up forty-five million. You put up the painting.”

“It has to be forty-five million plus whatever capital gains I’d have to pay. I need to clear the forty-five. I can call a tax person right now and give you the exact figure. And that painting is not part of my father’s estate. It is an asset owned by my mother, gifted to her by her mother when Big V.E. moved out and my mother became the mistress of Easterly. So I can get you clean title.”

“Won’t your mother—”

“She’s never been attached to it. She’s a Maxfield Parrish person. Her mother’s taste has always been too heavy, in her opinion.”

Yes, there might be an issue of capacity on his mother’s side, but that really wasn’t going to be a problem: All he needed was for Samuel T. to back date a power of attorney for her, in favor of Lane—something his old friend would do in a heart beat.

Lane summed it all up just so they were clear with each other. “Forty-five million plus long-term-capital-gains cost against that painting. Five-card, Texas Hold ’em. Same number of chips. We play mano a mano until one of us is out. I give you all the documentation we have—and if for any reason you get it valuated and it’s worth less than what I need, I’ll throw in as many other paintings as I have to to make up the difference.” Lane pointed at the painting. “I will tell you this, though. The MFA’s curator of Old Masters was at that Derby Brunch last year. My father asked the guy whether he should sell for forty-five and the answer was no, because it was worth about sixty.”

John turned to the painting again.

“It will never be of less value,” Lane said. “Your money couldn’t be in a safer place. Or a more beautiful one. Assuming you win against me.”

It was a while before the man pivoted back toward Lane.

In a grim voice, like he really wished his answer could be different, the Grain God said, “I better call the wife. And you better get me that paperwork.”

FORTY-SEVEN

Sutton had been between meetings.

Really.

She had been between meetings and had just, you know, decided to drive from the Sutton Distillery Corporation headquarters in downtown Charlemont, all the way out into Ogden County.

Where her Mercedes had, of its own volition, taken a left-hand turn onto a perfectly paved lane that happened to be the entrance to the venerable Red & Black Stables. After which the sedan had followed the way through the fields, past the perfectly appointed barns … and onward still to the little caretaker’s cottage where Edward had been staying.

After she had pulled into the shallow parking space she had used before, she had gotten out with the intention of … well, hell, she hadn’t gotten that far. But she’d walked up to the door, knocked, and when there had been no answer after a couple of tries, she had pushed her way in.

As she had looked to the chair in the center of the room, she had half expected to find Edward upright and unconscious, dead from so much: the injuries, the alcohol, the bitterness.

But no.

Feeling like she had been saved from making a fool of herself, she had backed out, shut the place up, and decided that if she got right back in her car and hit the gas, she could still catch a workout before the dinner meeting she was having with Richard Pford about new distribution contracts for Sutton products. Which was not something she was looking forward to. The man was about as charismatic as an abacus, but there were millions of dollars on the table and there were going to be at least four lawyers and three members of her senior management