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30

Prose

Under the Gavel

Ishita Tenjerla

The swish of the bid paddles as they go up in the air is music to my ears. When I hear the clinking of champagne glasses and the excited whispers of people with their consultants, I know I’m back on my home turf.
There is really only one thing I’m here for today, and it’s the only thing I have my eye on. Although one could argue that the sea of possibly single women is something else, I could keep an eye out for, I digress.
With a final adjustment of my bowtie, I take a sweeping look across the faces in the room and wait for the look of joy and expectant awe as the next frame rolls out.
The static of the microphone was followed by a loud booming voice” We’re thrilled to present a true masterpiece, Van Gogh’s iconic “The Red Vineyard.”
Let’s start the bidding at – let’s say – 1 million dollars.
I needed to be on my toes, in case I messed up my lines.
“Do I hear 2 million dollars? 2 million dollars?”
“I see 2 million and bidder number 23 raises to 2.5 million”
The last bid easily weeded out the not-so-serious bidders. Leaving only two serious bidders. I didn’t really care which one of them it went to. Like I said, I was only here to make sure things went on without a hitch.
The Japanese businessman Tadao Son was racing like a speeding train, wrapped deep in conversation with the man next to him, who from his Brioni suit, I can only assume is his art consultant.
“2.5 million dollars is on the table right now”
The British art collector lowered her bidding paddle halfway, a subtle gesture that, in the heat of a bidding war signalled hesitation.

“2.5 million dollars, do I hear the final bid? I think we do folks. Sold. Congratulations to bidder number 47 on being the proud owner of - The Red Vineyard”.
Now was the moment of truth. The art consultants team made their way to the hallway right behind the stage. With the door closed you couldn’t hear the sounds of the auction anymore.
I followed suit with my own team, we were after all here for one task only.
The art consultant team brought in their equipment and got to work. After two gruelling and nerve-wracking hours, the last thing to authenticate on the painting was the artist's signature.
I held my breath as the art ambassador scrutinised the signature under the warm projector light. It seemed to be taking longer than it normally did. I looked at my watch ticking.
With one final inspection, the entire team let out a sigh. The tense moment had passed. And I was going home with 2.5 million dollars, all for a counterfeit masterpiece.
Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was wrong.

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