Image: CCA 3.0
By Wayne Dean-Richards
“Maybe the Mona Lisa on a good day. Forget the rest.”
White-haired and blue-suited, James Wheatley wasn’t noted for his appreciation of Art it was true, but the heads of the other big auction houses had also recognised that the super-rich had had their fill of the Impressionists, the Spaniard, even Warhol.
Artifacts too were a problem.
“There’s a surfeit,” James Wheatley sighed – since the Titanic had been raised and auctioned off the market had gone quiet, it couldn’t be denied.
“We need something different,” he said, his gold cufflinks catching the sunlight piercing the boardroom windows.
Always the black sheep of the family, his eldest son found himself again resorting to sarcasm when he said, “How about we auction off concentration camp survivors?”
Every suit in the boardroom looked pensive until – no more attuned to sarcasm than to appreciating Art – James Wheatley nodded and said, “…I think that could actually make us some money.” Nodded some more and said, “Let’s make it happen.”
