Magic Ball: the Billionaire in Ranch

8 The last step before to be rich

Dave did his best to impersonate Nick as both of them walked shoulder to shoulder outside the pub that Nick recommended. Noah thinks they’re too drunk to even comprehend what’s happening around them.

Nick smiled sheepishly at Noah when he walked beside him.

“Thanks. I never expected you guys to be this fun!”

“Oh, you are friend now,” Dave said in English as he bit back a sob. He faced Noah and said in Italian, “Why am I getting emotional about this?”

Noah’s laugh echoed all over the place.

“What’s so funny, Noah?” Nick inquired as he took Dave’s arm and slumped it across his shoulder, carrying some as of Dave’s weight so that he won’t fall face-first on the ground.

“I’ll hail a cab, and the both of you behave here,” he pointed at a post stand near a closed clothing store.

Nick and Dave didn’t mind him as he made his way at the edge of the street and waved his hand in the air. Noah checked his watch and saw that its tiny hand already pointed at eleven. He brought his phone, and a message from Brice pops on the screen, telling Noah that he can accompany him anytime to an Art Appraisal Institution. He contemplated replying, but he began dialing Brice’s number instead.

It took three rings before Brice answered at the other end of the line.

“Hey, man. I hope I’m not disturbing you or anything.”

Noah! Brice shouted, took you long enough to call.

“Some newfound friends here in the city got me all caught up tonight,”

Brice chuckled and said, That’s the city for you. When are we going, by the way? I found some cool Art Appraisal Institutions that we can visit tomorrow.

“Sounds good, man. How about we meet after lunch? I don’t think I would be able to rest since I’ve got to babysit two adult men tonight.”

A loud laugh echoed at the other end of the line, Are you serious? Your friends got drunk in the middle of the week?

“Apparently, they did. Probably from stress.”

Glad you made it out alive, then.

Noah noticed Dave slouching on the ground. Soon, he began heaving as he puked on a laughing Nick who casually leaned his broad shoulders on the post stand.

“Hey, Noah! Dave might pass out. What should we do?”

Noah sighed, muttering an apology to a laughing Brice. “See you tomorrow, man. I need to leave now.”

Brice gave out one last laugh, Alright, Nanny Noah. I’ll call you tomorrow.

“I’m never going to drink American beer again,” Dave groaned beneath his pillow, “this is the worst!”

Noah continued tying the lace of his shoes, ignoring his co-worker who almost puked on the elevator towards their hotel room.

“I sure hope not,” he said without any hesitation.

“Will you close the god-damn curtains? They’re blinding my eyes!”

Noah opened the curtain’s gap wider. The sun basked into Dave’s face, and he hid like a vampire beneath his thick blanket.

“I’ll see you later, Dave.”

“I’ll see you in hell, Noah!” Dave called as he shut the door to a smug-looking Noah who wanted revenge for what they had made him go through last night.

He met with Brice at the park beside their hotel. Along the way, Brice had briefed him about individual institutions he had come across on the internet. He found three and narrowed it down to one—a famous auction house that bids for paintings preserved for a hundred years or more. Both of them decided that the remaining two would be their back-up in case the first one fluctuates. 

Brice had his reasons for recommending the said auction institution within Maple city. According to legit reviews or blog sites, various artists from around the world seek their help in making a fortune out of the paintings that they have discovered. They’re a bunch of professionals who see art as literally everywhere—the air we breathe, the soil we walk on, and basically the people that we love. They wanted the people to know that art is appreciated—a timeless admiration for talented minds. Because of this, Noah decided to check their institution first. Hopefully, he can meet decent people that would be as much enthusiastic as him when he first found the painting inside the iron cabinet.

He glanced behind him and found the three paintings firmly secured at the back seat of Brice’s car. Good thing Noah had the Magic Ball with him. He placed all three of them back inside when he traveled to America. He also bought exceptional briefcases that would protect and secure the paintings inside of it.

After several minutes of chattering about how Dave and Nick used him to aid them in their intoxication, Brice and Noah finally managed to arrive at the infamous institution. He parked the car and had Noah and a random guard on the elevator, help him carry the paintings to a man named Michael.

Noah thought even his name sounded so divine, and that he must have been beyond talented for him to be this recognized.

“We’re looking for Michael,” Brice began, “we heard he’s the manager here.”

“Do you have any appointments with him?” asked the curious guard who cautiously carried one of Noah’s precious discoveries.

“I emailed him a week ago, and he replied to meet him at his office.”

“Can I get your names?” Brice told the guard their names. When they arrived on the seventh floor, the guard took them to a waiting area as he called in for Michael’s secretary. Noah heard a bit of they’re here to get a painting verified—yes—they apparently emailed him a week ago—copy that—yes, they brought the paintings with them.

The guard hanged the phone and said, “Wait here. The verification team will come and get the painting. Then they will assist you to Michael.”

Brice mumbled thanks, Noah’s heartbeat pounding in his chest. He felt the excitement rush through him as the verification team placed the painting on a large cart trolley that they explained are specifically designed to assist in moving and transferring delicate pieces.

“Since you told us that the paintings are at least five hundred years old, we’ll be storing them in a room with the right room temperature. It’s specifically to preserve the materials used in these paintings,” the woman explained as she examined the painting with several people in the pond.

“Based on the naked eye alone, you’re probably right when you said they’re becoming delicate. One-touch and you could've ruined these fragile layers of paint,” she pushed the trolley and took the paintings in a separate room. She then instructed Noah and Brice to follow her to the room across them.

Three knocks on the room’s wooden door before Noah heard a muffled voice.

“You can go inside now.”

Noah was the first one to take a step inside.

“Welcome,” a tall man approached them, his hair the color of auburn red—a perfect match for this autumnal season. Michael took Noah’s hand and shook it lightly.

“Noah Martin,” he gripped Michael’s hand. Michael repeated the same actions to Brice before they settled on the sofa in front of Michae’s desk.

“I’m Michael, the manager of this auction house. I heard from Brice here that you’re planning on having your painting checked for the second time?”

Noah nodded and said, “A professional back home had given me a certification about its authenticity. I was hoping I could validate it again, just in case.”

Michael did a half-smile that brought out his dimples, “We can have that done within the day. How about I send in the professionals in a bit? After that, we’ll proceed to the other room for the verification of your paintings’ authenticity and value. We can also have experts identify the origin of your paintings. How does that sound?”

Noah’s head pounded at the thought of being able to make money out of these paintings.

“They’re really not mine,” he felt the need to say it.

“But you’re the one who found it,” Michael countered as he stated the obvious.

Later on, the three of them proceeded to enter the room where Noah’s paintings were. Three people came inside who were geared up with gloves and masks. Michael introduced them as professionals for this job.

They began asking questions to Noah, and he deliberately avoided those that would involve him saying something about the Magic Ball. The three professionals used technology to test how old the painting was. They did several tests that would prove the painting to be as authentic as Noah had thought it to be.

Three or four hours went by, and Brice and Noah sat there like bored children on the chair provided by Michael’s entire team. They basically yawned and got chatted by several people, mostly asking Noah how he managed to procure them. Or what he felt when he discovered it, what are the odds of him being able to get his hands on a Renaissance painting in the medieval ages—the list of questions goes on until Brice got a call from the head IT in his company and excused himself outside.

Noah thought he was probably making an excuse to leave the room.

“And we are done,” Michael announced as relief flooded Noah’s chest. He had been restless for a while now.

Michael gestured to the painting of Pierre Alessio, “This one we estimated to be worth at least fifteen million dollars—that’s roughly twelve million euros if you ask me.”

Noah’s mind blanked-out. He managed to nod at Michael’s revelation.

“I’m also delighted when clients know the true value of the paintings they accidentally discovered. These rare treasures are witnesses to the unfolding of history. The industry values them a lot to the point that they would buy it for millions of dollars.” He led Noah back to his seat, “You can either let our institution have this auctioned, or we can contact a museum that can display one or maybe two of these paintings. That’s also another way to gain income from it.”

“I . . .” Noah trailed off, but this time, he managed to collect himself, “I actually didn’t think they would be worth that price.”

Michael smiled, nodding at the expert behind Noah, who tapped his shoulders gently.

“Congratulations on the discovery,” the woman said, “you helped us unveil an important artifact.”

“I’m sure someone out there would love to purchase these paintings. If I remember correctly, you already had the paintings authenticated in Italy?”

“I did.”

Brice stormed inside of the room, “Are we done?”

“You have no idea,” Noah answered while glancing at the paintings on the large table.

“So, are you a millionaire now or what?”

He heard Michael’s laugh, “He can probably be more than that.”

“Are you serious? Look, man, you’re the expert here, but I’m taking what you said seriously.”

Michael stood and motioned them to the table, “that painting—” he pointed to the one with what looked to be a version of the infamous Last Supper, “costs fifty million dollars.”

Brice had to hold onto a chair, “Fifty million? Are we talking about the actual price here?”

“It’s the initial price, but if we have it auctioned, it’s more than that.”

“Noah, what are you waiting for?” Brice called as he freaked out behind Michael.

“Our girl here, Stephanie, is the leader of our verification team.”

Stephanie, a small brunette girl whose hair she tied in a ponytail, stepped up and waved at them. She kept her gloves on and said, “We did various tests such as Microscopic Analysis, which basically examines the layers of the paintings—how natural the paint is, if it has crystallinity, and the likes. What makes these treasures unique are the materials used: they’re natural—no chemicals mixed. I, myself, can’t believe the artists preserved it well. The quality is still eight over ten.”

“Our institution will process all the papers needed for your second Certificate of Authentication. You can decide whether we have it auctioned or displayed in a museum.”

“Am I the only one freaking out here?” Brice said while hiding his hands in his pocket. Noah laughed nervously.

This is too much—ten times better than what he expects it to be.

“Tell me more about your offer,” Noah challenged.

Michael led them back to the chairs. He placed one palm over the other and had them displayed in front of Noah and Brice.

“Our auction house can guarantee you that various collectors and investors will readily bid and pit-fight for your paintings. We rarely get items dating back to five-hundred years old or more, so if my calculations are right, they would want to purchase such a rare commodity. We can assure you that you and your paintings are in good hands.”

Noah wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. The most significant money he ever had in his account is five thousand dollars—sometimes it doubles because of the holiday pay he gets from not taking an off day or two.

His mother’s face resurfaced, and he couldn’t wait to tell his family. If the auction goes well, he can expand the farmyard, make it into a ranch, buy his dogs the best quality food they can have—maybe he’ll give some credit to Brice since he made all the trouble of helping him find this institution after all.

“The last painting,” Michael started, “the one with two lovers standing in front of an enormous tree, is worth double than the other two.”

Stephanie pulled a seat beside Michael, “materials used were natural, and the painter—” she stopped, a smug smile appearing on her face, “she’s a woman, and it’s kind of rare for women to curate masterpieces at that time.”

“God, I love women!” Brice blurted to a Noah who’s still in a daze.

“If you will sell that painting in our auction house, we’ll split the gain into fifteen-eighty-five. We’ll have the fifteen, and the rest is for your bank account.”

Noah nodded his head and thought that’s pretty much a good deal already.

“I see. I will put the other two on auction, while the remaining one—the one with the seven women, will be placed in a museum.”

This is it. Noah had already made up his mind.

Michael smiled at both of them, “I have contact with a famous museum that will help you store your painting. Don’t worry, you can also gain money from it having displayed on their walls.”

Noah mumbled his sincerest thanks as Brice patted his back with enthusiasm.

“But before we proceed with the papers, I would like to remind you that there are taxes. Here in America, the government taxes even foreigners like yourself, especially if you make use or own some of their properties, and they’re quite expensive compared to those who acquire American citizenship.”