The Second Major Event
A theft occurred at the Metropolitan Museum. A small ancient Egyptian statuette of a hippopotamus, made of blue faience and known by the nickname "William," was stolen from the museum. Despite the historical and cultural significance of the artifact, neither the NYPD, nor the local media, nor even city officials paid it much attention. Still, The New York Times and the New York Police Department did provide minimal coverage of the incident.
The New York Times published a few lines buried within its pages:
"On September 9th, an ancient Egyptian artifact - a blue faience hippopotamus statuette known as 'William' - was stolen from the Metropolitan Museum. The museum administration is offering a $30,000 reward for its voluntary return. Anyone with information is urged to call the museum using the contact details on the official website."
The NYPD also mentioned the event on its website in a brief notification:
"The NYPD reports that on the morning of September 9th, the Metropolitan Museum's administration filed a written complaint about the theft of an ancient Egyptian blue faience statuette in the form of a hippopotamus nicknamed 'William.' According to preliminary data, the crime was committed at night in just 50 seconds. The museum guard disabled the alarm and failed to report the incident to the police, assuming it was a false alarm, since the alarm had gone off twice earlier. Our specialists responded twice but found nothing suspicious. The identity of the perpetrator is still being established. The NYPD will report the findings of its investigation."
Envy is a treacherous thing. It can strike you at any moment, and you're not always equipped to deal with it - especially when you see others succeed, while you've accomplished nothing in life.
Larry Penn had been restless for days. He had just returned from a reunion in Provo, Utah - a small town where his high school class had gathered for their 20-year reunion. As is often the case at such events, everyone - some more, some less - had found success. They all showed up with beautiful wives, expensive suits, and luxury cars, their eyes glowing with confidence. Even Eric, the small, freckled guy with the squeaky voice who had once been invisible in school, showed up with a leggy brunette. Only Larry had no family, no career to boast of. He told everyone he was an art dealer - it felt too humiliating to admit he was just a tour guide. Well, not just any guide - he conducted tours in Chinese for Chinese tourists. Knowing Chinese was his proudest accomplishment.
Larry drove a beat-up old car he called his "rusty chariot." He lived on the outskirts of New York City in a rundown house in the middle of nowhere. His car was falling apart, and he knew none of it resembled success. He hadn't achieved anything. He didn't even finish university - he'd been expelled in his sophomore year along with his friend Eric. They had been late to a philosophy lecture they thought was a waste of time.
The young professor had said, "Scientists who study the mysteries of space ask if there's life on Mars. But we study the mysteries of existence - like which came first, the chicken or the egg."
"I've heard that a hundred times. He's so boring," Eric said, annoyed.
"Yeah, that egg-headed chicken with his nonsense," Larry chimed in. Both laughed loudly.
"What's so funny?" asked the professor. It was the question they seemed to be waiting for. A verbal altercation turned physical. One of them hit the professor in the ribs, and they both beat him badly enough that he spent a month in the hospital. The university's disciplinary board expelled them for misconduct. To this day, they blamed each other - each claiming the other started it.
That's how Larry became a tour guide. Meanwhile, Eric, thanks to his mother's family connections, had built a good life. He started out working in his uncle Josh's antique shop and eventually became an independent art dealer.
After the reunion, Larry couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. One thought haunted him: How did everyone else find success while he was stuck in a dump like this? *Where could he get money -*a lot of money - enough to escape this mess and finally feel like he deserved more?
Sitting in his old house, Larry thought, I should take the car in for repairs - the brakes are acting up. He looked outside. It was raining. Tomorrow, maybe. Lazily, he grabbed the TV remote and switched to the news. They were talking about rising food prices. He clicked his tongue in frustration.
"Of course, they've stolen everything up top, and we're left in the mud." Water started dripping from the ceiling again. Muttering, he placed a bucket under the leak. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling corners. Then the phone rang.
"Hey, Larry, buddy, how's it going?"
"Hey, Eric… not great," Larry started, but Eric cut him off.
"Listen, I've got something for you - if you're in, you'll earn big. Let's meet. Not something to talk about over the phone."
Thirty minutes later, Larry was standing at the entrance to Sky, a rooftop restaurant atop one of the city's tallest skyscrapers. He knew this place: luxury, exclusivity, the kind of place most people never experience. On the terrace, Larry breathed in the fresh night air, sensing that tonight would be different.
Eric sat at a table, wearing a suit that could cost a corporate worker several months' salary. Larry took a seat across from him, and they ordered dinner. Eric began explaining the idea. This was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The Westcar Papyrus - an ancient Egyptian artifact that had never left the Berlin Egyptian Museum - was coming to New York for a short 15-day exhibition. It would draw every lover of ancient Egyptian art like a star on another continent.
"In a week, the Metropolitan Museum will host the Westcar Papyrus for just 15 days," Eric said.
"Wait, how do you know that? Did you read about it in the papers or online? I didn't tell you…" Larry asked, suspicious.
"Don't ask. I just know. The point is, we need to take that papyrus. There's a buyer offering more money than you can imagine. You do it right, and you get your share."
The client Eric mentioned was none other than Hugo Kaiman
Six months earlier, in Lord's living room, Hugo Kaiman had learned that the Westcar Papyrus had once belonged to the Orlando family.
"You know, Hugo," said Lord Orlando, "I have a mission. The Westcar Papyrus once belonged to my family. My great-great-grandfather led an expedition to Egypt and found this magical papyrus. In 1920, a German Egyptologist named Karl Kluger claimed he wanted to study it and lived in my grandfather's house for three months. Years later, another American scholar discovered the papyrus had been swapped. Kluger took the original to Germany. Now it's in Berlin. I want it back. Can you arrange that?"
"Of course, Lord Orlando. I'd love to help. But we need to plan this carefully."
Taking Hugo's advice, Lord Orlando used his connections. The Metropolitan Museum negotiated with the Berlin Museum to borrow the Westcar Papyrus for 15 days as part of German Cultural Month in New York. Hugo, in turn, contacted Eric - he had recently bought a Degas "Ballerina" painting from him for Lord Orlando. Hugo's plan was to avoid using professionals to keep the operation discreet. The risk was high; it could either succeed or fail completely.
"How big a sum are we talking about?" Larry asked, burning with curiosity.
"My dear Larry," Eric said, "with what my client's offering, you could live the rest of your life like a king. Your cut is a million dollars. How's that sound?"
Larry's palms started sweating. He wiped them on his pants and rubbed his knees.
"Now tell me - how's the security setup at the Met?" Eric asked eagerly.
Larry took a sip of water, his mouth suddenly dry. A middle - aged Asian waiter with a stylish haircut brought two plates of lobster bisque. Neither man touched their food. When the waiter left, Larry began.
"They're planning to display the Westcar Papyrus in the Egyptian Hall, next to the 'Queen's Face.'"
"What's the "Queen's Face"? Speak plainly."
"You don't know? You call yourself an art dealer?" Larry teased.
"I'm not just a dealer - I'm a specialist," Eric replied smugly and dug into his soup.
"Well then," Larry said, pausing to collect his thoughts, "the "Fragment of the Queen's Face" is not just an artifact - it's a mystery. Its origins are still unknown. It draws scholars and enthusiasts like a magnet."
He dipped a crusty piece of bread into the creamy bisque.
"Now that's what I'm talking about," Eric said with satisfaction.
"Eric, how are we supposed to pull this off? The museum is tightening security - modern alarms, extra guards… It won't be easy."
"That's your job. Figure it out - if you want that million," Eric snapped.
"With that kind of money, I will figure it out. This is an once-in-a-lifetime chance."
"Exactly."
After their meal, Larry kept repeating to himself on the way home: "One million dollars. One million dollars." He had two days to come up with a plan and tell Eric how he would make it happen.