That kind of looting and smuggling, especially when it’s from archaeological sites, destroys context and whatever information an archaeologist could have gotten from that context. And takes items away from the people of the country, who should have access to their own heritage. It’s a big problem.
I call Sonia to deal with the issue now.
“Do you need an extraction already?” Sonia asks in place of a hello.
“Ha-ha. You’re so funny. I should give you a raise for all the comedy you’re bringing to the table.”
Silence on the other line. Then, “I mean, I’ll take the extra money.”
I ignore that; she gets annual raises. “Have you seen the provenance for the large-bosomed woman from the Gupta dynasty?” I also feel a little protective of the statue since she’s from the dynasty that shares my name.
Sonia sighs. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“We can’t sell it.”
“I know. I was hoping the name of the dealer was wrong, because it’s such a beautiful piece.”
“I know,” I say, regret filling my voice. Even if there are plenty of people who would take the sale, we’re not going there.
“What do we do then?” Sonia sounds so sad I feel like a parent who said their kid can’t have ice cream after dinner.
“Call whoever’s the local FBI agent for the Art Crime Team. They’ll tell you what we do next. And don’t tip the seller off until we talk to them. Do we have the piece in possession?”
“No, they just sent us the information sheets to see if we’d be interested in selling it.”
“Is it a big seller or buyer?” I cross every part of my body that can cross. We’re still going to do the right thing either way, but I can hope it won’t be too much of a sacrifice.
“Steady but not huge.”
It could have been worse. “’Kay, let me know what Davis says.”
“Will do.” Sonia hangs up on me.
One problem solved, I keep clearing out my inbox. Mom forwarded another email from a potential suitor. This one contains zero penises but does have a haiku about securities sales. It’s somehow impressive and boring at the same time. But I’m still not responding to it.
Sotheby’s sent me one of their quarterly emails trying to poach me to their Indian Art Department. It’s flattering but I’m not ready to throw over the family business just yet. Plus they’re so large everything is clearly separated into departments, meaning I’d be stuck working only in the Indian Art Department. At Loot, at least there’s a chance I can one day do shows that are a bit of anything I feel like learning about. Instead of sneaking in other art like in myFemale Gazeshow.
We’ll see how much Dad annoys me over Ajay and management positions.
So for now, that email gets a polite rejection, leaving the door open for the future.
Sonia emails me about leads she has on potential sales, and ideas for shows we could do if we get them. I approve the ideas so Sonia can get started with the sellers. Another member of my team, who was formally on Ajay’s team until I stole him, sends me a plan for an upcoming exhibition space that requires minimal changes.
I look longingly at the bed for the second time today, but a knock dashes that dream. “Come in.”
“Hi, ma’am.” Sarah comes in.
“Please call me Priya.”
“Maybe Ms. Priya, just in case Harrison is around.”
I nod. I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.
“I came to see if you need any help getting ready for dinner.”
“Harrison’s really giving us the whole country house party experience.” I can stop wondering what it would be like to live in a Jane Austen novel. Or a regency romance novel. More work than I would have thought, and fewer brooding heroes.
“Yes.”
