Within the hour, the room was alive with chatter, and the time had arrived for Corbett to mingle with his elite guests. He searched the room for the representative from MoMA, a curator at the museum, and spotted her standing next to the screen that shielded the painting. Corbett strolled over to her with his chest puffed out like a rooster’s.

“Good evening, Mrs. Spencer. So glad you could join us this evening.”

“I thought it would be a good opportunity for publicity for you, the painting, and the museum. May I look before you unveil it?” Mrs. Spencer asked in a quiet, gentle voice.

Corbett was smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Of course,” he replied and escorted her to the area behind the screen, where the Chagall awaited its unveiling.

She looked closely at the piece of art and frowned. “Dr. Corbett, I think there may be a problem.” Corbett could not imagine what sort of problem she could be having until she spoke her next words. “The signature seems to be slightly off.”

“What do you mean, slightly off?” Corbett retorted a tiny bit belligerently.

“The signature, Dr. Corbett. It looks slightly askew. I am going to have to take a closer look.”

“Can’t that wait?” Corbett was becoming irritated. This woman was not going to ruin his evening, because she thought something was “slightly off.”

While this conversation was taking place, there was a commotion on the other side of the screen, a commotion that kept getting louder and louder. Corbett peeked around and saw a dozen men walking toward him.

“Dr. Raymond Corbett?” A man pulled out a badge. FBI. “You are under arrest for manufacturing and distributing a controlled substance.”

A second man pulled out his badge. Interpol. He slid the screen to one side to reveal the painting. “You are also under arrest for possession of stolen property. This painting is owned by France, and the country is claiming all rights to it.”

At that point, Mrs. Spencer intervened, saying, “But this painting is a forgery. I very much doubt that France or any other country owns it or even wants to own it.” That comment stopped everyone in their tracks.

Corbett whirled around and stared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then he turned to the men who were placing him under arrest. “And you . . . What do you mean, I’m under arrest?”

“You need to come with us, Dr. Corbett,” the FBI agent said.

The men he thought were part of his security detail were actually federal agents! When they tried to pull his arms behind his back, he went ballistic.

“You have no right to come here! Unhand me!”