The resulting scuffle got everyone’s attention, including members of the press, who had been given a tip that something big was going to happen. At first, the reporters had thought it was the usual celebrity sighting, until the FBI agents had leaped from the vans. Add art forgery to the mix, and it was a melee of shocked guests and reporters.

Yes, reporters were everywhere, just as Corbett had wanted. But his being arrested was not what he had intended or had expected them to write about. He was squirming and thrashing as the FBI agents led him out the door. Camera flashes were going off from different directions.

Someone from one of the city’s news networks shoved a microphone in his face. “Dr. Corbett, did you know you bought a fake?”

He was screaming, “This is bullshit,” when the agent from Interpol approached him again.

“Where is the original painting, Dr. Corbett? You can save yourself a lot of trouble if you tell us where it is immediately.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!” Corbett was still squealing as the FBI agents escorted him toward one of the dark vans.

Reporters were shoving microphones in his face.

“What about the drugs?” shouted one.

“Is that how you paid for the artwork?” shouted another.

He could still hear the reporters yammering as the agents placed him in the rear seat of the van.

“What about the raid on your property in Michigan?”

“Is it true you were supplying Adderall to a prep school?”

The radio in the van was broadcasting, too. Live-Life-Long offices had been raided, as had the Michigan property. A student at a very prestigious prep school who had ties to Corbett had also been arrested in New York City for distribution of drugs. Owing to his age, his identity was being withheld.

Newark, New Jersey

Harold Steinwood almost had an erection when he saw the collection of cars in Oscar Davis’s museum. From a 1937 BMW 328 Roadster to the 1964 Ferrari Davis had bought for $14.3 million, and everything in between. It was an auto-orgasmic experience. He could barely breathe from the beauty of the sleek lines, the highly polished chrome, the leather interiors. They were truly works of art.

After the tour, they were about to leave for dinner when several black vehicles swarmed into the parking lot. At least a dozen FBI agents sprang from the vans. The one who looked to be the agent in charge announced, “Harold Steinwood. You are under arrest!”

Steinwood was stunned. “I’m what? What is going on here? What are you charging me with?” He tried resisting as one of the agents spun him around and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.

“Grand theft larceny,” one of the FBI agents replied.

“Manufacturing and distributing a controlled substance, schedule two, three, and four,” added another.