Keller was a smooth operator; his wiry six-foot frame was coated by a light blue designer linen suit, complemented by a crisp white cotton shirt and matching blue silk tie. He had a sharp, angular face dominated by heavily defined cheekbones that created a rather gaunt but nevertheless striking appearance. His thick brown hair was perfectly coiffured and held in position, courtesy of a generous amount of product. He moved with remarkable elegance, appearing to glide over the shiny concrete floor of the underground corridor that led to Bormann’s vault. The three men came to a stop, facing the massive circular entrance door, which was slightly ajar. Keller, who had led the way, turned and addressed Bormann.

“Mr Franklin, welcome back to your vault. I will leave you now and return to the waiting lounge upstairs. Please take all the time you require and, when you are ready to leave, as usual, simply press the red button located just inside the entrance and I will return to collect you. I trust you will find everything in order.”

Keller slightly bowed his head and wafted off down the long narrow corridor. It was the first time Richard had visited the vault and, as he followed Bormann inside, he was immediately surprised by how vast it was. It needed to be. It housed a collection of unique treasures with the combined value of hundreds of millions of dollars. Bormann ignored the high stacks of gold bars that spanned floor to ceiling and covered nearly a quarter of the entire space. Instead, he walked directly to the back wall where dozens of artworks were neatly positioned in upright piles, determined by size. He knelt down and picked up a large oil painting, partially covered by a white dust sheet. It featured a stunning display of red poppies, set in rolling green fields, underneath a crystal-blue sky. The ornate gold-painted wooden frame added an air of authority and beauty to the artwork and Richard immediately recognised the unmistakable brushstroke work of the artist. Bormann gently touched the painting with his fingertips.

“This Van Gogh is one of my personal favourites. It used to hang above the fireplace in a baronial mansion owned by the Weichmann family in Munich. They ran a massive chain of jewellery shops across the country and for years they ripped off the German people with extortionate prices. Like all Jews, they exploited and manipulated our economy, always looking to feather their own nests. Naturally, as with all the artworks in this vault, it rightfully belongs to the Führer, and, therefore, it now belongs to you and your family.”

He carefully handed it across to Richard, who was stunned by its natural beauty and provenance.

Bormann uncovered a number of other paintings, all works of grand masters. He smiled to himself as he appreciated that the hidden vault contained one of the greatest art collections in the world. Another secret only he, and now Richard, knew about.