The Versatile Master Artist

”Fick dich (damn)!”

Ole cursed quietly in German.

He really wasn’t the kind of trust fund kid who only knew how to lie around at home, play with sports cars, and hang out with celebrities.

The banker always appeared miserly in his life, only giving the shoe-shine boy a tip of 50 cents. But every year on his birthday, he would give each of his children a large check of ten thousand euros to cultivate their financial awareness.

Some siblings liked to take this money to throw parties, vacation on luxury islands in the Maldives.

While at age six, he opened his first stock account accompanied by a guardian, and thanks to seizing opportunities during the European oil crisis, the banker’s annual birthday gift of ten thousand euros had snowballed to nearly one million euros by the time Ole came of age.

In the financial market, he could do anything and everything, yet he didn’t expect to be blocked by a group of strolling retirees!

”You must think of a way, I have paid for this.”

He said irritably to the workers wearing safety helmets and responsible for moving the sculpture.

”What can I do? The crane is surrounded, and if it can’t move, there’s no way to lift. Boss, I’m really anxious too.”

The construction worker leisurely bit into a sandwich and smoked, eyes fixed on the phone screen watching a girl dance, looking far from anxious.

He blew a smoke ring and emphasized, ”The project vehicles are billed daily here. Encountering such things is force majeure, not considered breach of contract. If you’re unwilling, we can just terminate and withdraw. Contact us again once things are sorted out.”

”Can we use manual labor instead, I can pay extra.”

”Manual labor?”

The construction worker chuckled, pointing at the statue of the Old Count holding an oil painting magazine: ”Do you have any idea? That thing is pure copper, nearly seven tons heavy. I’ve said already, the project vehicles can’t get close, and there’s no way to proceed with forced construction. Or else we would have had to think of a way to dismantle it piece by piece. Instead of being anxious before me, why not ask the city council or police station?”

”Bullshit.”

Ole was furious, his nose almost crooked.

He had already contacted the city council and police station. The council promptly issued the construction permit.

But this sculpture turned out to be a protected artifact on Glietz City’s art list, and couldn’t be violently dismantled to relocate to Yilena Manor.

The police also sent people.

The on-duty Officer had white hair, looking completely unenergetic, just waiting for retirement, and at this moment, was among the retired women teasing a cat.

He said calmly.

If the demonstrators showed aggressive intent or obstructed the city’s normal operations, he could seek support from the headquarters according to regulations. Now everyone was just a peaceful protest walking before the crane, beyond his capabilities.

”Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

Ole thought of his cousin’s disdain for him, raised his head to look at the contemplative face of Count Ilana on the sculpture before him, the more he looked the more annoyed he felt, convinced it was silently mocking his incompetence.

The slick-haired youth wanted to spit at the sculpture to vent his anger spiritually.

Halfway through the spit,

he suddenly remembered this was a protected artifact.

Among the leisurely protestors, there might very well be journalists, and having this action caught on camera and published in the papers would be problematic.

Ole had no choice but to swallow back his saliva, coughing from the irritation.

Unable to drag it away, couldn’t smash it, not even able to vent a little.

This seven-ton heavy copper lump really was getting under his skin.

”What’s happening? Why are so many people gathered outside the magazine’s office?”

Ole’s phone rang.

He answered the call, hearing Sir Brown’s voice from the receiver.

”I...”

”I’m right outside, get in the car to speak.” The magazine’s chairman hung up the phone.

The slick-haired youth scanned around, finding a dark Volvo XC90 parked under the shade of street trees. Sir Brown had hosted a morning ceremony for the opening of a new pavilion prepared for the European Art Annual Conference at Glitz City’s New Art Center, just returned to witness the scene.

Ole opened the car door.

”I saw the signage, things aren’t going smoothly? It’s just relocating a sculpture, isn’t it?” Sir Brown asked straightforwardly with a frown.

”Some opposing citizens in Glitz City, not too many, but we must react quickly and respond appropriately.”

Ole carefully considered his words, as he was not only the magazine’s executive director but also the proxy for Krug Bank, the largest shareholder of Oil Painting.

Despite aligning with Sir Brown on major interests,

Ole still didn’t want to appear weak in front of him, nor did he want to sound like someone incapable of handling such a simple task.

”Oh, and how do you plan to react quickly?”

Sir Brown wasn’t fooled by his vague statements used to gloss over financial report issues, calmly countered.

”Maybe... have a meal with the Speaker of Glitz City?”

”This year is a key election year for local states, during such sensitive times, he wouldn’t agree. Besides, lobbying the council seems excessive. Political influence should be used at critical moments, it’s just a sculpture. The council has already issued the permit.” Mr. Brown shook his head.

”How about the union leader?” Ole racked his brain trying to recall snippets of conversation shared by his father and those leading industrial entities at the dinner table.