Better Than New Ch. 02

"Thank you, Val. I really like working here. It's such a professional environment, and I feel like I can contribute some ideas without worrying about being shot down before I get a hearing. I can't wait to tell Paul," she smiled, clapping her hands together.

"Go ahead. He's always glad to hear good news."

"I was thinking, you know, just how much happened that one day when we met on the golf course. It doesn't seem possible that both Doreen and I have had so much change, and so much satisfaction in such a short time. Doreen is a completely different person since she came here. She's so much happier than before."

"That's good to hear, and I saw that too. She must have had a bad experience

somewhere along the line, but she seems to be over it now."

"I don't think it's my place to talk about it. She'll have to be the one to tell you about it if she decides to."

"Understood." I was pleased that Carolyn wasn't a gossip, especially in her sensitive position.

Tuesday, December 1st, 8:15am

"Good morning, Better Than New, Val speaking."

"Good morning, Mr. Keating. This is Warren Beeson speaking. I wonder if I might arrange an appointment to meet with you. It's regarding some work your company may be able to do for me."

I knew from the tone and timbre of the voice that this was Trip's father, a man I generally respected.

"Yes, Mr. Beeson. What would be convenient for you?"

"Would later this afternoon be too soon? Say, three o'clock?"

"No ... that would be fine. I'll look forward to seeing you then."

"As will I. Thank you, Mr. Keating."

I had forgotten how formal the "old man" was, but that was an inheritance from his father, and it suited him. Too bad his son wasn't a chip off the old block.

Tuesday, December 1st, 3:00pm

"Come in, Mr. Beeson. Please excuse the portable. It's temporary until the new expansion is ready next year." I caught a glimpse of a black Lincoln Town Car, undoubtedly his.

"I understand. Just the same, you keep a neat and clean environment for what usually is a somewhat less tidy workplace."

"Thank you. It's part of the culture around here."

"I have a feeling we might have met before."

"Yes, years ago. I was in the same grade as your son in junior and senior high school. He and I have known each other for a long time. We probably met at some school event."

"Possibly. I used to attend Warren's extra curricular activities as often as time permitted. After his mother died, I thought it important that I do so."

"How can I help you, sir?"

"I need your expertise to assess and suggest what I might do with two automobiles I have inherited from my late father. He passed away last year, and I'm just now getting down to the details of his estate. I discovered that he had stored two older automobiles sometime in the late 1940's. I really don't know why, and he didn't leave any clue in his will. I didn't know they existed until just recently."

"How were they stored?"

"In an unused area of the original factory that has been long abandoned by us. We've kept the building and property, but it's been idle for over twenty years. I had no idea that these two autos were stored there. They've been kept under covers in a dry, fairly clean area. I don't know enough about these cars to judge their value, but I think these might be somewhat unique. I'd like your opinion, then, assuming they are valuable, what it would take to bring them up to fully restored status."

"I see. Well, it's a bit unusual, but I'm as curious as you are, so why don't we go over there and I can have a look."

"Excellent. I was hoping you'd be interested. When can you find the time?"

"We could do it now, if you want. I would like to see them in daylight to get a good feel for their condition, but for the time being, let's just see if we can identify them."

"That's very good of you to just drop everything and do that. Thank you."

"Like I said, I'm as curious as you."

It took less than fifteen minutes to arrive at the old factory building. Beeson unlocked the office entrance and turned on the lights.

"This building is still serviced?" I said in surprise.

"Yes. We store old equipment and surplus materials here. I still don't know how I missed seeing these cars, but I did."

We approached two large shrouded objects and we carefully removed the cover from the first. As the car gradually took shape before me, I couldn't help a low whistle. A black car with medium blue panels was revealed.

"This is something special, sir. It's a Bugatti. Pre-war. Not the Atlantic, but likely something quite rare. We'll need an expert opinion to check out its history. This really is amazing to find something like this in our little corner of the world."

"Really! How on earth did my father come to possess something like this?"

It was a rhetorical question. I couldn't imagine how. It was time to unveil the second car. Once again, I was dumbfounded by what was revealed. I had never seen one outside of the Pebble Beach Concours. It was a Mercedes Benz 540K, I was pretty sure. The cabriolet version, with a white body and black fenders and top. The windows were down, allowing me to look inside.

"Look at the dashboard plaque, Mr. Beeson. On the right hand side."

I backed off to let him see what I saw.

"Is that a swastika?"

"Yes sir, that's exactly what it is."

The man seemed quite stunned by the revelations of the two automobiles.

We stood there in silence, just looking at the two pieces of automotive history. Both European, both pre-war, and both seemingly in excellent condition. I walked back to the Mercedes. With a bit of probing, I found the hood latches and opened it. It was as pristine inside as it was outside. I didn't open the battery box, but with the disconnected leads, I was sure the battery would have been removed. There was no point in seeing if it would start after all this time.

"This is absolutely amazing. I can't figure out how two such important cars would just be stored here without anyone saying anything."

Beeson was nodding in agreement. "What do you suggest, Mr. Keating?"

"This is out of my league, Mr. Beeson. You need an expert. Someone with DuPont credentials. I think you have a million dollar find on your hands. I'm also wondering ... when was this building built?"

"In 1946, if I remember correctly. I was virtually a newborn then. It was my father's first business venture after he returned from overseas."

"What service was you father in?"

"The army ... he was an officer in the quartermaster corps. Fairly high up, if I remember rightly. He was right near the front lines all the way into Germany. Why do you ask?"

"These are pre-war cars. I'm guessing they were 'liberated' by our troops as the war neared its end. It may be that it wasn't via completely legitimate army procedure. That's just a guess."

"I wouldn't put it past the old bugger," he said with a shake of his head and a rueful laugh. "He collected quite a few souvenirs in his time. I still have most of them. It must have been quite a challenge to get these two machines from there to here, though."

"I think that's the understatement of the year, sir."

"Do you think you can do anything with them?"

"I wouldn't dare. They are too valuable in their original condition. Again, an expert opinion would be the way to go. I can tell you that cars of this nature in their original paint and equipment, unrestored, carry the highest value. Just looking at these two, they are candidates for that class. One thing I would ask, though. I would like to be here when the evaluation is done. It would be a fantastic learning experience for me. One I couldn't otherwise hope to get."

"That's a completely reasonable request. But, if I may impose on you further. Would you please give me the names of two people you would trust to make that evaluation? I wouldn't know where to start."

"Of course. One thing, though. I think we should keep this find to ourselves. This isn't a secure location, and I'd hate for these cars to be stolen before we can get them authenticated and insured."

"Excellent. No one need know except you and I."

I nodded. I was excited about being involved in the process of validating these amazing finds. I hoped to learn a great deal if the opportunity was there.

Thursday, December 3rd, 9:10am

"Good morning, Mr. Beeson, it's Val Keating calling."

"Yes, Mr. Keating. Have you found what you were looking for?"

"Yes sir. I spoke with a gentleman in Hartford, Connecticut this morning. His credentials are top rate. When I gave him a brief outline of what we had found, I believe he was packing his bags and ordering an airline ticket before we were finished talking. He'll be here tomorrow morning and I've arranged to have him come here first. Will nine o'clock be okay with you?"

"Yes, I'm an early riser anyway. I'll meet you at your office, and thank you for handling this so quickly, Mr. Keating."

"You're welcome sir. I'll see you tomorrow morning at nine."

"What was that all about," Doreen asked as I hung up.

"A little business with Warren Beeson II. I can't talk about it right now, but it is very interesting, and I may be tied up tomorrow for much of the day. Is there anything that you and I need to cover if that happens?"

"No. That was Warren's father?" she asked, clearly curious.

"Yeah. Unlike his son, he is a gentleman. I have no problem with him."

She nodded, "I agree. I never had a problem with 'Senior.' He was old-school, but always polite and friendly."

Friday, December 4th, 8:50am

"Good morning, Mr. Beeson."

"Good morning, I hope I'm not too early."

"Not at all. Care for a coffee?"

"Thank you, black please."

I poured the coffee and passed it to him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Doreen watching us, trying not to be obvious.

"Ms. Gordon is my administrative manager, and she'll sit in on this meeting. I trust her completely," I said, eliciting a surprised look from Doreen.

"I understand. Good morning, Ms. Gordon. Pardon my saying so, but you also look familiar."

"I used to work at your office until recently."

"Yes, of course. In the general office if I remember correctly."

"Yes," Doreen answered quietly, offering no more.

"Very nice to see you again," Beeson said, smiling genuinely.

"Our guest will be here almost anytime. I doubt he'll be late, based on how he reacted on the phone," I suggested.

I'd no sooner got the words out when there was a firm tap-tap-tap on the door of the portable. I opened it and ushered our guest in.

"You are Mr. Coultard?" I asked.

"Yes ... you must be Valentine Keating."

"Yes. Let me introduce Mr. Warren Beeson, the owner of the two vehicles, and my administrative manger, Ms. Doreen Gordon."

The introductions complete, Coultard passed his business card to all of us and we reciprocated.

"I was excited by your description of the two automobiles you have in your possession, Mr. Beeson. If Mr. Keating has described them correctly, they are quite rare. I was rather hoping that the Bugatti might be another Atlantic, but alas, it was not to be," he smiled. "Nonetheless, a Type 57 is still a rare bird, and very valuable," Coultard said in what I took to be an English accent.

"Why don't we take you to the location and you can see for yourself," Beeson suggested.

"Excellent. Do you have power available on the site?"

"Yes, both 110 and 220."

"Very good. I'll need it for my lights and instruments."

Damon Coultard represented Swithorne and Son, an appraisal company based in London, England, with branch offices in France, South America, and Hartford, Connecticut. They were reputed to be the tops in their field, appraising not only automobiles, but aircraft, and boats as well. He was all business as far as I could tell.

Warren Beeson led the way in his car, while Coultard followed with me in his rented van. It was loaded with equipment cases. Doreen stayed behind to run the shop in my absence.

"Sorry about the surroundings," Warren said as we entered the old factory.

"Not to worry, Mr. Beeson. I've been in some far worse places that this, I can assure you. This is quite pleasant in comparison. I'll just be a few minutes setting up my equipment."

Beeson and I pulled the shrouds off the two cars and Coultard couldn't resist walking over to see what was underneath. I saw his eyes go wide several times as he looked over the Mercedes first, then the Bugatti. He didn't say anything, but I could tell he was anxious to get started.

When he turned on the photographer's floodlights, it illuminated the entire area as if we were out in the midday sun, minus the shadows. The two cars were separated far enough apart that he could light them individually without one blocking the other.

"I think he's impressed," I whispered to Beeson.

He nodded silently, a faint smile on his lips.

We watched for almost an hour as Coultard meticulously went over each car, inside and out. He had a notepad, which he used regularly to supplement his photographs. I was watching carefully, trying to determine what he was looking for.

Warren Beeson excused himself for a while, probably to attend to business, but was back before noon. I wasn't going anywhere. This was a fascinating exercise in my trying to guess what this man was looking for without interrupting him. There would be time enough for questions later.

"Well ... well, well, well," Coultard exclaimed as he turned toward Beeson and me. "This is truly a banner day. Two remarkable automobiles in outstanding original condition. Well preserved by someone with know-how. Yes. I think you've got quite something here, Mr. Beeson," he said with an enthusiastic smile.

"Shall we adjourn for lunch and discuss it," Beeson said. "I've arranged for something at my home, if that's all right with you,"

"That will be fine. Will Mr. Keating be joining us?"

"Yes, certainly, he's instrumental in bringing you and me together. Plus, he has expertise in his own right."

"Yes, I noticed he had a restoration underway. A TF, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's right," I confirmed. "It's going to be a challenge."

"Yes it is. Those wood framed doors are going to give you fits, I suspect." Coultard was confirming what I already feared.

"Any suggestions?"

"Forget about the weight and use hardwood; oak or birch or the like. Something with good screw holding power. Then pray," he winked.

"Thanks," I said, not really enthused about the prospect.

A middle-aged woman served the lunch as we sat at Beeson's elegant dining room table. I felt badly underdressed, but I don't think I was alone. Coultard was wearing a well-worn smock and only took it off when we entered the stately old house. Beneath it he wore a collared shirt and cotton slacks. I was grateful my polo shirt and cotton slacks weren't too badly wrinkled.

Coultard began as we finished the meal. "Well, Mr. Beeson, I want to thank you and Mr. Keating for inviting me here today. I always get a lift from finding new things and these two examples are very, very, good.

"First of all, the ownership of the two will have to be examined. They are both from Europe of course, so we will have to see if we can research who purchased them originally. You will need to establish title before you can offer them for sale, or even license them. Do you know how they came into your possession?"

"Not really. My father apparently brought them into the country after the war, and as far as I know, they were never registered nor driven. They could have been in this building since then ... untouched."

"Amazing. Was your father in the services?"

"Yes. U.S. Army. Based on the number of souvenirs he brought back, I suspect these were part of them. I'm not certain it was entirely legitimate, however."

Coultard smiled. "Not as uncommon as you would think. To the victors belong the spoils, as the saying goes. Just the same, we'll do a title search and see what comes of it. Better safe than sorry. In the meantime, I suggest you contact one of the specialty insurers and get coverage on these two right away."

"How much should I insure them for?"

"I shouldn't think any less than five million," he said calmly.

"Good grief, man. Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. I'm allowing a bit for inflation, but they could sell at auction for a good deal more than that if the right buyers come along."

I was in shock, and Beeson was as well, sinking back in his chair, his eyes wide and his mouth open. It took him several seconds to recover. He turned to me, shaking his head.

"Did you have any idea, Mr. Keating?"

"No sir. Not in my wildest imagination. I'm as shocked as you are."

"You have to understand, gentlemen," Coultard continued, "these are not just rare, they are unique in that they are completely and totally original, and from what I can see, in excellent condition. Considering they were 'liberated' from a war-torn country, that is amazing all on its own. Even the leather upholstery is in good condition. It must have been treated with something before it was stored. It will need cleaning, but from what I can see, little more.

"There's no sign of rust or decay on either car. Both have modest mileage, probably because travel was restricted during the war. Most of the miles would have come before 1939 I suspect. The Mercedes is a 1937 540k Cabriolet B. The owner was apparently an officer in the German Army. There is an inscription plate on the dashboard that looks like a battalion slogan, or something of that nature. I would guess it would be a junior officer from a wealthy family. The big wigs rolled around in the four-door armored versions.

"The Bugatti is a Type 57 Coupe, 1936 vintage according to the builder's plate. The paint job is typical in my opinion. I would be surprised if this wasn't the second time it was liberated. First from the French, then from the Germans. In any event, whoever had these vehicles treated them with the utmost care. Truly the luck of the Irish is on your side, Mr. Beeson."

I think both Warren Beeson and I were still astounded at the valuation of the two automobiles. I remembered something I wanted to ask Coultard.

"When I first saw the two, I checked the dipstick and radiators. Both appeared to be drained. Is that what you saw?"

"Yes. These cars were prepared for long term storage. The batteries were removed from their boxes, and all the fluids were drained. I found some evidence of what I think were mothballs, perhaps to keep insects from doing damage. It was a very thorough preparation. The tires didn't survive, but they are easily replaceable with new, but authentic looking versions. Perhaps a couple of hoses might need replacing, but nothing of consequence that I can see."

"I gather you'll be sending us a report," Beeson said at length.

"Yes. You'll get a full report, copies of the photographs I took, and whatever we can discover of their provenance. I have a suspicion that we'll turn up little in that area, but we do have to try. Whatever we find, we will document and notarize. That will permit you to register and/or sell the vehicles legally."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Coultard. This has been an exciting and surprising morning. I think I speak for Mr. Keating that neither of us expected the value you estimated. Thank you again, and we'll look forward to hearing from you."

"You're quite welcome, and don't forget about the insurance. There are several specialty firms that would gladly handle this for you."

"Yes," I said, "I know a couple of them personally, so we can get bids from them."

Coultard departed, and in his wake left Warren Beeson and me still astonished by his revelation. We sat silently in his study, trying to grasp what had happened that morning.