El Coleccionista Novels & Stories

A collectible hunter was a special name for a person dealing in the business of buying and selling collectibles. The nickname existed because this kind of person was able to see different prices and meanings for each collectible based on the customer. Collectibles were not cheap, and their dealers were usually pretty well off. Jiro was undoubtedly a rich man, and some of his customers did not care much about money. However, they definitely cared about how they looked to others. The collectible hunter would play the game of finding out the best price the customer could offer. This would show how much the customer cared about the collectible, and the seller would be able to make a good amount

“He bought Elena’s landscape. The one I love so much.” “The expensive one?” “That’s the one.” “He has good taste.” “And he wants to show me his private collection sometime.” “When?” “We didn’t set a specific date. Just discussed it in general terms.” “Where?” Alessandro’s questions were casual, but there was something underneath them. Not jealousy, exactly. More like professional curiosity. “I assume at his home or office. That’s usually where private collections are housed.” “Just be careful about meeting strangers in private locations.” “Miles isn’t really a stranger. He’s a legitimate dealer with connections throughout Europe.”

“But, not my hermes birkin.” “Seriously, Al? Are you sure you won't change your mind? Because I will not be yours." Arabella said excitedly. "Of course." And that one answer again received enthusiastic cheers from the others. Velove's questioning gaze still met the face, watching Alessia closely. Alessia is a lover of rare collections. Even willing to drain the contents of the cards just to collect these items. And now, he even intended to sell betting items? "Okay, let's see how far you can avoid it." Velove pulled a small smile, revealing Alessia was interested. “Tiffany and Co deco two—watches. I will take it from you when the time comes.”

Either he doesn't know what his records reveal to someone who knows how to read them, or he knows exactly what they reveal and he sent them anyway because he assumed I wouldn't find it, or wouldn't say anything if I did. I open a new tab and search Bernard Allard, collector, Geneva, and find his profile in three separate collector databases, significant collection, respected, no public controversy, a donation to a Geneva museum in 2019 that was covered in the local press. Then I search Bernard Allard, Marco Santoro, and find what I was half-expecting: they have worked together before. Two previous collection sales over the past six years, both handled smoothly, both well-reviewed in the trad

“Judging by her face, sweetheart, you might not even need me to make you come.” I suck in a breath, snapping my head toward him just in time to catch the glint in his eyes—sharp, knowing, unapologetic—before the auctioneer announces the next lot. A private collection of pre-collapse bearer bonds. A vineyard estate in Provence. A sealed vault of rare antiquities. Other bidders fight hard. Prices soar. But every time Elara reaches, I’m already there—nudging the numbers just high enough to make her flinch. I don’t miss the glare she shoots in this direction. I bite back my smile.

"Art is more than decoration, Miss Elena. It's an investment. The right pieces can appreciate faster than stocks or real estate. And someone with your refined taste and resources should absolutely be building an art collection." Elena almost laughed. Catherine had no idea what Elena's taste was like. She was just assuming that rich people automatically wanted expensive art. "What makes you think I don't already have an art collection?" Elena asked. Catherine hesitated for just a moment. "Well, I just thought... I mean, we haven't seen you at any of the major art auctions or gallery openings." "Perhaps because I prefer to keep my purchases private," Elena replied smoothly. "Of course, of cour

Isabella was present this time; she had refused to be left out of any further developments that touched Ethan’s safety. Enzo placed a thin folder on the table. “The chess piece,” he said. “I traced the craftsmanship. It was made by an exclusive Italian workshop that produced only twelve complete sets. High-end. Very limited. Each set was sold to private collectors through closed channels. Eleven of the buyers are identified, businessmen, one politician, two known collectors in Europe. The twelfth buyer remains unidentified. The sale was handled through a series of shell intermediaries that dead-end in a private trust. No name. No face. No clear trail.”

“Have you still not found any information on that member of the Caldwell family?” “Yes. He keeps an extremely low profile and has lived overseas for years. He usually stays hidden as an investor. Many people have tried to approach him and failed to even meet him.” “So you do not know his preferences either?” “I found that he attends auctions to bid on antiques and paintings. He also collects rare teas.” “Got it.” Anna mind instantly formed the image of a middle aged man who enjoyed tea and art. It fit perfectly with the image and taste of an older man.

His name on the outside in the everyday scrawl rather than the formal cursive. He opened it. *The Harland collection is in private hands. A man whose name I couldn't find acquired it in 1987. I tried to find him once. I couldn't. If you ever encounter him, be careful. He knows more than he shows and shows less than he knows, which in my experience means he is either an enemy or an ally and the difference between the two is always in the detail. He has a very distinct frequency. Like a calm before the storm kind of energy. I'm sure you'll know it's him when you cross parts with him*

The collector smiled. "You misunderstand." His eyes gleamed. "There were hundreds once." Drift crossed his arms. "So?" "This is the last one." The room went quiet. Even Drift understood that. Not because it was sacred. Because it was rare. The collector smiled again. That same awful smile. The smile of a man collecting pieces of something dying. Like mounting heads on a wall. Nero hated him instantly. The ride home was quiet for a long time. Drift broke first. "Still got paid."