“Uh, I dunno,” he said. “Yesterday? Why, what’s going on?”
“They’ve lawyered up,” she told him.
The air was suddenly too thin to breathe; he tried to take a breath, and then take another, but nothing would enter his lungs. “What do you mean?”
“The Marks family hired a lawyer. Check your email.”
Dear Ms. Wach,
I am writing on behalf of my clients Andrea and Dante Marks pursuant to the violin presently in possession of your client Mr. Rayquan McMillian.
Please be advised that Mr. and Ms. Marks, brother and sister, are direct descendants and statutory heirs of Thomas and Lobelia Marks, of Summerland Manor, Milledgeville, Georgia. The Marks （originally Marcello; see immigration documents, Attachment A） family arrived from Piacenza, Italy, in or about 1793. In their possession was one “violino di cremona,” or “violin from the city of Cremona” （see Inventory of Summerland Manor, 1806, Attachment B）。 This violin was the cherished possession of Thomas Marks and went missing sometime during or after December 1864. The Marks family has diligently sought its repossession ever since.
Mr. McMillian has clearly indicated in media interviews （Attachments C and D） that his ancestor Leon Marks was at one time property of the Marks family and that the violin has remained within his family’s possession since Leon Marks either obtained or was granted freedom.
Therefore, please be advised that it is my client’s contention, pursuant to well-established case law most recently upheld in Reif v. Nagy, 175 A.D.3d 107 （2017）， as follows:
The Marks family’s original ownership of the violin is undisputed;
Leon Marks unlawfully obtained possession of the violin;
Because the initial transfer of the violin was involuntary, all subsequent transfers of the violin, i.e., to Mr. McMillian, are null and void; and
Thomas and Lobelia Marks remain the true owners of the violin.
The Marks family is not unsympathetic to Mr. McMillian’s situation, however, and is willing to settle at an agreed-upon sum if I hear from you within the next ten （10） days.
If I do not hear from you within the time frame set forth above, please be advised that my clients have authorized me to file suit in the relevant jurisdiction, as necessary.
Sincerely,
Albert Bonavincenzo
He called Kim back. “They’re not going away,” he said.
“It doesn’t seem so,” she agreed. “They’re willing to spend serious money to keep this going. I have to warn you that this is going to get expensive.”
“How expensive?”
“Not sure yet. But our firm will ask for a thirty-thousand-dollar retainer if they file suit.”
Thirty thousand dollars, Ray thought. How could he come up with $30,000? As he was trying make his mouth work and respond to her, Kim went on, “There’s one piece in the letter that sticks out to me. The violin ‘went missing sometime during or after December 1864.’ That feels very precise, doesn’t it? This was around when the Emancipation Proclamation was being issued. That was in 1863, and the Thirteenth Amendment was ratified at the end of 1865. But I’d think if the violin went missing, and if they’d ‘diligently sought its repossession,’ they’d have included some kind of documentation that shows this, wouldn’t they?”
“So you think there’s hope for me?”
“Again, too early to tell. Stolen-art cases can get messy.”
“Okay,” he said, not sure he understood. “What’s next?”
“If you agree, I’ll write this lawyer a letter asking for more information. Let’s see what we can uncover. Let’s see if we can buy you some time before they file a lawsuit. If they file in North Carolina, we’ll need to obtain cocounsel down there, and that will be even more expensive for you.”
He closed his eyes. Somehow it was easier to not see the world right then. “What should I do in the meantime?”
“Talk to your family,” she said. “See if you can get any further information on the violin’s history.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, slowly. His tongue suddenly felt thick in his mouth, as if it were difficult to speak around. “Hold on a sec. There might be something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back when I was in high school, I found something up in my grandma’s attic.” He flashed back to that enormous attic and his systematic search: buried in boxes under one of the eaves, a yellow dresser with round shiny green draw handles, like eyes. “There was an envelope that had the name Leon Marks written on it. I took it downstairs and gave it to my grandma. I thought she’d want it.”