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Bill Stout arrived at the International Terminal at JFK before noon.

A chauffeur had taken him out to the airport to pick up a Russian man he'd exchanged letters with,

but never met. So the scenario was that I would invite this Russian over to talk about

import export art from Russia, and he jumped at the chance.

This was late June of 2000, a nice time to be in New York City, central park and full bloom,

pleasant mornings and sweaty afternoons. Stout had built a solid career as an art professional in

New York City working at the Frick Collection on Fifth Avenue. He also taught graduate classes on

the side and did some freelance consulting work, usually for wealthy clients looking to buy specific

art pieces. So if you googled me, I came up as a member of the art world.

Stout was nearly 50 years old of average billed warglasses, a beard and medium length hair. He was

in a suit, waiting in the terminal with a placard bearing the Russian's name. The Russian man walked

off the plane, also dressed in a suit, even though he traveled all the way across the Atlantic,

in coach. The two walked together to the waiting black car. During the ride to Manhattan,

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