Chapter 15: Selling the Painting (3)
The director of the Seoul Art Museum, Lee Jun-ho, was grinning from ear to ear.
He was hopeful that Korea’s two leading art giants might want to collaborate on a project with the museum.
“Director, they’ve arrived.”
Lee Jun-ho quickly stood up and opened the door.
“Oh my! Welcome. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Director Lee Jun-ho. Professor Jang Mirae, I hope you’ve been well?”
Go Soo-yeol shook hands with Lee Jun-ho with a stiff expression.
The excessive hospitality made him uncomfortable, but since this man was introduced by Jang Mirae and had also given his grandson his first exhibition opportunity, he held back his displeasure.
Jang Mirae smiled gently and greeted Director Lee.
“Of course. I hope you’ve been doing well too, Director?”
“Hahaha! Same as always. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink…?”
“Water will be fine.”
Lee Jun-ho signaled his secretary with a glance.
The three of them sat down across from one another.
“Your grandson’s work has already made it into the news. You must be proud.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes. The response has been great. More visitors have come than usual thanks to it.”
Go Soo-yeol nodded.
A moment of silence passed.
Then, the anxious Lee Jun-ho carefully broached the subject.
“So… what brings you here today?”
“We’re here to talk about Hoon,” Jang Mirae answered.
“Hoon?”
“Yes. As you’ve seen, his work is exceptional. People are talking about it everywhere.”
“That’s true.”
“So we’d like to renegotiate the profit split.”
Lee Jun-ho, who had been hoping this visit might be about a Go Soo-yeol exhibition, was quietly disappointed.
However, years of experience helped him keep his expression in check.
“As you know, Professor, it’s difficult to adjust the terms of a contract that’s already been signed. It could raise fairness issues with other artists.”
He glanced at Go Soo-yeol, who was silently listening.
He too believed Hoon’s Sunflowers would sell.
‘If I recall correctly, they priced it at 10 million won…’
Lee Jun-ho remembered that Go Soo-yeol had written in the contract that he hoped to sell his grandson’s painting for 10 million won.
That would mean a 50/50 split—5 million won each.
Not a small sum, but he didn’t want to risk damaging his relationship with Go Soo-yeol over such a marginal gain.
“Still, depending on the situation, there might be room to adjust. It’s not unheard of with popular artists.”
Jang Mirae smiled subtly at his words.
“Exactly. So I was thinking, how about this: we keep the current split for up to 10 million won. But if it sells for more than that, we apply a fixed amount instead.”
“Ten million won?”
“Yes.”
While it was rare for a rookie’s work to sell for that much, it wasn’t impossible.
From Lee Jun-ho’s perspective, Hoon’s painting was easily worth that or more.
He was truly worthy of being called Go Soo-yeol’s grandson.
Not only was he the grandson of the internationally renowned Korean artist Go Soo-yeol, but also the son of Go Hae-seong and Lee Soo-jin, both distinguished in the world of art and media.
Collectors were bound to take notice.
Maintaining his smile, Lee Jun-ho did the math in his head and offered a suggestion.
“There haven’t been any inquiries about Sunflowers yet, but I do believe it will sell. Frankly, I thought the asking price was a bit too modest.”
Jang Mirae raised her eyebrows.
She could see he was trying to boost the value of the painting in order to secure a more favorable profit split for the museum.
‘What a smooth operator.’
Just as she was about to speak, Go Soo-yeol stepped in.
“I’m glad to hear you think highly of it.”
“Haha, well, it’s my job. But as I mentioned, it’s hard to change the ratio unless we have a solid reason that others would accept.”
In other words, he needed justification—and the museum didn’t want to take a loss.
“For example, if we could arrange something mutually beneficial for both Hoon and the museum.”
“I’m listening,” Jang Mirae responded to the underlying message in his tone.
“If changing the split is hard, how about auctioning the piece? If it’s sold through our auction house, the price is likely to go up, and we’ll keep the original profit split.”
Jang Mirae paused to think.
Auctioning the piece might raise its value—but this exhibition had been advertised as a sales event.
If Sunflowers, which had been publicly listed as available for sale, suddenly became an unavailable item and later turned up at auction, people would start asking questions.
If rumors spread that they withheld the piece over commission issues, it could harm Hoon’s reputation.
‘What to do…’
As Jang Mirae hesitated, Go Soo-yeol spoke.
“We won’t be sending it to auction.”
“It’s not necessarily a bad move,” Lee Jun-ho tried to convince him, still aiming for higher profits.
But Go Soo-yeol shook his head.
“I’d like the profit ratio to vary based on the sale amount.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“How about this: up to 100 million won, we stick with the 50/50 split. But anything beyond that, the museum only takes 10%.”
Jang Mirae looked at him in surprise.
Lee Jun-ho was equally shocked.
“Excuse me?”
“We split 50/50 up to 100 million. But anything over that, you get just 10%.”
Lee Jun-ho couldn’t understand this proposal.
Sunflowers was an excellent piece, but it was still the debut of a ten-year-old child—no critical reviews or validations yet.
Being the son and grandson of famous figures would bring attention, yes—but who would spend over 100 million won on a child’s first artwork?
And this wasn’t even an auction, just a regular exhibition.
While a new artist’s piece might hit that kind of number at auction, it was nearly impossible at a gallery show.
‘Is he blinded by love for his grandson? Or is he certain? Or maybe… someone’s already agreed to buy the painting.’
Lee Jun-ho swallowed hard.
‘Either way, it’s a deal I’ll have to accept.’
Maintaining his relationship with Go Soo-yeol was more important.
Even if the painting was already promised and the museum would only take 10%, they’d still earn 10 million won.
Worst case, the revenue would drop. But if it sold for under 100 million, the museum would benefit greatly.
Having made up his mind, Lee Jun-ho nodded.
“Of course. I’d like to meet your expectations, sir. Shall we revise the contract accordingly?”
Jang Mirae wanted to stop him but decided that her mentor wouldn’t make such a proposal lightly.
A new contract was drafted, with Director Lee representing the Seoul Museum and Go Soo-yeol signing as Hoon’s legal guardian.
At that moment, the office door burst open.
“Director!”
Lee Jun-ho frowned at the sudden interruption.
“What’s going on?”
“You need to come down right away.”
Annoyed, Lee Jun-ho motioned to the employee.
“Can’t you see I’m in a meeting with Master Go Soo-yeol? Apologize and get out.”
“I’m sorry, but… someone wants to buy the painting.”
“Whose painting?”
“Go Hoon’s.”
Lee Jun-ho nodded slightly.
As expected, someone had already come forward to buy it—that must’ve been why Go Soo-yeol confidently named such a high price.
A bit disappointing, perhaps, but preserving the relationship was worth it.
“Congratulations, sir. Someone’s already here to buy your grandson’s painting.”
Go Soo-yeol remained calm, as if this were expected.
“Process it with the new ratio. I’ll come down shortly after we wrap things up.”
“Well, it’s just that…”
When the staff hesitated despite clear instructions, Lee Jun-ho, now irritated, asked:
“What is it?”
“The price is… rather high. You’d better come down.”
“How high?”
Lee Jun-ho had an idea. Surely the buyer wouldn’t offer exactly 100 million—it’d be a bit above that for appearance’s sake.
“2.8 billion won.”
“…What?”
Lee Jun-ho couldn’t help but shout.
Even at solo exhibitions for famous artists, such a price was nearly unheard of.
He turned to Go Soo-yeol—who had, until now, remained composed—but now looked visibly shocked.
‘Wait… wasn’t this arranged in advance?’
No way was this an act. Someone of Go Soo-yeol’s stature wouldn’t stoop to that.
“Who is it?”
Jang Mirae asked the employee, curious to know who would pay such an outrageous price for a ten-year-old’s painting.
“Henri Marceau.”
All three—Lee Jun-ho, Go Soo-yeol, and Jang Mirae—were stunned.
Scene Change
“Two hundred thousand euros?!”
Kim Ji-woo’s voice echoed through Exhibition Hall 3 of the Seoul Art Museum.
People turned their heads and began murmuring.
“Isn’t that Henri Marceau?”
“Oh my God. What’s a billionaire like him doing here?”
“Did he just say two hundred thousand euros? Is he buying that painting?”
“That’s insane! How much is that in won?”
Everyone seemed to recognize the man.
From his arrogant posture and expensive outfit, it was clear he was wealthy—but apparently, he was also very famous.
Henri Marceau paid no attention to the growing commotion as he looked down at me.
“Kid, seems you don’t know how painting prices are set.”
“I do.”
More than anyone.
“You’re buying the painting the world will want most. 200,000 euros is a bargain.”
Painting prices aren’t determined by the artwork alone.
Sure, the beauty of the piece or the materials used matter—but in the end, it all comes down to the artist’s fame and reputation.
And an artist needs to sell themselves as much as they sell their art.
“The world’s most desired?”
“Because it’s the debut work of an artist that Henri Marceau is backing.”
“Pffffft—HAHAHAHA!”
Henri let out a loud, boisterous laugh.
After a while, he brushed back his hair, smirking like a mafia boss.
“Yeah, if I pay 200,000 euros for this painting, you’ll become famous overnight. Prices will skyrocket.”
He wasn’t wrong.
If even the Koreans around me recognized him, he must be even more influential abroad.
Just being known as someone who sold a painting to him would bring attention to both me and Sunflowers.
“You think you can use me? Use Henri Marceau?”
“Yes.”
The smile disappeared from his lips.
“Don’t get cocky, you little brat. Without me, your painting is worthless. So why should I buy it?”
“Because you will.”
“…What?”
“You love my painting.”
I’ve dealt with people like him before.
The type with wealth, taste in art, and a strong desire to indulge themselves.
They don’t restrain their wants—and they have the means to fulfill them.
They even enjoy satisfying those desires.
That’s how aristocrats in the UK behaved—and likely still do.
He hadn’t even glanced at the other paintings but stood silently before mine for several minutes.
He’s the kind of man who must possess what he wants.
Cost is irrelevant.
Henri Marceau put his hands in his pockets, lifted his chin arrogantly, and walked to a chair along the opposite wall.
“Arsène.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell them I’m here to buy the painting.”
