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Arturo Benneti, once wealthy beyond his childhood's wildest dreams, held the tiny piece of delicate, light marble. The curves, the feeling, the potential in the young Michelangelo were obvious to his educated eye. To own a piece from the man he admired the most of all artists of all time was his ultimate dream. But to own a piece no one else knew about yet was, oh, so sweeter still. Once he had found and bought that rare manuscript, dated years before Bacchus, describing a small practice piece by the young man from Caprese, he knew what he had to do, no matter what it cost him. The secret laboratory, the enormous costs of the special equipment, and the agonizing waiting he had to endure while this fantastic time travel technology was being developed, had taken its toll on his wealth and health. The technician, a genius in his own right, had succumbed to the bubonic plague from a flea bite during his solitary visit to fifteenth century Caprese. With his death went all chance of making a return trip. Arturo's shaking old hands caressed the exquisite statue, sensing the presence of his idol's touch. Focusing on his treasure, he stood and made his way to the stairs, where he bumped into the railing. A wave of vertigo disoriented him, so he grabbed the handrail to steady himself. He stared in horror as his most cherished possession plunged over the balcony and shattered on the stone floor.
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