It was a stupid game, it was a fucking game, it was a terrible game.

I hate it.

Not long ago, I spent three nights on a remote island with this guy, Helga Akenbach.

Helga was once one of the most powerful art dealers in the world.

He's also the most famous criminal you've never heard of.

She said what happened, I said yeah, something stupid, they think I took too much money from

belt hood.

Helga was so successful at finding and selling Picasso's and Warhol's and Richters that

he owned seven homes and 30 classic cars.

You know, he didn't want to drive one Bentley, he wanted to drive five Bentley's.

And for a while, the good times roll.

When I did a party there, let's say a new year party, we had 400 guests from all over

Germany.

But then, Helga ripped off the wrong person.

The man Helga crossed was named Bertold Albrecht and heir to the Aldi supermarket fortune.

The two became unlikely friends until they went into business together.

That's when things turned shady, forgery and fraud entered the picture, and Helga landed

in prison.

I was also thinking sometimes to kill myself because I was frightened of the future.

Helga Aachenbach considers himself a scapegoat for an art world built on corruption, lies

and deceit.

But is he?

...