The Man Who Sold the Eiffel Tower

My name is Count Victor Lustig. If you’ve not heard of that name, you may have heard of one of my other forty seven different aliases. Robert V. Miller was what they called me when they locked me up in Alcatraz. Another fake name of course. It would appear that no one truly knew my real name, and for a hundred years more it would still remain a mystery. 

I’ve lived a wondrous life, I must say. I concocted a counterfeit bank note operation so vast that the very confidence in the United States economy nearly crumbled. They called me America’s greatest con man for good reason, and yet, some consider my greatest feat to be in Paris, France. Although I’d disagree, I think I'll tell the story of how I managed to sell off the one and only, Eiffel Tower.  

The year was 1925, in the month of May. I arrived at the Hotel Crillon, which was at the time the most luxurious of all hotels in Paris. This may have been needed for the con, but I’d be damned if I didn’t love staying in its grandeur and opulence. I don’t steal people's life savings for no reason after all. At the front desk, I posed as deputy director general Lustig of the Ministry of Post and Telegraphs where I secured myself the best suite they could offer. This may seem trivial, but I was about to summon the most powerful and successful men in the French scrap metal business here to discuss a very “official” and “confidential” matter. Having it be held within some lusterless and forlorn hotel room wouldn’t do -I had invited them to the Crillon after all!

Each of them eagerly arrived, riddled with curiosity. Every man’s pockets are deep and just asking to be picked. Some earned their wealth, some didn’t. It didn’t matter much in the end as one of them would soon be the greatest fool Paris had ever seen. One by one, they entered my room, seeing myself dressed in the best tailored clothing I could find and ample drinks waiting for them. Once everyone was settled, and pleasantries were exchanged, I began my little speech. 

“Gentlemen, I’m glad you all could come. As you read from my letter, I am deputy general Lustig and I can assure you this meeting will be of great interest to all of you. You may have noticed that in my initial summons, I did not specify why it is that France needs you. It’s a very urgent matter which requires utmost secrecy. The government plans to tear down the Eiffel Tower.”

I looked as each man’s jaw dropped. None knew what to say. Good, I didn’t need them interrupting me. 

“I’m sure you’ve all read in the papers that the Tower is in desperate need of repairs due to engineering faults. It was originally only meant to be a temporary structure, specifically for the Exposition of 1899; however,over the years, these maintenance costs have been far too high, and in a time of economic unrest in our country, we simply cannot afford to spend the millions to make the repairs. From our side it is not such a big deal. There are many Parisians who hate the sight of the metal beast. With it gone, in due time it will be forgotten, only remembered by a few scattered photographs. Due to this, each of you, the great pioneers of human ingenuity and compatriots of French nationalism, are invited to make an offer to the government on the tower. The best bid will be chosen as the winner.” 

I waited little time to hand them sheets of government stationery showing figures of tonnage for the tower’s metal. If it were hypothetically torn down, the scrap would be worth millions in and of itself. I saw the rapacious yet careless look in each of their eyes. The businessmen could not help but salivate at the thought of the money they could make. 

The speech was easy, as was coming by the stationery for the tower. But next I had to do a bit of research. Outside, I led them to a waiting limo where their next stop was, of course, the Eiffel Tower. I had just barely managed to counterfeit a fake official badge which allowed me and my companions to freely roam through the area. As we climbed up the tower, I enlivened things with a few interesting anecdotes and convinced them further of the necessity of the tower’s destruction

We looked out to the city around us as I pointed to landmarks within our vision. “Don’t you gentlemen see? This tower simply has no place amongst the many great cathedrals and monuments of France.” It was a simple matter, to say something with confidence and have the distracted easily believe the words. 

With the tour ended, I made sure to thank everyone and request that their bids be submitted to my room within four days. Each willfully did, as I knew they would.

As outrageous as leading five successful businessmen into believing that a national treasure was to be scrapped for parts, sounded, a con like that could only be done with the Eiffel Tower. If I attempted to sell the Arc de Triomphe, they’d call me crazy, probably have me arrested. But the Eiffel Tower? No, that’s far too ludacris to even dream of being part of a con. 

As I always do, over the course of the introductory meeting I was constantly studying each man, seeing who seemed the most gullible. Unfortunately for him, Monsieur P. received the note that he won the bid. I asked that he return to the suite within two days with a signed check for 250,000 Francs. 

Monsieur P., of course, did exactly as he was told, though, to my dismay, with doubts on his mind. When I went through basic arrangements of the sale and the scrapping of the tower, Monsieur P. hesitated, and was speaking of backing out. His mind probably raced with thoughts like “Why meet in a hotel and not a government building?” or, “Why haven’t I heard from the other officials?” Nevertheless I was not perturbed, for I had done this long enough to plan for exigent circumstances of this nature. My tone immediately changed, I no longer spoke of the tower, I spoke of my low salary as a government official; I spoke of my wife’s desire for pearls, a fur coat, and a new bag; I spoke of how I worked so hard yet I was unappreciated. Monsieur P. soon understood. I was in fact asking for a bribe. Instead of outrage, came relief. There were now no doubts in his mind that I was real, since every instance of dealing with bureaucrats before led to Monsieur P. having to sweeten the deal a bit. People always need the simple to dissuade them of the obvious. Now, with things back on track, he gave me thousands of Francs, all in bills, then handed me his certified check. A gullible bastard indeed. I handed him the documentation and a grand looking bill of sale, with each of us parting ways, him licking his chops for the profits to come, and myself giggling at the sheet I just pulled over his head. 

Over the next few days though, with no correspondence from the government, Monsieur P. realized a little too late that something was awry. He made a few telephone calls only to find that there was no deputy general Lustig and that the plan to destroy the Eiffel Tower was all a lie. Even though the man lost 250,000 Francs, Monsieur P. never did go to the police. If he did, the reputation of falling for one of the most absurd cons in history would be cause for public humiliation and business suicide. 

Did I feel bad in the end? No, not really. I had a family to take care of, and a lover to lavish. Hell, I even ended up selling the tower again years later, at double the price Monsieur P. was able to “acquire” it for! If that doesn’t say I was cavalier about the whole experience, I don’t know what will.