"Without this, we would be in trouble,” Tobias Meyer says. It’s a warm October morning in New York City, and the head of contemporary art at Sotheby’s is standing in front of a huge canvas depicting a horrific car crash, the vehicle gruesomely crumpled against a tree. The label reads, “Andy Warhol. Silver Car Crash (Double Disaster) 1963. Estimate upon request.” The huge (8-foot-by-13-foot) canvas is, by all accounts, a masterpiece; part of Warhol’s disaster series – his reflections on mortality. Nearby are other rare treasures consigned for Sotheby’s all-important November auctions: paintings from the collection of Steven Cohen – the notorious billionaire hedge fund manager; a $40 million Picasso; a 56.9 carat pink diamond. Yet Meyer cannot stop thinking about that Warhol.

Few people will ever know how hard he fought for this painting – or understand how much he has riding on it. Twenty-three blocks south, in midtown, Meyer’s archrival at Christie’s has amassed the largest cache of art ever to come to auction – more than a half-billion dollars’ worth. In an all-out battle over the summer, Christie’s beat Sotheby’s on consignment after consignment, snaring major trophies of the contemporary art world by superstar artists such as Francis Bacon, Jeffrey Koons, Christopher Wool, Willem de Kooning, and Jackson Pollock. By early fall, the roster for the Christie’s November 12 auction was expected to sell for between $500 million to $700 million.

Just weeks before the sales were to start, Meyer had nothing that could compete with the caliber of art Christie’s was bringing to market. That Warhol was his last shot at a major consignment, and as its owner wavered throughout September, Meyer flew to Switzerland to plead his case. When that didn’t clinch the deal, he invited the collector to spend the weekend at his country house in Connecticut. The pressure on Meyer was enormous and mounting. And it wasn’t just Christie’s colossal sale weighing on him; Sotheby’s largest shareholder, hedge fund manager Dan Loeb, was growing increasingly disgusted by the company’s lagging performance. In an open letter, he castigated the company’s management and demanded that Meyer’s boss, CEO Bill Ruprecht, be fired.

“You know, I talk about the near-death experience,” Meyer says, recalling his hectic summer. He tells the story of how he put his heart and soul into winning the picture; how finally – right before the print deadline for the auction catalogue – he got word that the consignment was his. Meyer pauses for a moment, mid-tale, as though to add drama to his victory. Then, suddenly, something strange happens: His chest caves deeply, as though a huge weight has been dropped on him. He holds out his hand, as if reaching for support. His voice trembles into a deep, raw sob. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he finally says in a hoarse whisper. Meyer – renowned in the art world for his poise on the auction block – steps behind a wall and into a side gallery where privately, quietly, he wipes a few tears from his cheeks.