Chapter 12: The Billion-Dollar Bluff
The auction room was steeped in tension. Whispers spread like wildfire as the elite attendees realized what was happening. It wasn't just an art auction anymore; it was a proxy war between the Iron Empress and the resurrected Sterling heir backed by foreign blood money.
The auctioneer, a nervous, balding man, cleared his throat and tapped his gavel.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we now present the undisputed crown jewel of the evening. A previously undocumented masterpiece by Claude Monet. Bidding will commence at twenty million dollars."
Victor didn't even wait for the echoes to die down. He casually raised his diamond-studded paddle. "Fifty million."
Gasps erupted from the crowd. To jump the bid by thirty million on the opening call was a vulgar display of dominance, a tactic meant to intimidate everyone else out of the room. Victor turned in his seat, throwing a smug, challenging smirk over his shoulder at Elena.
Julian, sitting beside Elena, crossed his legs and leaned back. "He’s desperate to make a statement. The Volkovs gave him a war chest, and he’s using it like a child with a stolen credit card."
Elena didn't blink. She slowly raised her paddle. "One hundred million."
The auctioneer nearly dropped his gavel. "One... one hundred million to Ms. Rostova! Do I hear—"
"One hundred and fifty million!" Victor roared, the veins in his neck bulging. The room was spinning into madness. Art pieces like this rarely breached the eighty million mark. This was no longer about the painting.
"Two hundred million," Elena said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying perfectly across the dead silent room.
Victor’s face turned purple. He was sweating now. The Volkovs had given him immense wealth, but throwing a quarter of a billion dollars at a canvas was madness. He gritted his teeth, desperate not to look weak on his first night back in New York.
"Two hundred and fifty million!" Victor shouted, slamming his fist on his armrest.
Elena lowered her paddle. She turned to Julian, picked up her glass of bourbon, and took a slow, deliberate sip. She didn't say a word.
"Going once," the auctioneer stammered, pointing a trembling hand at Victor. "Going twice... Sold! To Mr. Sterling for two hundred and fifty million dollars!"
Victor exhaled a massive breath of relief, standing up to bask in the applause. But there was no applause. The crowd just stared in shocked silence.
Elena stood up, smoothing out her emerald dress. She walked gracefully down the aisle, stopping right next to Victor, who was mopping his forehead with a silk handkerchief.
"Congratulations, Victor," Elena smiled, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You just spent two hundred and fifty million dollars of the Volkovs' dirty money on a painting."
"It's a masterpiece, you peasant," Victor spat, trying to regain his composure. "It proves I can outbid you."
Elena leaned in, her voice a deadly whisper meant only for him. "It proves you're an idiot. I own the private estate that provided this painting to the auction house. You didn't outbid me, Victor. You just gave me two hundred and fifty million dollars of Russian cartel money. I wonder how the Volkovs will feel when they realize you funded my empire?"
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Victor’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror as the realization struck him. He had been played. Brilliantly, flawlessly played.
Without another word, Elena turned and walked out of the room, Julian following closely behind, a devastating grin on his face.
