The Auctioneer

by D. J. Williams

  “Delivery for Mr. Collinsworth,” Dax stated. “LA Home Furniture.”

  The security guard glanced at his clipboard. “Don’t see you on the list.”

  Dax waved a stack of papers, none of which had anything to do with a delivery. “He’s right here on the schedule, sir.”

  “Hold on a second.”

  I looked straight ahead while the guard stepped inside his station.

  A moment later, he poked his head out. “Mr. Collinsworth is expecting you.”

  Dax pulled forward and turned to me with a smirk. “Call me Denzel.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, possibly for the first time in days.

  The Collinsworth estate was a sprawling Mediterranean villa located at the north end of an exclusive community. Uncle Randy stood at the main entrance dressed in a bright colored poncho. While Dax backed into the driveway, Uncle Randy attempted to guide us down the narrow road. Dax maneuvered the truck with ease, paying no attention to our billionaire valet.

  Uncle Randy wasn’t a true blood relative but that never mattered. As Founder and CEO of RC Engineering, a tech company worth nearly five billion on the stock market, he managed his wealth with a conservative iron fist. Not only was he a certified genius, but he was the main reason Dad hadn’t officially gone bankrupt. When the two of them crossed paths years earlier at a Labor Day weekend auction in Connersville, their mutual love for rare collectibles formed a brotherhood between them. In a way, it was like Dax and I, except we had yet to build or destroy our empires.

  “Uncle Randy, sorry we’re late,” I said.

  “Not to worry.” He squeezed my shoulder. His brows furrowed. “Your pops was one of the greatest. I still can’t believe he’s gone. How’re you holding up, son?”

  “Numb, I guess. I still hear his voice.” I swallowed hard, knowing if I talked about it the walls would come crumbling down. “Where should we unload?”

  Uncle Randy held up a remote and pressed a button. It was a ritual I’d seen him do hundreds of times whenever we delivered a new collectible. A garage door opened to reveal a room that stretched the length of the property. Lined along both sides of the garage were classics and rare automobiles. Duesenberg. Jaguar. Maserati. Talbot-Lago. Ferrari. Aston Martin. McLaren. Rolls Royce. Mixed in with these rare beauties was one of my favorites – a limited edition Shelby Daytona coupe. One glance at the beautiful lines and polished chrome gleaming from these works of art was breathtaking.

  With a second push of the button, the floor between the cars lowered like a ramp into an underground level I’d never seen before.

  Uncle Randy said, “Let’s put her down there.”

  “That’s badass,” Dax whispered.

  THREE

  I stood alone in the basement next to the night’s prize. After unloading the veiled beast, I changed into a pressed shirt and four-hundred-dollar jeans. Typically, on a night of this magnitude, all who were present dressed to the nines. It was strange to be without the family armor – an Armani suit.

  Dax’s voice cut through the silence with his best Jagger impression. “One, two – check – one, two.”

  “Stop screwing around.” I adjusted the volume in my in-ear com. “Ready to roll.”

  “Two bogeys. Asian dude, and a Middle Eastern.”

  “That’ll be Alan Leung, and Prince Azim.”

  “Security is on the street. Hold on, we got a trifecta – and she’s a beauty.”

  “Vihkrov’s daughter, Elena.”

  “No way.” His disbelief poured into my ear, knowing the history between us. “You invited the Black Widow of Bratva?” It was his nod to her father, one of the most notorious mobsters in Eastern Europe.

  “Uncle Randy wanted buyers. It’s the best I could do.”

  “Well, I see why you never introduced me. She can spin my web, anytime.”

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Not a word about her to Laney.”

  “It’s your funeral.” The coms were silent for a moment. “Silicon Swindler?”

  “Yeah, he’s got cash to burn since going public. Looks like we’re one step closer to finishing what Dad started.”

  “Get it done, bro. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

  I paced the room until the elevator doors opened. Uncle Randy ushered the guests into the underground garage and shot a curious stare in my direction. Hong Kong’s reigning bachelor, Alan Leung, along with Prince Ali Azim, Elena Vihkrov, and Marcus Nicholson locked eyes on a treasure lost for forty years. As I studied the players, I never imagined my first solo deal would be right here, right now.

  Dealing with the Asian clientele was Dad’s forte. When I heard Alan Leung was in town, I tracked him down at the Four Seasons on Doheny. Within the auction world it was widely known that Leung was an avid collector, so it didn’t take much convincing to get him to attend the private affair. Of course, he’d be looking for a deal.

  Six months ago, I shadowed Dad aboard a Lockheed C-5 Galaxy military aircraft as he negotiated delivery of a dozen rare automobiles to the United Arab Emirates for Prince Ali Azim. The Prince was a new client — and had quickly proven to be one of our most lucrative. Total sales: $180 million. Keeping the deal out of the press and off the books: priceless.

  One of our most loyal clients in our black book was also a wildcard. Dmitry Vihkrov boasted a collection of two hundred rolling sculptures: antique and collectible cars. Reaching out to the family, I was unsure of who would attend. When Elena stepped into the light, my heart quickened. We’d known each other since childhood, as our fathers blurred the lines to build their legacies. Elena spent summers at a beachside estate in Montecito where I was a frequent visitor. Last summer our whirlwind romance ended.

  The bait for the evening was also the most unpredictable. Marcus Nicholson, AKA Silicon Swindler, built a social media empire from his parents’ garage to the hallowed campuses of Silicon Beach. Since going public, Urban Chain was the hottest stock on Wall Street, which meant Nicholson’s pockets burned with cash. He was an overnight billionaire, even though his company had yet to create a single revenue stream.

  In the collector car world Nicholson was a rookie, a newbie, anxious to walk before he learned to crawl. His ego itched to build a collection as prized as the ones protected in the private vaults of Prince Azim, Alan Leung, and Dmitry Vihkrov.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said as the group circled. “I believe we have a very special automobile that will add great value to your collections.”

  Marcus Nicholson blurted, “Let’s see the car, man.”

  Prince Azim frowned, mirrored by Alan Leung.

  Money bought many things — rarely dignity.

  “Very well.” I pulled the cover away as the overhead lights illuminated the rolling sculpture to perfection. For a moment, no one spoke as they gazed upon a magnificent masterpiece. “What you are looking at is an original 1937 Mercedes-Benz 540 K Special Roadster.”

  Leung asked, “Reserve?”

  “Thirty million,” I replied coolly. “We will not entertain anything less.”

  Prince Azim circled the Mercedes, his eyes catching every inch of the body, paint, and chrome. The collectible was a high-speed touring car with a top speed of 130 MPH and a supercharger built by the Germans that made it the fastest production vehicle of its era. But for thirty million, it wasn’t desert proof.

  Enticing the group a bit more, my words gained speed and cadence. “This ‘37 Roadster is specially equipped with armored-plated sides and bulletproof glass.”

  “I’m in,” Nicholson shouted. “Thirty mil.”

  Let the games begin.

  Prince Azim’s dark eyes glanced up from the interior. “Thirty-one.”

  “Every inch of this work of art has been restored to the finest detail.” My cadence picked up a few more beats, something I’d learned from Dad at a young age selling jars of jelly from farmhouse steps. Tonight wasn’t about hype, but finesse.

  I turned to Leung and Elena. “Two bidders
. Do we have a third?”

  “Thirty-two five,” Leung offered. “Best and final.”

  “Thirty-two five,” I repeated. “Who’ll give thirty-three?”

  “I gotta have this car, dude.” Nicholson’s eyes were ablaze. “Thirty-three.”

  Prince Azim stepped forward. “Thirty-four.”

  “Thirty-five,” Nicholson retorted. “How’s that Prince Habib?”

  I raised my hand, hoping to stop Nicholson from offending the Prince even more. Pointing at Nicholson, my words rattled like a machine gun, “Silicon Swindler bids thirty-five million dollars.”

  Leung shook his head. He was out.

  “Enough games,” Prince Azim demanded. “Forty million.”

  I shot a look at Uncle Randy, who was casually watching his offshore account skyrocket.

  Elena had not said a word, nor had she bid. That caught me off guard. I stayed focused on Nicholson and Azim who stood face to face, as if they were prize fighters in the ring.

  “Forty million,” I announced. “Marcus, are you still in?”

  Nicholson paused, which in the auction world was either genius or stupidity. I could tell by the look of uncertainty that he was teetering.

  “Forty million, huh? Man, I could buy a fleet of Lambos for that price.”

  “Going once,” I announced. “Going twice…sold for forty million!”

  “Wait!” Nicholson argued. “I wasn’t done yet.”

  Prince Azim turned with a smirk. “I will make arrangements for delivery.”

  “Of course.” I gave a slight nod knowing I’d done it. Commission: four million. I kept my wits about me, as if I’d done plenty of these deals before, and delivered the sale price as promised to Uncle Randy. “Thank you all for coming. And for your discretion.”

  Like a wounded animal, Marcus Nicholson slumped his shoulders and limped from the room. Alan Leung excused himself shortly afterward without a shred of disappointment. Emotions were death in a deal.

  I handed a tablet to Prince Azim. “Once the funds are transferred, the title will be yours.”

  While Uncle Randy gazed on his prized collectible one last time, Prince Azim completed the transaction of forty million in a matter of seconds. Handing over the legal title, I shook Prince Azim’s hand, and with a smile, ushered him to the elevator. Once the doors closed, I turned to Uncle Randy and high-fived.

  He asked, “You sure we couldn’t have squeezed a bit more?”

  “We both know forty is well over value.”

  Uncle Randy nodded toward Elena. “Who’s the girl?”

  “A decoy,” I lied, “in case we needed to get the others up.”

  He reached behind the bar and handed me a gun-metal-gray double attaché case. “Looks like you didn’t need her after all.”

  “Uncle Randy, thank you for everything.” I grabbed the case. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  “We still on for lunch at the club on Friday?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Your dad would be proud.” He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “Decoy my ass.”

  On cue, Uncle Randy left us alone. With my stomach in knots, I turned to Elena and tried to keep cool. “Your father would’ve loved that car.”

  “We both know Azim paid too much. Typical Saudi.”

  “Value is in what someone is willing to pay.”

  “You sound like your father,” she mused. Her expression hardened. “I’m sorry for your loss, Chase.”

  Her striking gaze paralyzed and comforted all at the same time. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

  Dax’s voice cut through my in-ears. “Stay away from the quicksand, bro.”

  Her eyes softened. “Always the charmer.”

  “It’s a shame you came all this way to leave empty handed.”

  Dax’s voice echoed. “You’re sinking like the Titanic.”

  “Perhaps I am here for a greater prize.” Elena leaned in, kissed me on the cheek, then whispered, “Midnight Moon.”

  FOUR

  MARINA DEL REY — 10:18 PM

  I parked the Escalade at the end of Dock 52, grabbed the attaché case from the backseat, and shuffled down the pier towards a security gate. I punched in a four-digit code, then headed between the boat slips.

  From a houseboat, an oldie station mellowed the crisp evening as an aroma of grilled burgers wafted in the clean air. Several men toasted beers as I passed. At the end of the dock, a mega yacht dwarfed most of the boats in the marina. I glanced at the name of the vessel before boarding: Midnight Moon.

  Sergei, a burly Russian, with a bulge on his side, ushered me to the upper deck. Elena waited until we were alone before she glided across and wrapped her arms around me. She kissed me gently on each cheek, her breath breezed smoothly over my skin.

  “We are being watched,” she whispered.

  “By who?”

  “FBI. Homeland Security. CIA. We do not know exactly.”

  She stepped back so I could set the attaché down. We sat across from one another on a plush leather sofa beneath an outdoor heating lamp. She wrapped her legs over my thighs, and gently caressed my forearm. Her eyes peered into my soul, and life was where it had been a year ago.

  “Audio surveillance is jammed,” she reassured. “All they can do is watch.”

  “You took a big risk asking me here.” I nodded toward the attaché. “You sure about this?”

  “The funds will be in a Swiss account by morning.” She squeezed my hand. “Chase, what do you know about the investigation?”

  “We’ve taken necessary precautions to protect our clients.” I glanced over my shoulder. “If they know I’m here, that’ll get complicated.”

  “We are grateful for all you have done to protect our family.” Elena slipped a thumb drive from her jeans pocket and placed it into my palm. “My father and I wish to return the favor.”

  Staring at the thumb drive, my curiosity raced wondering what she’d found.

  As if reading my mind, she warned, “You have been watched longer than you realize.”

  I paused as her words sunk in. “Did you find something about the crash?”

  Her eyes locked on me. “No mechanical malfunctions. No evidence of an explosive device. Witnesses said the plane dropped from the sky without a sound.”

  Exhaling long and hard, I fought the urge to dig my face into the palms of my hands. I should’ve been with him, I wanted to go with him, but then we’d both be dead. Guilt, void of tears, unleashed an unbearable ache in my soul. Elena was the one I trusted with the prowess to uncover the truth. We’d been through so much, and shared a unique ache in our souls that bound us for eternity.

  “Who was with you at the cemetery today?”

  I looked up with eyebrows raised. “You followed me?”

  “At your father’s request.”

  “He’s a Fed who served the search warrant. His name is Vaughn.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said we needed to talk – off the record.”

  She stood and crossed the deck to a bar where she poured two glasses of pinot noir. “Your father met with us in Frankfurt. We were searching for a rare collectible – one we believed only he could find. He was flying home…”

  Her voice trailed off as I picked up the conversation. “He told me he was meeting with Sotheby’s in London. When I asked to go with him, he said he needed me to stick around here.” My jaw clenched as I held the glass, pushing aside a dark desire to drink straight from the bottle. “He must’ve known the Feds were up to something. What was he helping you to find?”

  Elena’s eyes grew moist. “The Rossino Otto.”

  I hung my head and whispered, “A myth.”

  She reached out, pulled me to my feet, and then kissed me gently as my arms instinctively wrapped around her body. A rush flowed over me.

  “Fight your battles tomorrow.” The catch in her voice said she was trying to convince herself as well as me. She begged so
ftly, “Stay with me tonight.”

  For a moment I surrendered, then gently pushed her away. “I can’t.”

  A coy smile pursed her lips. “She must be special.”

  “I gotta go.” I slid the thumb drive in my pocket. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I left the attaché in the hands of my first love on the Midnight Moon. In those few seconds, I teetered on the edge of giving into desire and losing myself in what had once been. Both of us knew it would never be the same, not after what happened between us. Life threw us a cruel dagger, one that left a wound which had never healed.

  As I walked past the houseboat, I noticed it was dark. Who was watching us? My gut told me if it were the Feds, the Vihkrovs were part of their investigation into the company. By the time I reached the Escalade, my cell was pressed firmly to my ear.

  “Don’t leave,” I said to Dax. “Elena’s given us a lifeline.”

  I hung up, read a text, and replied: BREAKFAST IS ON. G’NIGHT.

  How was I supposed to tell Laney the truth? Impossible. How could I explain how far Dad had gone to build his war chest? She’d never understand what I’d done to protect those I loved, not to mention the pain that fused Elena and I together. No, there were pieces that needed to remain in the shadows, even if that meant lying to Laney for the rest of my life.

  The 110 Freeway was wide open as the downtown skyline glowed in the night. After a day that left more questions than answers, exhaustion left me on edge. Two weeks ago, one tragedy destroyed the world around me. Now with the thumb drive in my pocket, there was one last chance to dig out of the rubble.

  In the rearview, a dark-colored van stayed a few cars behind. I’d noticed the same vehicle shortly after leaving the marina. On instinct, I cut across two lanes and merged onto the Hollywood Freeway. Tires screeched as I exited at Echo Park, accelerating through the stop sign and swerving to avoid oncoming traffic. Driving the streets in the Middle East trained me to elude the Taliban. Tonight, those skills returned in a blink.