A Deadly Auction

The grand chandelier cast a warm glow over the opulent ballroom of the Lawson estate. The crowd, an assembly of the city’s elite, sipped champagne and murmured in low voices as they waited for the auction to begin. Detective Mark Travis stood near the back, his eyes scanning the room, searching for the one person who wasn’t supposed to be there.

“You look out of place, Detective,” a familiar voice whispered behind him.

Mark turned to see Olivia Lawson, the hostess, and widow of the infamous art dealer, Victor Lawson. She was dressed in a sleek black gown, her hair pulled back into an elegant chignon, her eyes as sharp as ever.

“Just here to keep an eye on things,” Mark replied, offering her a polite smile.

Olivia’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. But I assure you, tonight’s auction will be perfectly legitimate. No stolen art this time.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mark said, though his tone held a hint of skepticism. Victor Lawson had built his empire on the black market, dealing in stolen masterpieces before his untimely death.

As the auctioneer stepped onto the stage, the crowd’s chatter died down. Mark’s attention shifted to the item being unveiled: a painting, rumored to be the last work of a reclusive artist who had disappeared decades ago. It was worth a fortune.

“Starting bid, two million dollars,” the auctioneer announced.

Hands shot up, and the numbers climbed rapidly. Mark kept his eyes on the bidders, noting the faces he recognized—business tycoons, socialites, and a few shady figures with ties to the underworld. But then, he saw him: Vincent Durand, a notorious art thief who had slipped through the police’s fingers for years. Vincent was standing near the front, casually placing a bid.

Mark’s pulse quickened. He had been hunting Vincent for years, but the man was as slippery as they came. Tonight, though, Mark had a feeling things would be different.

“Ten million dollars,” Vincent called out, his voice calm as if he were ordering dinner.

The room fell silent. The other bidders exchanged glances, unwilling to go higher.

“Going once,” the auctioneer intoned. “Going twice…”

“Fifteen million,” a voice interrupted, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Mark’s eyes snapped to the source. Olivia Lawson had raised her hand, her expression unreadable. Vincent’s calm demeanor faltered for a split second, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he regained his composure.

“Twenty million,” he countered, his gaze locked on Olivia.

“Thirty million,” Olivia said without hesitation.

The crowd gasped. Even the auctioneer looked momentarily stunned.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bid again. Instead, he turned and slipped out of the room, his departure as smooth as his entrance.

Mark moved quickly, following Vincent through the crowd and out a side door into a dimly lit hallway. “Vincent,” he called, his voice low but firm.

Vincent paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Detective Travis,” he said with a smirk. “I wondered when you’d show up.”

“You’re not leaving this time,” Mark said, his hand hovering near his holster.

Vincent chuckled. “I’ve heard that before.” He took a step back, raising his hands. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to catch me another day. Tonight, the real game is inside.”

Mark frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Vincent’s smirk widened. “Olivia Lawson, Detective. She’s playing a much bigger game than you realize. That painting? It’s not about the money—it’s a message. She’s taking over Victor’s empire, and tonight’s auction is just the beginning.”

Mark’s heart pounded as he processed Vincent’s words. He had suspected Olivia was involved in her husband’s dealings, but this was something else entirely.

Before Mark could react, Vincent slipped into the shadows, vanishing into the night.

Mark stood there, torn between chasing a ghost and returning to the ballroom where Olivia was holding court. The auctioneer’s final words echoed in his mind: “Sold!”

He knew he had to move quickly. The deadly auction wasn’t just about art—it was a power play, and the stakes were far higher than he had imagined.