Shadow of Saul

Chapter 8. Trap.

At Ephraim's taunt, the atmosphere in the ballroom had shifted from bored opulence to electrified tension. 

This wasn't just an auction anymore; it was a blood sport.

"Two point five million," the auctioneer repeated, sweating slightly under the lights.

Saul didn't hesitate. "Three million."

The crowd murmured. 

Three million dollars for a ring? It was insanity.

Ephraim leaned back in his chair, a smug grin plastering his face. He leaned over to Daniella. "Watch this. I’m going to ruin him."

"Ephraim, stop," Daniella whispered, clutching his arm. Her face was pale. "You don't understand. This is Haruno’s auction. You know the rule."

"Oh but I know the rules," Ephraim replied, his eyes gleaming as he explained. "The bidder is the payer. No proxies. No corporate accounts unless authorized by the owner present. If Saul bids and can't pay from his own verified funds... Haruno’s security will take him to the basement."

"They’ll break his legs," Daniella said, her voice trembling. "Or worse."

"Exactly," Ephraim chuckled. "He thinks Hale can bail him out. But Mr. Haruno doesn't care about banks. He cares about respect. If Saul disrupts this auction with a fake bid, he’s a dead man walking."

Grinning, the socialite raised his paddle as high as he could. "Three point five million!"

He looked at Saul. "Come on, big shot. Is that all you got?"

Saul sat like a statue, not even paying attention to the man. "Four million."

"Four point five!" Ephraim shouted instantly.

"Five million," Saul countered.

The rhythm was hypnotic. Every time Saul spoke, the price jumped.

Daniella couldn't take it anymore. She stood up, ignoring decorum.

"Saul! Stop!" she cried out, her voice echoing in the hall. "You don't know what you’re doing! This isn't a game! The host will kill you if you can't pay! Stop relying on that fake card and sit down!"

The room fell silent. Everyone looked at Daniella, then at Saul.

Saul turned his head slowly. His expression wasn't angry; it was worse. Saul looked at her with pity in his gaze.

She felt her face flush in humiliation.

"Sit down, Daniella," he said softly. "You’re making a scene."

"I’m trying to save your life!" she shrieked. "You stubborn idiot! You have nothing! Stop pretending!"

"Five million going once..." the auctioneer stammered, trying to regain control.

"Six million!" Ephraim yelled, standing up again. "I can do this all night, Saul! I have the Moore family fortune behind me. What do you have? A shovel and a hard hat?"

Beside Saul, Veronica let out a soft chuckle. 

She leaned over to Saul. "He’s trying to trap you. He wants to drive the price up and drop it on you, thinking you'll default."

"I know," Saul said, his eyes dark. "Let him."

"Seven million," Saul said.

"Eight!" Ephraim roared.

"Nine."

"Ten million dollars!" Ephraim slammed his hand on the table. "Top that, you loser!"

The crowd was hyperventilating. Ten million. It was an astronomical sum.

Ephraim was sweating now. Ten million was pushing his own limit. If Saul stopped now, Ephraim would be stuck with the bill, and his father would disown him. He needed Saul to make one more bid. Just one more.

"Come on," Ephraim taunted, his voice cracking. "Are you scared? Is the director out of cash?"

Saul looked at Ephraim. He saw the fear behind the arrogance. He saw the trap. And he decided to smash it.

Saul stood up and adjusted his cufflinks calmly.

"Fifty million," Saul declared.

.

The silence that followed was absolute. It was the silence of a bomb having gone off, with the shockwave yet to hit.

The auctioneer dropped his gavel. It clattered onto the podium.

"F-fifty...?" the auctioneer squeaked.

Ephraim’s jaw unhinged. 

He collapsed back into his chair, his legs giving out. Fifty million. It was an impossible number. It was more than the net worth of half the people in the room combined.

"He’s crazy," Ephraim whispered, his face draining of blood. "He’s actually insane."

Then, a slow, malicious smile spread across Ephraim’s face.

"He hung himself," Ephraim laughed breathlessly. "He actually did it. There is no way—no goddamn way—he has fifty million dollars."

Ephraim shot up from his seat, pointing a shaking finger at Saul.

"I demand a verification!" Ephraim shouted, his voice shrill with triumph. "Stop the auction! This man is a fraud! He’s making a mockery of Mr. Haruno’s event! There is no way a construction worker has fifty million dollars! Check his funds! Check them now before he tries to run!"

The crowd murmured in agreement. It was too much. It had to be a prank.

Daniella buried her face in her hands. "Oh god, Saul. You’re dead. You’re actually dead."

The auctioneer looked terrified at the proclamation. 

He looked toward the side of the stage, where a large, shadowy figure had just emerged from the curtains.

It was a man in a black suit, built like a tank, with a scar running down his cheek. 

The Head of Security for the house of Haruno.

"Mr. Moore raises a valid point," the auctioneer stammered. "Sir... at this level of bidding... proof of funds is required immediately."

Ephraim grinned, crossing his arms. "Go on, Saul. Show them your 'Black Card'. Show them the toy you painted black. Let’s see how Mr. Haruno’s security handles a liar."

Saul didn't look at the security guard. He looked at the auctioneer.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the matte black card, holding it up for the light to catch on the golden frame.

"Bring the terminal then."