THE DISCARDED SON-IN-LAWS GOD-LEVEL DOMINION SYSTEM

Chapter 22

The auctioneer was a small man with a very loud voice.

He stood at the podium under the golden light and tapped his gavel twice. "Ladies and gentlemen, the proceeds of tonight's sale will support the Hawthorne Children's Foundation. Please be generous. Lot One, a Tang dynasty jade horse, starting at fifty thousand dollars."

The bidding began. Paddles rose and fell like white birds. A woman in silver bought the jade horse for two hundred thousand. A bronze mirror went to a banker for three hundred. A silk screen of cranes sold for half a million. Applause followed each sale in polite waves. Waiters passed through the rows with trays of champagne.

Ethan sat in the third row near the aisle with his hands resting on his knees. Daniel sat behind him. Across the room, on the far side of the stage, Julian Sterling lounged in a velvet chair with one leg crossed over the other. He sipped from his glass and smiled gently at nothing in particular. Every few minutes his eyes drifted toward Ethan, soft and friendly, and drifted away again.

Isabella Hawthorne stood at the back of the hall with her arms folded. Her face was calm. But Ethan noticed that she kept her eyes fixed on the stage like a woman watching a bridge she did not trust.

"Lot Twenty-Two sold," the auctioneer called. "Thank you, sir. And now, ladies and gentlemen, a very special piece. Lot Twenty-Three."

An assistant in white gloves carried the velvet tray to the front of the stage and held it up so the whole room could see. The bronze ring lay at the center, small and green and old.

"A bronze signet ring from the late Qing period," the auctioneer said. "Provenance unknown. Likely a ceremonial piece from a private society. The engraving shows a coiled dragon, a motif found in several regional cults. Condition is poor, but the craftsmanship is remarkable. We will start the bidding at one hundred thousand dollars."

A murmur ran through the room. A few people leaned toward each other and whispered.

"One hundred thousand," a woman near the front said, raising her paddle.

"One hundred and fifty," said a man near the side.

Ethan did not move. He felt the pendant grow warm against his chest.

"Two hundred," called the woman.

"Five hundred," said a calm, pleasant voice from the right.

Every head turned. Julian Sterling had lifted a single finger. He was still smiling.

The room went quiet. Five hundred thousand dollars for a green bronze coin was an absurd price. The woman near the front lowered her paddle slowly and looked away.

"Five hundred thousand dollars from Mr. Sterling," the auctioneer said carefully. "Do I hear..."

"One million," Ethan said.

His voice carried across the ballroom without effort. People turned in their seats to look at him. A few gasped. Somewhere near the back, a champagne glass clinked against a tray.

Julian's smile widened. He turned his head and looked at Ethan with warm delight. "Two million."

"Five."

"Eight."

"Twenty."

The ballroom held its breath. The auctioneer looked from one man to the other with his mouth slightly open, forgetting to lift his gavel. A woman in the second row put her hand over her heart.

Julian laughed softly. He lifted one finger again. "Thirty million."

"Fifty," Ethan said.

There was no pause between them now. They bid across the room like two men throwing stones. Julian's smile had grown thin. Ethan's face was perfectly still. He felt the System behind his eyes, calm and bottomless. Money was only numbers now. It flowed through his hands like water.

"Seventy," Julian said. His voice was no longer quite as smooth.

"One hundred million," Ethan said.

The hall was silent. A hundred million dollars. For a ring that, to everyone else, was a small piece of green metal. People stared at the two men. Brandon Lockwood, at the back, had stopped muttering and was staring open-mouthed.

Julian's hand lowered slowly. For a second, the mask of friendliness slipped. Something cold and sharp passed behind his eyes. Then it was gone, and he sat back with a pleasant sigh.

"I withdraw," he said lightly. "A hundred million is a little rich even for me."

"Sold," the auctioneer cried, bringing his gavel down so hard that it echoed. "To Mr. Ethan Cross, for one hundred million dollars!"

A thunder of applause broke out. People stood and clapped. Cameras flashed. Ethan did not smile. He rose slowly, walked to the front of the room, and accepted the small velvet tray from the assistant's gloved hands.

The moment the ring touched his fingers, it grew warm. A faint green glow pulsed in the old bronze and in the pendant against his chest, in the same slow rhythm, like two hearts beating together. He closed his hand around it. No one else seemed to notice. But Julian's eyes were fixed on his closed fist, and for the first time that night, the smile was gone.

The System chimed.

[Dragon Ring acquired.]

[Seal resonance: 33 percent.]

[Warning: Hostile intent nearby.]

Ethan turned to walk back to his seat. A hand touched his arm.

"Congratulations, Ethan," Julian Sterling said warmly. He had walked up beside him in the clapping crowd. His face was kind again, his eyes shining. He held out his right hand. "That was a magnificent display. Truly. I could not be happier for you. Please, let me shake your hand."

The System flashed red in the corner of Ethan's vision.

[Threat: Poison ring. Left hand. Needle tip. Target: Palm.]

Ethan looked at Julian's outstretched right hand. Then at the left hand resting loosely at his side, with a heavy silver ring on the third finger.

Julian's smile did not change.

"Of course," Ethan said.

He took Julian's right hand. And with his other hand he reached across and caught Julian's left wrist gently, in the friendliest of grips, as if drawing the man into an embrace of congratulation.

"Careful with your jewelry, Julian," Ethan whispered into his ear. "It looks sharp."

He squeezed.

Julian's eyes widened. A tiny prick of pain crossed his face. He tried to pull back, but Ethan's grip held his wrist like iron, and the silver ring on his own finger pressed against the palm of his own right hand. A single bead of red appeared on his skin.

Julian's face went white.

Ethan let go and stepped back. He smiled for the first time all evening. "Thank you for the warm welcome."

Julian stood completely still. His eyes were fixed on his own palm. His breath came short and fast. A tremor passed through his hand. Then, with trembling fingers, he reached into his pocket and took out a small white pill. He put it into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

The crowd around them had not noticed. They were still clapping and talking.

Julian lifted his head. His smile had returned, but it was stiff, thin as paper. "That was clever," he said very softly. "I did not know you could see so far."

"I could see you from the moment you walked into the room."

Julian's eyes grew sharp and bright. "You have made a very big mistake tonight, Ethan Cross. You could have been my friend. You had one chance."

"I did not want one."

For a long moment the two men stood looking at each other, the smiling crowd between them. Then Julian bowed slightly with perfect grace, turned, and walked away through the ballroom with straight shoulders. He did not look back.

Ethan watched him go until the doors closed.

Then he lifted his hand and opened his fingers. The bronze ring lay in his palm, glowing softly green.

Daniel hurried up the aisle with his eyes wide. "Mr. Cross, did he try to..."

"Later," Ethan said quietly. "Smile. People are watching."

Daniel forced a stiff smile. Around them the guests had begun to drift toward the buffet tables, still talking about the hundred million dollars. A woman in a purple dress stopped in front of Ethan and asked, breathlessly, whether the ring was really cursed. A man in a gray suit asked whether he planned to invest in shipping. Someone offered him a business card with two hands, bowing slightly. Three weeks ago, none of them would have noticed him if he had been standing in the middle of the floor holding a tray.

He answered each of them with a polite word and nothing more.

As he moved toward the doors, a figure in green brushed past him in the crowd. A slim hand touched his coat. Something small and folded slipped into his pocket. He did not turn his head. When he looked back, Isabella Hawthorne was already across the room with her face composed, speaking calmly to a waiter as if nothing had happened.

Ethan kept walking until he reached a quiet corner by a tall window. He took out the folded paper and read it in the pale light.

Roof. Ten minutes. Come alone.

He folded it again and looked out at the dark city. The rain had begun to fall against the glass in thin silver lines. His hand closed around the ring. It was still warm.