The Knight (Endgame #2)(21)

I look at the fireplace, where a portrait of my mother used to hang. Even that was sold to an estate dealer, the artist famous enough to command a decent resale value. “Tell me this much. Do you think a million dollars is enough?”

With his command of real estate, with his personal knowledge of the people in this room, he will know how the bidding will be. “The truth is, I’m not sure.”

Charlotte stands beside a small folding table, about to begin.

“Gabriel,” I say, pleading.

One eyebrow rises. “I’m telling you what I know. It would usually be enough. The bad press about your father kept away some of the big players. Everyone here wants it for a quick flip or a conversation piece—neither is worth very much.”

“So I can win?”

“If you play it right, you might. But…” He looks thoughtful.

“Last call,” Charlotte says, gaze directly on me.

“But what?” I whisper.

“But the man on the end there? I don’t know him.”

A wild card? I look at the last row where a man in a tailored suit glances at his watch. I’ve never seen him before either. And Gabriel knows everyone.

Without another word I hurry back to find a seat—right up front, because I don’t want to miss anything. Charlotte hands me a cardboard number and returns to the table.

I want that diary, but first I need to win the house back. This is where my father wants to spend his final days. This is the place that holds my family’s legacy. My mother left it to me for a reason, and I won’t let her down.

“The bidding starts at two hundred thousand,” Charlotte says. “The contract will be signed on immediate conclusion of the winning bid. Anyone who hasn’t already prequalified will be required to present proof of fiduciary capability. Any questions?”

“Are you free Saturday night?” a man near the front says.

Charlotte gives him a flat look. “Why? Do you know anyone worth my time?”

The men laugh, except for the man in the corner. He looks impatient. And except for Gabriel. His sharp look promises some small retribution for the disrespect, but the other men don’t seem to notice. That’s why he stands in the back, I realize. To watch over everyone. An almost godlike presence who metes out punishment and rewards. I’ve become intimately familiar with both the pain and the pleasure at his hands.

“Let’s begin,” Charlotte says brusquely. “Do I have two hundred thousand? Two hundred?”

It’s clear that she’s done this before. It’s also clear the other men have plenty of experience. Their cards lift only an inch when they bid, such a tiny distance to signify thousands of dollars.

My stomach ties itself into knots and then straight again by the time the bidding lands where I need it. “Three hundred thousand,” Charlotte says.

That’s my cue. I raise my placard high. “One million dollars.”

The room falls silent. “Can you repeat that?” Charlotte asks.

“I’ll bid one million dollars for the house.”

The silence stretches out for one heartbeat, two, as I wait to find out if I’ve won.

“Well,” Charlotte says, sounding pleased. “That certainly changes the game, gentlemen. What do you think? Are you willing to put more than one million into this house?”

One of the men stands. “Too rich for my blood.”

With that he’s on the phone talking to a broker about a different property, already moved on before he even strides from the room.

The gray-haired man who was at my auction, who came close to bidding on me, stands as well. When he turns to me, his eyes are kind. “Congratulations, young lady. I must say that I had thought the house would be an enticement to have you after Gabriel here, but in both cases I appear to be outgunned.”

With a cordial bow he leaves, his gorgeous assistant in tow.

The only man left in the audience is the one in the corner, the stranger who even Gabriel didn’t know. He’s been impatient this entire time, looking as if he’d rather be somewhere else, but now he leans forward. “What’s the next bid?”

Charlotte pauses, hiding her dismay behind a cool smile. “One point five million, anyone?”

My throat closes. I would never be able to match that. I can’t spend a dollar over a million. I know that Charlotte is trying to help me, but the dread in my bones tells me it won’t work. There’s some reason this man is here, some purpose I can’t discern.

The stranger lifts his placard.

And just like that I lose everything.





Chapter Fourteen





The motel room is empty. Harper’s Louis Vuitton steamer bag is still on the floor, overflowing with a sparkle dress and unicorn socks. Worry eclipses my grief over losing the house. What if someone else convinced the motel owner to let them inside? There’s no sign of a struggle, except for the assortment of lotions and bath bombs strewn over the bathroom counter.

I head outside, following the sounds of banging and drunken laughter.

Behind the motel a wall of boxes and trash cans do little to hide a makeshift camp. I realize this is where Will must sleep every night, in one of the low stacks of blankets tucked against the wall. There must be more men than I realize, but only two figures surround the fire rising out of a rust-coated barrel. Sitting on a crate is a hulking figure with a low rumbling voice.