Chapter 4 - The Price of Vanity
The auction moved with lightning speed. A private jet package to St. Moritz went for seventy thousand dollars. A signed guitar from a country music legend brought in eighty-five thousand. With every winning bid, Richard stood at the side of the stage with a microphone in hand, stoking the egos of the bidders, calling out rival businessmen by name, whipping the crowd into a competitive frenzy.
He was in his absolute element. He was Richard Vance: philanthropist, kingmaker, the golden boy of Queen City finance.
"Next up, Lot Fourteen!" the auctioneer shouted, his voice rapid-fire and hypnotic. "A seven-day private yacht charter through the Greek Isles, donated by Vance Capital Management! We'll start the bidding at fifty thousand! Do I have fifty? Fifty thousand to Mr. Hollis! Sixty to table twelve! Seventy to Mayor Higgins!"
The bids climbed until the gavel cracked down at one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. The room erupted into thunderous applause.
Richard stepped forward, taking the podium microphone directly from the auctioneer’s hand. He was sweating slightly under the hot theatrical spotlights, his tie loosened by a fraction of an inch, his eyes glittering with scotch and unbridled adrenaline.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Richard said, holding up a hand to quiet the room. The five hundred guests fell silent, hanging on his every word. "Tonight is about giving. It’s about recognizing the things we cherish, and the investments that yield true dividends."
He paused, scanning the crowd until his eyes found our table.
"You know," he continued, his tone turning intimate, conspiratorial, "we’ve auctioned off trips, luxury cars, fine wines. But looking out at this room, I realize that true philanthropy requires giving up that which has cost you the most over the years."
A nervous, confused chuckle fluttered through the front tables.
Caroline’s hand shot across the table, grabbing my wrist. Her fingers were ice-cold. "Mom," she whispered, her voice laced with sudden panic. "Look at him. He’s going to do something awful. Let’s get up and leave right now."
"Caroline, sit down," Daniel hissed from the other side. "He’s just making a speech."
"He's drunk, Daniel!" Caroline shot back. "Look at his eyes!"
On stage, Richard smiled—a wide, predatory flash of white teeth. "Over the last twenty-five years, I have poured millions of dollars into homes, vacations, jewelry, and upkeep for a very particular institution. An institution that sits right there at Table One."
The spotlights, operated by hotel technicians who took their cues from Richard, suddenly swiveled across the ballroom. Two blinding, white-hot beams pinned me against my chair.
May you like
The sudden glare made me squint. The entire room turned toward Table One. Hundreds of faces, pale and curious, were staring directly at me.
"Stand up, Evelyn," Richard’s voice boomed over the speakers, reverberating off the gold-leaf ceiling. "Come on, darling. Show everyone what twenty-five years of patience and American Express black cards look like."
