“The first item we have in our collection today is a porcelain mosaic artwork, 300 hundred years old. It said it belonged to an ancient family from the eastern region. The painting depicts the fateful battle of red water under the leadership of lord Cartha. This piece of work is regarded as a national treasure, lost during the crow decennary, 20 years ago. And here it returns again. The auction starts at 20 million.”

I never was an antique enthusiast, never understood why they cost this much. Why the relentless fight from some wealthy to get them? Hence it puzzled me, this aggressive competition over this piece. Instead, I buy myself something useful, such as a car or a motorcycle.

“45…,50,... we have 50 million, do we have more?”

Despite the accumulating boredom, my curiosity reached an uplifted threshold. the source materialized in a person who constantly raised the bet, for he was determined to obtain this art piece. My gaze shifted, guided by this formed curiosity, traversing the present notable individuals, wandering until it found its target.

He was, by all means, an old man. The winter-white hair and the wrinkled pale skin approved my quick-set opinion. A sense of familiarity struck my perception about his identity, albeit the carnival black mask concealing his upper visage.

“Did you recognize him?”

Emery's interest reflected mine. He laid a question, for it an answer felt unnecessary. At least to him.

At once, he started a fierce battle against this old man, which he won, in the end. But at what cost?

“Our first piece is sold for participant number 13 at 125 million.”

The old man, all anger and hate, eyed us. Subconsciously, against his identifying glares, I turned my head hiding.

“Then you have recognized him?” Emery repeated. his insistence on tackling the subject of this man's identity increased my interest.

Of course, I didn't yet, but my frosty pride refused to admit it.

“I thought all items in the auction belonged to you?” So much, I wished to put a name tag on that old man. So I walked the bumpy road of a hide and seek game. Except, this version in which I played with words to have my answer had brought me a crooked, long gaze.

Unsure if he was sitting with a monkey or a human with decent intelligence, Emery answered while uncertain of the purpose of the question, “Well, we organize those auctions, but certainly we don’t always own every and each piece.”

“Such as this mosaic piece?” Nevertheless, I continued. No backing down now.

“Ah… Yes.” A smile of satisfaction poured into his features. Because he won over this old man? Because he won this art piece?

Interesting...

“Why did you buy it at this unreasonable price?” It was but a bridge question to reach my main objective. Who would have thought that I had pulled deep strings?

“You asking why?” He gave a long hum. His eyelids lowered, denoting an intense process of constructing a reply. “For that cranky old donkey… It’s… It’s a mere… trophy,” the words failing him as he kept stammering in search of the right term, “but for me,... hmm, it’s related,... it’s something related to my identity.”

Oh…

Almost there, he nearly said the man's name... The disappointment made its way to the lower half of my face, in extravagant fashion. Even an oblivious kid will notice it. However, it gained a wrong reason from Mr. Cromwell’s point of view, or so I thought.

He must have felt my dissatisfaction with his answer. Hence, he dived into a lengthy chat about our ancient history and the glory of our ancestors. Neither it held my attention, nor did it interest me.

Whereas my dissatisfaction lay in the fact that he didn’t call the old man by his name. But how neglectful I was… I failed to recognize his quick insight into my little game. And in so not far future, I will regret not paying enough attention to this history lesson of his.

With the succession of the next items and the growth of the competition, my earlier boredom boiled into a fevered heat. There were even pieces that haunted my unwavering fascination. Such as the mechanical wristwatch identical to the one owned by my grandfather in his youthful days. I had my back itching to get my hands on it, if not for my empty pockets and the daily struggle to reach my due date.

All the time, Mr. Cromwell found it hard to keep silent. He needed to explain something whenever a new item showed on the auction stage. It took me by surprise his vast knowledge of antiques and monuments.

From our first official meeting, the already primary bad insight about his personality reigned in my interactions with him. However, a new light fell upon this constructed image of an uncivilized thug, bleached it, bit by bit, towards the guise of a respectable intellectual.

In one moment of daze, I thought maybe this was what Evelyn’s infatuation had built upon.

My new experience at the auction came to an end. And The second chance to unfold the mystery of the identity of the old man drew near.

In less than a minute, half of the seats left only with a fading warmth. Even Mr. Cromwell, who sat next to me, abandoned the hall.

I waited patiently for the unidentified masked man's departure. It became the single reason that kept me glued to my chair. To not provoke unwanted attention, I used the reflective surface of the turned-off laptop to survey my target’s actions.

Several sturdy men, in black suits and sunglasses covering their visages, surrounded him. Each one showed more vigilance than the others. I felt their eyes cutting through my flesh, seeking an explanation for my delayed exit. At this point, I realized two things; the old man’s high prudence, and tailing him right now will cause me nothing but trouble.

Empty-handed, though not discouraged yet, I uncovered the path to the entrance. Playing the role of an attendant, I served the retired guests while reviewing my target from a safe distance. Despite the crowd, he wasn't hard to spot, albeit hard to get near. However, this time, the carnival mask protecting his identity was taken off.

A victorious smile I couldn't help to bury adorned the apex of my delight. Although it didn't last long. The instant I figured out his identity, our gaze intertwined and spurted a sparkle of dread.

Clumsily retreating backward, my feet tripped out of fear that he would recognize me too.

My lost balance was restored in a second as well as Annabell's sudden arrival served me the ideal excuse to give him my back.

I didn't hear any of her words, only my fluttered heart begging murmurs echoed in my ears, “Please God, don't let him recognize me... Please, God, don't let him recognize me."

Or maybe he had already recognized my identity… My prayers slashed under those thoughts, bringing a recollection’s flash. Our seats’ location in the auction hall materialized in front of my eyes. I calculated the possibility of being detected by him. “No, no, don't be a pessimist. His seat during the auction was positioned in the back, he won’t be able to see me unless I turned my head. Did I turn my head? Did he spot me?”

Whatever Annabell’s discourse, I interrupted it. My arms entrapped her in a distant embrace. “Anna, tell me if the old man with bodyguards is walking toward us?”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

She shifted her head slightly, allowing her eyes a quick view. “Umm…” This interjection was followed by a head jerk. Once I translated it, “No.” my heart rate dropped. Until it was trailed by the next sentence, “But he is looking in our direction?”

A great opportunity for a swift retreat. I held her hand, then I run away.

“Kieran… Wait… Wait… I can't anymore.”

The fitful sound of her exhausted breath was the signal to my stop. We paused in a corridor far away and somewhat deserted. Safe enough, I turned to look back. Her hand was still capped by mine. The redness in her cheeks, whether from the fatigue or from the innocent handholding, seemed somehow wrong.

Awkwardly, I let her fingers slide, joining the others to support her recovery while my eyes strayed away.

Her intermittent word shattered the silence, “what? Who … is that… man?”

“An acquaintance of my father.” I answered, “rather a boot licking fellow,” however the last sentence was kept for my inner self. My gaze roamed every spot except the one Anna stood on, while my memory of the Olvera dinner party resurfaced again.

The taste of rotten meat leaked between my teeth. The pointed nose and those narrow eyes, the smell of a crafty fox screamed loud out of that man. How could I forget such a person, especially when I enjoyed his company on my last flight? He must have managed to climb a high position in my father’s pyramid to win himself a seat in Jacob’s helicopter.

What an impressive stroke of luck I got. Certainly, this fox of man won't waste himself another opportunity to lick clean another pair of my father's shoes.

I refused to picture the disappointment in my father’s eyes learning about his son frequenting an illegal auction just after getting framed with first-degree murder. Creating another door for the McCarthey's enemies to exploit. But if this situation was anyone's fault, the perpetrator was none other than the ex Mr. Right of my sister.

This return of the dark thoughts triggered a rewrote in my expression. Upon a quick glance at Anna's face, it alarmed me of my dissipated coolness. Thanks to the mask absorbing a portion of the ugly tone, I feared glossing over the subject would plant unwanted doubts.

“Then why were you searching for me?”

After a brief pause revealing a lot of her perception about my person, she responded, “The Boss tasked me with a message.” All sheer and trust contrasted the insecure threads pulling at her heart that caused the previous pause. At that moment, in my heart, I felt she had made a certain choice.

“A message?... What a message?” My voice oozed annoyance on purpose. Carefully, waiting for a reply. A reply that may assess Annabell's earlier choice.

“The boss said he will wait for you in the secondary parking lot. He will take you home.”

Humm, interesting, and quite terrifying…

I didn't need a guide for my journey to the secondary parking lot. The instant I stepped in, a familiar car drove towards me. The driver's face was swallowed by shadows as well as was mine.

In complete silence, while the car approached, a lot of reflections about this day fought for dominance inside my mind. Meeting August Olvera, breaking up with Hanna Marchetti, quarreling with Jacob, and then… Befriending Mr. Cromwell?

In the first place, how did this man know my whereabouts? Why did he bring me here? Did he want me to see the foxy old man, or did he want the latter to have something against me in front of my father? And to my first question ever about Mr. Emery Cromwell, what was his relationship with Evelyn?

The icy breeze playing on my hair slowed my motion. My hand was glued to the car handle. Not opening it, nor releasing it. A moment of hesitation harassed my heart. My overflowing curiosity, my nostalgic carefulness. Both spiraled high, similar to that day when Hanna's mother invited me for the night. A gamble of my fate, it felt. I shall take it and win again.

I relaxed my back on the car seat, leaned on the headrest, closed my eyes, and yielded to the continuous engine vibration. The vehicle gradually accelerated, reaching its full speed after a number of turns. The steady villosity scrubbed out the side thoughts, providing me a complete focus on today's main theme. Who is Emery Cromwell?

Numerous situations my brain had speculated, ups and downs. The worst-case scenario… I anticipated the car stopping each deceleration. The same questions rampaged wild the vicinity of my logic.

This time, neither of us uttered a word. The whole trip rolled as calm as a thrilling ride to the unknown, at least from my standpoint. Then came the ultimatum, …

A stop.

My eyelids slid up, revealing the unfolding scene in front of me. Where were we? Where did he take me? What did he want?

The obscure scenery in front of my eyes didn’t parallel a shady forest, or an isolated, iffy location where killers got rid of the body of their victims.

“We are in 1001 street?”

“Yes?” a little vagueness infused his tone. “Aren’t you staying here?”

Swinging my gaze to the opposite side, my fingers fiddled with the door handle while nodding, “yeah… Thanks”.

“You are welcome.”

Despite the normality, I was unsure of my situation. I expected anything except him really giving me a ride to my residence.

My physique preserved a natural motion while my thoughts grow trapped in senseless stagnation, uncertain of reality. However, before the door flapped shut, I redressed the context, “That all?”

“Anything else?”

My eyes fixed on his profile, discerning the hidden significances of his words to no avail. Hence, I restored to frankness, “How did you know my whereabouts?”

He confronted my suspicions with a melodious reply, “I told you, it was a mere coincidence.” I could perceive the enclosed chuckle behind his fangs.

Resigning from letting him enjoy my anxiety further, I stepped backward, closing the door.

Of course, I wasn’t the oblivious type. I will figure it out if someone was tailing me. Jacob, an individual more cautious than me. Whereas there was a low possibility of tracking my dumb phone if so, that really shows great dedication and large resources. Unless…

I opened the door before the car moved. “Could it be your men were trailing the red car?”

“Bingo.” A crafty smile reached his eyes.

“Why?” Honestly, it was a stupid question, since it was I who requested that he help in investigating the murder accusation plan.

The smile kept its hold over his expressions without giving an answer while I didn’t press on getting one.

How much I was wrong about this guess, and how much I will regret not delving deeper into this matter in the near future.

Then, the next few days, an obsession called Emery Cromwell and his relationship with my sister and why he was so adamant to befriend me occupied the majority of my daily thinking. So many tricks I considered to unfold this mystery. Such as contacting Jacob and soliciting more details, which were absurd and stupid. The second idea was to contact Evelyn and be forward with my questions, which weren’t my style. The third one, which I was executing these last days, portrayed in approaching Emery himself and extracting scattered elements to build my own picture.

In this endeavor, I procrastinated overworking my thesis, therefore it is trailing behind the schedule. As well as I completely forget about my new mentor at work who is threatening me.

As a matter of fact, this was but a defense mechanism to avoid ruminating on my own personal problems.

****

“Then, how is Evelyn?’ I sat down in front of Emery, pestering him. He sometimes came to this shop to sort out things related to his shady business. All this time, he showed a great tolerance regarding my discourteous, on purpose, conduct. It only challenged me to push into his limits, farther and farther. “I didn’t have much time to contact her,” I added, eagerly waiting for a change in his face.

“Me neither.”

Rather, I ended up the one who displayed signs of discontent and mistrust. Moreover, he detected it for he justified, “Not all couples are lovey-dovey like you and your girlfriend.”

“Really? That not what I saw while when we snacked together at this very shop.”

“Eh, I thought you are so perceptive, was I wrong?” by this annotation he referred to the Olvera red car insight, yet the unspoken message hung midway between an insult and a compliment.

“We are not in contact as much as she wanted you to notice. In truth, we had some arguments lately, and she hasn’t contacted me since then.”

“Humm, really?.” Actually, I got surprised by his honesty but my face showed the opposite.

“Really, the only exception was when she called me, barely managing a coherent sentence, requesting my aide to help her little brother.”

Who successfully managed to throw himself at the enemy’s mercy…

I could hear those words within his breath, though he confiscated them. Only, I succeeded in curving my lips upward. He mirrored my mechanical smile in a genuine way before he added, “that’s why I consider you my matchmaker.”

My mechanical smile rusted. Lost the last single touch of its natural quality. Basically, he said that he wasn’t mad at my discourteous behavior because I played cupid in his near-failing relationship.

Ah, this person, perhaps not as intimidating as Mr. Milford Macias, quite the approachable and the friendly, sometimes overly flirtatious but no less dangerous than the latter.

“How about you work at the auction house?”

“Huh, the illegal auction house?”

“What is legal and illegal is merely decided by a bunch of greedy old men who want to keep all benefits under their feet.”

I failed to translate the relevance of what he said this time. As for now, I was no friend of Mr. Emery Cromwell, nor an associate. Neither I know the extent of his shady activities. I merely qualified as a distant acquaintance, forced by circumstance to interact with him. But it felt like he was sharing with me his philosophy about life. A self-justification about his illegal business and why he embraced this road of no return.

How did Evelyn come in contact with such a man? As for now, I had built a general understanding of this crucial point to realize this was not Evelyn’s choice. This was my father’s fingerprint.

“I guess you have some kind of internship in some high prestige law firm, but for a law school student in his final year, you have so much time in your hands.”

He changed the subject, emphasizing his awareness of my changed behavior towards him during the last few days, and told me I won’t grant you further tips. It arrived the dues time to stop pestering him. Indeed, a dangerous individual, for he perceived I had grasped an epiphany.

“I am thinking of giving my resignation to the firm. That’s why I have so much time in my hands.” I side glanced at the left passage, monitoring the oncoming figure, then added without looking him in eyes, “I will consider your offer.” The surprise filling his features ended; priceless. On occasions like this one, it amazed me the degree he expressed his inner emotions, permitting them a flow free of any restraints. Perhaps it was what made him pleasant to talk to. I should employ the tactic more in my future relations.

“Aren’t you supposed to work on a graduation thesis? Or something?”

“Ahh..” I stood up, surpassing a laugh, “Okey… Okey…” my hand waving nonchalance, assuring him of my intention to let him be. In fact, it was Annabell’s forthcoming that triggered a surrender to my amusement.

A professional visage honored me with a working glance. Deprived of any friendliness, Annabell placed a laptop and a few files in front of Emery. Except for the superficial pleasantries she shared mostly with her boss, she retreated. I caught the smirks Emery throwing me from the background yet I chose to negate it. My schedule for tomorrow is already cramped. And my thesis won’t write itself.