Chapter 9 - The AuctionEmma was alive.
That was the only thing that mattered.
The trail led to Monaco.
Not a mansion.
Not a bunker.
An auction.
A private gathering where powerful people purchased stolen information, political influence, rare artifacts, and human lives disguised as “assets.”
Emma's file was listed under a code.
LOT 17.
I entered the ballroom wearing a black suit.
Thorne stood ten meters behind me.
The Black Ledger had opened every door.
Nobody recognized me.
That was the beauty of anonymity.
The auctioneer stepped onto the stage.
“Tonight's final acquisition is unique.”
A curtain lifted.
A teenage girl appeared.
Sixteen.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
My eyes.
She stared at the room with the expression of someone who had stopped expecting rescue.
Emma.
My daughter.
Alive.
The auctioneer spoke.
“Subject possesses exceptional strategic cognition.”
Bidding began.
Five million.
Ten.
Twenty.
I felt murder rising in my throat.
Thorne whispered in my earpiece.
“Sir.”
“Wait.”
At forty million, I raised my paddle.
Silence.
Everyone turned.
“Fifty.”
Another bidder raised.
“Sixty.”
I continued.
“Eighty.”
The room became nervous.
A man beside me whispered:
“Who are you?”
I smiled.
“Someone with more money.”
The bidding hit one hundred million.
Then two hundred.
I raised again.
The auctioneer laughed nervously.
“Three hundred million.”
No one moved.
“Sold.”
The hammer fell.
Emma disappeared behind the curtain.
I stood.
Then the doors locked.
Every light went black.
The auctioneer's voice changed.
“Congratulations, Julian.”
I froze.
A screen illuminated.
Adrian.
He smiled.
“You've been predictable.”
I drew my weapon.
Thorne's team moved in.
Gunfire erupted from hidden balconies.
The ballroom became chaos.
Guests screamed.
Guards fired.
I moved through the crowd.
I wasn't fighting to survive.
I was fighting to reach Emma.
I reached the backstage corridor.
Two guards blocked the door.
They fell.
I entered.
The room was empty.
Only a chair.
On it was Emma's photograph.
On the back:
YOU BOUGHT THE WRONG DAUGHTER.
A second photograph appeared on my tablet.
Lily.
Back in New York.
Sleeping.
Beside her stood Cynthia.
Then another image appeared.
Caroline.
Holding a gun.
Pointed at Lily.
The message read:
ONE CHILD IS YOUR FUTURE.
THE OTHER IS YOUR LEVER.
I stared at the screen.
Then Thorne shouted:
“Sir!”
I turned.
Emma stood behind me.
She hadn't been captured.
She had been watching.
And she was holding a weapon.
She pointed it at my chest.
“You're my father.”
Not a question.
A statement.
May you like
I nodded.
She pulled the trigger.
