Page 106 of The Maid's Secret

“…the most trusted purveyors of fine art in the world.”

“This auction is private rather than televised,” says Brown.

“Because the seller experienced certain…irregularities after thelast auction, she wishes minimal fanfare this time around,” Beagle explains. “Brown, your gavel. Let the auction begin.”

Beagle steps away from the podium, and Brown takes over.

“The Fabergé egg in question—displayed onstage in front of us by the current owner’s fiancé—recently reached a selling price of ten million. Today, we expect to surpass that, so our bidding will begin at seven million. Do I have seven million?” Brown asks.

Paddles fly up all around the room.

“And seven point five…Eight to the man up front. Eight million is the leading bid…. Nine, from Madame Orange, no stranger to the art world. Ten to the gentleman at table four. Do I hear ten five? Yes, noted, madam.”

I think of Angela upstairs, upping her bid, her hair in a tizzy.

“And I see you at table two. Eleven million. No, eleven five, to the bidder beside you. Yes, Madame Orange, raising to twelve. Do I have twelve million five? Twelve million—and it’s back to you at table two. And raising to thirteen million. Do I have thirteen?”

As I hold my breath, Brown surveys the crowd.

“High or low, there’s Madame O. We’re at thirteen million. Do I have thirteen five? Anyone?…This is fair warning…”

Brown raises his gavel, then it thuds against the podium, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“Sold for a lucky thirteen million to an anonymous bidder on our phone lines, represented by Madame Orange.”

Polite applause breaks out in the room. Beside me, Mr.Snow’s shock at the selling price is evidenced by his eyebrows, which have shot up beyond the rims of his glasses.

“This concludes the auction,” says Beagle. “And judging by our egg holder, not a moment too soon.”

Juan is sweating, his hands shaking as he tries to hold the egg steady in his palms. Officers flank him, and he’s escorted out of the room with the egg. Mr.Snow exits behind them.

Beagle and Brown step off the stage and come right to me.

“Congratulations, Molly,” says Brown.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I’ll bet you’re glad that’s over,” Beagle adds.

“I will be,” I say.

“Listen, we’re going to change in the greenroom. Then we’ll meet you at the Social for the afterparty, okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “Take your time, and we’ll see you there.”

I watch as they head through the paneled door, disappearing from sight.

As everyone files out of the room, I excuse myself, then run up the back stairs to the fourth floor. Using my master keycard, I slip into the penthouse suite, securing the door behind me.

“It’s done!” I say to Stark and Speedy as I lean against the door, catching my breath. “They’re in the greenroom.”

“Shh,” says Stark.

“Zip it,” says Angela.

At the console, Speedy turns up the sound in the greenroom. I hurry over to watch the screen.

Brown and Beagle are seated on a couch right below the hidden camera.

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