Page 33 of The Picasso Heist
“One twenty-one,” she counters.
They’re not even raising their paddles. Echelon members are literally cheering. It’s a free-for-all, a million bucks at a time. A record-breaking sale is happening right before their eyes. The auctioneer, the seasoned pro, has been relegated to the sidelines. But not for long.
“Lady and gentleman, please,” he interrupts the two bidders loudly.“Please.”The bidding stops; the room hushes. All eyes shift back to the auctioneer. “We very much appreciate the enthusiasm, and we all love a horse race.”
“Then take back the reins!” someone yells. Heckling—surely this is a first in the history of Echelon.
The auctioneer, momentarily stunned, gathers himself and glances over at Waxman, who’s still at the phone table, probably working through his conflicting CEO emotions. He never should’ve let this auction take place without the encrypted phone lines, and yet now he’s presiding over what will be Echelon’s single largest sale ever.
The auctioneer clears his throat. “The bid is a hundred and twenty-one million dollars. Do I hear one twenty-two?”
He doesn’t hear anything. Bergamo raises his paddle without saying a word. The only sound now is the deafening silence of anticipation.
“Is she with anyone?” asks Skip in my ear. His hushed voice sounds like a scream. That’s how quiet the room is.
“I don’t think so. Not that I can tell,” I whisper back. “But she seems really set on taking home this painting.”
The bidding hits one hundred thirty million. Then one thirty-five… one forty… one forty-five. If Anton Nikolov were in the room, he’d call the whole thing off. But he’s not. For the first time I see what looks like a crack in Bergamo’s facade. He turns around in his seat but not to look at Chanel. He’s looking for me. He’s looking for guidance.How high can we go? What now?Our eyes lock, and I do something I don’t even realize I’m doing until after I do it. I shrug. I honestly don’t know the answer.
Bergamo turns back around. The bid is now one hundred forty-eight million.
“One hundred and forty-eight million going once,” says the auctioneer. Bergamo doesn’t budge. “Going twice…” Everyone’s looking at Bergamo. The buzz is getting louder and louder. The room can’t help itself.
And neither can Bergamo. He raises his paddle.
This isn’t an auction. It’s a tennis match. All eyes swing back to Chanel as the auctioneer takes another sip of water. Another big fat number is coming.
“One hundred and forty-nine million,” he announces. “The bid is now one hundred and forty-nine.”
Going once. Going twice.
Her paddle doesn’t go up. But she does. Chanel stands and walks out of the room. Everyone gasps. For the first time I see her face, and all I can think isDid we just get played?
CHAPTER29
I TELL SKIPwhat happened, that Chanel just up and walked out, and he knows exactly what I’m doing now. And what I’mnotdoing.
“Stop staring at her. You’re wasting time,” he tells me. “You’ve still got a job to do. Get moving, metalhead.”
The only thing I hate more than my big brother being right is him calling me that. Metalhead. And, no, it has nothing to do with my taste in music. It’s because I had to wear one of those ridiculous headgear contraptions when I was eleven years old to fix my overbite. He never let me forget it. He still hasn’t.
Point taken, though. Enzio Bergamo just bought a Picasso for a hundred and forty-nine million dollars. Well, technically, Anton Nikolov bought it, but what no one in the room knows won’t hurt them. Right now everyone’s treating Bergamo like he’s more than a fashion icon. Tonight, he’s a certified rock star. They can’t get enough of him; an entire fawning mob of the filthy richare all rushing from their cushioned seats to be the first to say congratulations.
“Introduce me,” I say to Pierre.
He didn’t hear me slink up behind his left shoulder. I made it from the upstairs seating to the auction floor in twenty seconds flat.
Pierre turns and looks at me, chuckles. “Introduce you to Bergamo? No way,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s a womanizer.”
“You’re a womanizer,” I say.
“Trust me, he’s in a different league,” says Pierre. “Enzio Bergamo makes me look like a eunuch.”
“First of all, eww. Second of all, his wife is with him.” I look over at Bergamo and the throng around him. “Well, she was a second ago.”
