Chapter 2 - The Uninvited Guest
Preston's smile faltered, his face flushing crimson as three hundred eyes shifted from Camille to him. He took a hasty step toward her, reaching out to snatch the manuscript from her hands.
"Camille, what on earth are you doing?" he hissed under his breath, his jaw tight with embarrassment. "Put that down! You're making a spectacle of yourself!"
Camille didn't even look at him. She turned the page with practiced delicacy, her fingertips tracing the faded iron-gall ink. "Page three contains the private notary mark of Étienne Thibodeaux—my great-great-grandfather. The document is authentic, gentlemen. And your appraisal team has it upside down."
The lead appraiser blinked, his face turning pale as he leaned over the table to inspect the seal she pointed to.
Before Preston could grab her arm, the heavy double oak doors at the grand entrance of the auction house swung open with a slow, deliberate creak.
Four men in dark, perfectly tailored suits stepped into the ballroom. They didn't look like the wealthy patrons inside; they moved with an understated, lethal efficiency that made the room freeze. Guests instinctively pulled back, clearing a wide path.
Walking in the center of the group was Lorenzo Vance.
The room gasped softly. Lorenzo Vance was a name whispered in New Orleans rather than spoken aloud. He was the undisputed head of the Vance Syndicate—a man who controlled the shipping docks, the river trade, and half the historic real estate in the French Quarter. He wore a charcoal-tailored suit, a crimson pocket square, and carried a gold-topped walking cane. He was forty years old, with sharp dark eyes and a scar running along his jawline.
Preston immediately straightened his tie, trying to regain his composure as he stepped forward to greet the city's most dangerous power broker.
"Mr. Vance!" Preston declared, forcing an eager, sycophantic smile. "We were not expecting you at the auction benefit this evening. Welcome to Ashmore and Vance!"
Lorenzo Vance completely ignored Preston. He didn't offer a hand, nor did he glance at the board members hovering nearby. His dark eyes swept across the grand ballroom, passing over the chandeliers, the wealthy patrons, and the nervous security guards, until they landed directly on Camille standing at the table in her gray housekeeping uniform.
A thin, cold smile touched Lorenzo's lips.
May you like
He walked straight past Preston, his cane clicking rhythmically against the polished marble floor. He stopped two feet from Camille, looking down at the ancient manuscript in her hands, then up into her steady blue eyes.
"I see you found my family's stolen manifest, Mademoiselle Thibodeaux," Lorenzo said, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that echoed through the silent ballroom.
