I set the phone face-down. “What’s his cash situation?”
“The Key Group is hemorrhaging. Their credit lines are frozen, suppliers are demanding upfront payment, and their major investors have all pulled out.” Ryan slid a tablet across the desk. The numbers were red, angry, terminal. “They need at least thirty million to survive the quarter. Without it, they’ll file for bankruptcy within sixty days.”
“Thirty million.” I swiped through the financials. “That’s pocket change.”
“For us, yes. For them, it’s everything.”
I looked at the text again. Please. Ethan Key had never said please to me. Not when I brought him soup at 2 AM. Not when I slept in hospital chairs after his appendix ruptured. Not once in four years.
“Tell him,” I said slowly, “that I’ll consider a meeting. But there are conditions.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “What conditions?”
“He’ll find out.”
—
The Crown Hotel auction was meant to be a quiet affair. Vidia’s elite gathered in crystal chandelier light, bidding on land parcels and commercial properties. I sat in the front row, dressed in a charcoal suit that cost more than Ethan’s car.
Ryan leaned close. “He’s here. Row seven, seat twelve.”
I didn’t turn around. “Let him watch.”
The auctioneer took the podium. “First on the block, lot 009 in the Vidia suburbs. Starting bid, three hundred thousand dollars.”
“Four hundred thousand.” A voice from the back.
“Six hundred thousand.”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
I lifted my paddle. “One point five million.”
The room stirred. Bids climbed—two million, three, four. Then a woman’s voice, sharp and familiar: “Seven million.”
Zoe Fan. Vidia’s richest daughter. She sat three rows behind me, surrounded by her father’s lawyers. She’d rejected Ethan in college, and she’d never forgotten it.
The auctioneer looked at me. “Seven million going once—”
I raised my paddle again. “Eleven million.”
Silence. Then whispers. Zoe Fan went pale. The auctioneer’s gavel fell. “Sold. Congratulations to the Zenith Group.”
I stood, straightened my jacket, and walked toward the exit. Ethan was already on his feet, Stella clinging to his arm, her eyes wide.
“You,” Ethan said, blocking my path. “You’re Aurora Wen.”
I stopped. Looked at him. Really looked. He was thinner than I remembered. Dark circles under his eyes. His tie was crooked—I would have fixed that once. “Mr. Key, you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
