The moment Old Master Winslow felt Dylan Brooks’ hand press lightly against his arm, the old man instinctively paused. The words he had been about to speak—an aggressive bid that would have instantly escalated the price—hung unfinished in the air before quietly dissolving into silence.
He turned his head, his aged yet sharp eyes settling on Dylan, filled with a mixture of curiosity and restrained concern.
“Mr. Brooks, this is…?” he asked, his voice low, cautious.
Despite the question, his body language had already shifted. The subtle tension in his shoulders eased, and the determination to compete vanished almost instantly. Without even realizing it, he had chosen to trust Dylan’s judgment over the dazzling display they had just witnessed.
After all, this was the same man who had produ
