"If you take one more step toward the bidding floor, I will have security escort you into a Zurich holding cell," Harrison whispered, his voice dangerously low against the back of my neck.
I did not flinch. I kept my focus on the velvet-draped stage ahead, where the auctioneer was already holding the gavel above my family’s history.
"You do not have the authority to remove a registered buyer, Harrison," I said, turning slowly to face him. "Not when my invitation comes directly from the bank hosting this liquidation."
"Your father owns the bank, Vivienne," he countered, his hand resting inside his tailored coat, right over the shape of his holstered sidearm. "He owns every piece of art, every estate record, and every antique sitting in this room. You are trespassing on assets that Arthur
