CHAPTER SIX
1891 Words
HERITAGE WING: THE AUCTIONING
The rain tapped in slow rhythm against the black-tinted windows of the car. Inside, Clyde Walter sat in silence.
“Boss, we’re here,” Kendall said.
“Uhnn.”
The Heritage wing loomed ahead — a house for the rich to fight over treasures they didn’t need.
“Tonight, it would be the last stop for the necklace that had cost more lives than its weight in diamonds,” Clyde thought.
The guard recognized them instantly — not from the guest list, but from the remorse. He didn’t ask for an invitation. He just allowed them in.
Inside, the chandeliers dripped gold light over the grand hall, velvet drapes and polished marble floor. Expensive seats arranged according to class.
The private room, where high profile bidders could bid. The first row of seats were marked with golden name tags and bidding paddles, making it obvious as it was reserved for the wealthiest, CEOs, and elites to have a better view of the stage and displayed items.
The middle row was reserved for business moguls, politicians, and wealthy mayors.
They weren’t in the spotlight like the first row but were close enough to notice. Observers and less prominent guests sat in the last row were reserved for the less prominent guests, like the journalist and invitees.
Every artifact was displayed under a spotlight, guided by security.
Guests could be seen mingling with each other elegantly wearing expensive branded gowns and tuxedos, especially business moguls making new deals with glasses of expensive fine wine.
The auction hall displayed rare artifacts and priceless heirlooms. It was drizzling, making the mood of the room tense. Regardless, the room buzzed with the quiet arrogance of wealth.
Clyde Walter took the private elevator to the private room, sat in the farthest corner where shadows swallowed him whole.
His black suit blended into the darkness, making him totally invisible. No one noticed him — they never did unless he wanted them to.
At his side stood Kendall, his secretary, in a white tuxedo, making him a standout. Murmur rippled through the crowd about the secretive guest.
The necklace gleamed in its glass case under the spotlight, every diamond a fragment of stolen history. Everyone was there for that. Whispers passed between guests, rumors about the blood spilled for it.
The auctioneer’s gavel tapped. A one-of-a-kind jade ring, lost to history… until now.
Starting bidding:
“Sixty thousand.”
Hands shot up, numbers climbed, making Clyde roll his eyes with their impatient for treasures.
The price jumped to one hundred thousand to one fifty. Competitors glanced away, sizing her up.
At two hundred thousand, only two bidders remained: a business mogul in a navy suit and Marco Lucas.
The auctioneer’s voice grew tense.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand… do I hear—”
Marco’s nod cut him off.
“Three hundred thousand!” The man in the navy suit hesitated, jaw tightening. He raised his card one last time.
Marco’s fingers tapped once on the armrest and raised his paddle again.
“Three hundred and fifty thousand!”
The room went silent. The gavel came down.
‘’SOLD”.
The auctioneer’s voice rose above the murmurs:
“Beautiful Ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of the evening—the Tiffany stone Necklace.”
A collective gasp rippled across the room. A few, including Clyde Walter, only knew the story: it had been stolen years ago, lost to
mystery.
And yet here it was, glittering under the spotlight as though it had never left its velvet throne.
Some guests leaned forward, intrigued by the glittering of the tiffany necklace. Others stiffened, their expressions carefully masked.
They all knew this was no ordinary jewel— but were still mesmerized by its beauty.
Auctioneer: Shall we begin at one million dollars? The auctioneer asked — his gavel rose.
A politician in the middle row casually lifted his paddle, his smile sharp and mocking.
A business tycoon in the same cycle countered instantly, his voice low but firm, eyes never leaving the necklace.
From the VIP balcony, a shadowed hand lifted a paddle, drawing whispers—who could this secretive guest be?
The crowd was alive with feverish bids.
‘’Five million’’!
‘’Five point five!”
“Six!”
Each number raised higher, each paddle lifted with hungry eyes fixed on the gleaming Tiffany stone necklace.
To them, it was beauty, power, and history all wrapped in jewels.
Only Clyde Walter knew the truth. From his private balcony, he swirled his glass of wine and took a sip.
“Stolen… desecrated… paraded like a prize."
Kendall instantly knew his boss's intention. When the auctioneer called for eight million, Kendall lifted his paddle for the first time.
The hall gasped—finally, the mysterious figure in the balcony had entered the game.
“Ten million — bid from the gentleman in Lot 40.”
Whispers rushed through the guests.
“Who is he?”
“He’s been silent all night.”
“He must really want it.”
Marco Lucas countered immediately: “ten point five!”
A tycoon raised her: “point seven!”
Clyde’s paddle rose again. His face was calm, but inside, his purpose burned. He wasn’t here to flaunt wealth—he was there to make sure the necklace never stayed in the wrong hands. He has to return it.
Every time the bidding rose, he followed in Silent — relentless. His presence alone began to unsettle the others.
Slowly, one by one, the rivals dropped out, their ambition wavering under the weight of his persistence.
Finally—
“Twenty million! Going once, going twice—”
The gavel struck.
“Sold to Lot 40!”
A ripple of applause and envy swept through the hall. But Clyde didn’t smile. He didn’t even move. He only leaned back into the shadows. Suddenly, a crash silenced the hall.
The golden chandeliers in the hall trembled as smoke hissed from the far corner. Guests screamed, rushing for the exits. Out of the haze, masked figures in black stormed forward, guns raised.
“Step away from the necklace!” one of them barked.
Security drew their weapons, chaos erupting in seconds. But amidst the panic, Clyde didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the glass case.
Then—
One of the masked thieves broke the glass, seizing the necklace. Before he could pocket it, another figure—a lone man dressed in dark velvet—snatched it from his hands with swift precision.
He wasn’t with the thieves. He wasn’t with the guests. He was something else entirely.
Only then did Clyde rise, slow and deliberate, leaving through the side exit before anyone could place him.
Kendall followed minutes later, clutching the velvet case. The necklace rested in his hands, not for power, not for vanity, but to return it to its rightful owner.
“Kendall, make sure it gets to the right person this time. Head home after that” Clyde’s voice was low and cold.
"Grandma, I am heading home now. Hope you have what you came here to get". Denise asked
"Yes my dear. I just came to get soothing pills for these knees that are trying to betray me".
"Okay grandma, I hope it gets better."
Denise left the pharmacy clutching the pharmacy bag tightly as she walked down the dimly lit street. The night air was heavy, her mind weighed down with thoughts of her sick mom. She barely noticed the two shadows that followed her.
“Pretty girl, like you shouldn’t be out here alone,” one of them sneered, blocking her path. The other reached for her bag.
“Please—I don’t have anything valuable, it’s my mom’s drugs,” Denise whispered, panic rising.
"If you don’t have anything, then you can offer something else. Besides, you're pretty."
The man leaned forward to touch her cheeks when a sleek black car screeched to a stop beside them. The door opened, and a tall figure stepped out, his presence radiating cold authority.
“Touch her, and you won’t live to even regret it,” Clyde’s voice cut through the night like a blade.
The thugs froze, sensing the aura of danger surrounding them. Without another word, they stumbled back into the shadows.
Denise’s breath came in shaky bursts. She turned, startled, and her eyes widened when she saw him...
“You… The man from the hospital,” she whispered.
Clyde’s gaze softened for a second. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, though her hands trembled. “No. I—I’m fine. Thank you.”
He studied her for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then, in a rare gesture of gentleness, he opened the car door.
“Get in. It’s not safe for you to walk home alone.”
Denise hesitated. She didn’t know who he really was, but something about his tone made refusal impossible. Slowly, she slipped into the car.
Denise sat stiffly in her seat, her fingers still gripping her mom’s medicine like it was her lifeline. The car was too quiet, except for the low hum of the engine. She stole a glance at the man beside her.
His profile was sharp under the glow of the streetlights, his expression unreadable. She swallowed.
“Thank you once again for saving me,” she said softly, breaking the silence.
Clyde’s hands tightened on the wheel. “You were about to be robbed. I couldn’t have just ignored.”
“I could’ve managed though. I'm strong, you know— see.” She showed her arm muscles and tried to sound braver than she felt, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
One corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile but not quite. “You call that strength?”
Her lips pressed together, heat rising to her cheeks. “Well… thank you. I mean it.”
Clyde glanced at her then, just for a second he thought.
Most people usually look away when I stare but…. She didn’t. Her eyes held gratitude, not fear. That’s Strange.
“You shouldn’t walk alone at night,” he said, his tone more like an order than advice.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she murmured. “I needed to get my mom’s medicine from the pharmacy. Besides, pharmacies don’t open for my convenience.”
“Hospital?”
Denise hesitated, and then sighed. “My mom… she’s sick. Cancer.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she quickly looked out the window. Clyde didn’t respond right away.
Though he already knew his mom’s condition, the word `cancer` still hit him harder than he expected. For a man who dealt with blood and death daily, sickness felt… cruel in a different way this time round.
“I see,” he said. Finally, his voice is lower now and less sharp.
Denise blinked, surprised at the gentleness of the man seated by her. She nodded.
The rest of the ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. For the first time in a long while, Clyde didn’t feel the need to push someone away.
He was comfortable. And Denise, though she didn’t know who he truly was, felt oddly safe sitting next to a man who terrified everyone else.
Is this going to last for both Denise and Clyde?
- Writer
