The Final Auction

The dawn light in the Sterling Group boardroom was clinical, slicing through the floor-to-ceiling glass to illuminate dust motes suspended over the mahogany table. Arthur Vance sat in the high-backed leather chair that had been Marcus Sterling’s throne for two decades. The silence was absolute, save for the rhythmic, singular ticking of his watch. Before him lay the liquidation manifest—a ledger of the dynasty’s total evaporation.

He did not look up when the heavy oak doors groaned open. The frantic, uneven gait was unmistakable. Marcus Sterling lunged into the room, his suit jacket disheveled, his face a map of broken capillaries and ruined pride. He stopped at the table’s edge, hands trembling as he gripped t

Preview ends here. Subscribe to continue.