Chapter 168 The Authentic in My Hands
The room froze.
Every head turned toward the young man who had spoken, their expressions caught between disbelief and curiosity.
"I have some experience in antique authentication," he continued, his voice calm but carrying weight. "And I have studied Ivan's carving style and every one of his works in detail."
He gestured toward the marble vase on display. "Ivan's floral carvings are known for their fluid, natural lines. This marble rose vase, in particular, is a challenge—its petals are layered with precision, each fold distinct; the buds vary in size, some appearing ready to bloom; and the base transitions in color seamlessly, from pale gray to a warm ivory."
His gaze hardened slightly. "But the one in front of us… the petals are stiff, the buds lack vitality and finesse, and the gradient at the base feels forced rather than organic."
"And most telling of all, the luster is inferior. The surface lacks that deep, almost living sheen that catches and plays with light."
He paused, letting the words settle. "The genuine marble rose vase has a softness to its tone, a harmony in its craftsmanship. It feels alive, as if the roses could breathe. That is something no imitation can replicate."
The murmurs around the room shifted. It was clear to everyone—this was not idle talk, nor an attempt to cause trouble. He spoke with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was talking about.
But then came the shock. From his words, it sounded as though… he had seen the real vase before.
"You mean… you've seen the genuine piece?" someone asked.
"Yes," he nodded. "It is in the possession of a friend."
"But I haven't been in touch with her for some time. I don't know if she still has it."
"You are talking nonsense!" Anna's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and furious. "What is your purpose here? Crashing my grandfather's birthday party to stir up trouble?"
"When I bought this vase, I consulted several renowned experts, both domestic and international. Not one of them called it a fake."
"Who do you think you are? More qualified than Mr. Emory Buckner?"
"And now you claim the real one is with your friend? If you had a friend who could afford an Ivan original, would you be dressed like… that?"
Her composure was gone, replaced by raw anger. The elegance she had displayed earlier was shattered. She was close to shouting.
It was humiliating.
Anna Williams was not only a socialite of the Williams family—she was the CEO of The Williams Group.
Moments ago, she had proudly presented the vase to her grandfather, claiming it was an Ivan masterpiece she had purchased for one hundred million. Now, in front of a crowd, someone had called it a counterfeit.
Even if people believed she had been deceived, the damage was done. The story would spread, and she would be seen as a fool.
She could not allow that. If she admitted it now, she would lose both face and credibility.
How could she show her face in River City again? How could she give gifts without whispers following her?
The young man blinked at the mention of Emory Buckner. "Wait… Ms. Williams, are you saying you had Mr. Emory Buckner authenticate this?"
His brows furrowed. "That's impossible…"
"What's impossible?" Anna sneered. "Do you suddenly doubt yourself now that you've heard Mr. Buckner called it genuine?"
"Security! This is my grandfather's birthday party. Remove this troublemaker immediately!"
Several large security guards began moving toward him.
He was clearly an academic type, not someone used to confrontation. He had not expected Ms. Williams to order him thrown out.
The guards' size made his frame look even slighter.
He tried to speak, but one of the guards cut him off.
"You heard her. The young lady says get out."
A buzz-cut guard stepped forward, eyes hard. "You dare call her gift a fake? You're just here to cause trouble."
His thick arm shot out, grabbing the young man's forearm, intent on dragging him away.
And then—his shoulder was seized from behind, a cold female voice cutting through the tension.
"…Let him go."
The crowd froze again.
It was Amelia.
She had stepped forward without hesitation, her hand clamped on the guard's shoulder.
The guard tried instinctively to shake her off, but found he couldn't move. Her grip was like iron, tightening with steady, merciless pressure.
Pain shot through his arm and across his collarbone. His knees buckled involuntarily, and he released the young man.
He was forced down, his voice breaking into a pained shout. "Wait! My shoulder! It's going to break! Help!"
The young man stared, stunned.
So did everyone else.
A high school girl had just forced a man twice her size to his knees with one hand. It was like something out of a movie.
And it wasn't over.
Anna's shock turned quickly to rage. Amelia had not only stopped her guards from removing the man—she had humiliated them in front of the entire Williams family.
Anna's voice shook with fury. "What are you standing around for? Get her out too!"
"And the one she made kneel—don't bother coming in tomorrow. The Williams family doesn't keep useless men."
The remaining three guards hesitated, uncertain. She was a girl, but the first guard's defeat had rattled them.
They moved in, hands outstretched to grab her.
It happened fast.
A clean over-the-shoulder throw sent the first crashing to the floor. A sharp knee strike folded the second. A left hook dropped the third before he could react.
In less than thirty seconds, all three were down, groaning, unable to stand.
The room was silent.
Her strength, her precision, the speed of her movements—it didn't fit the image of the quiet girl they had seen earlier. It was something else entirely.
Amelia stepped toward the young man. "Are you hurt?"
He blinked. "No… I'm fine."
"Good." She gave a small nod, then turned to Anna.
"So this is Ms. Williams's idea of hospitality? Throwing out guests?"
"Your marble rose vase is a fake. He was only trying to tell you the truth, so you could recover your money."
"Even if his approach wasn't subtle, don't you think your reaction was excessive?"
Anna's lips curled. "And how would you know it's fake? Are you suddenly an expert?"
"I'm not an expert," Amelia said evenly. "I know it's fake because the real one is in my possession."