Chapter 126: Black Card and Clown

"That guy from the Finley family just got played..."

"A painting worth three million euros at most, and he drove the price up to eight million..."

"Young people are still too green..."

Suppressed snickers rippled through the crowd.

Everyone here was a shark. They could all see that Leo had never wanted that painting—he'd been toying with Wilmer like a puppet, deliberately driving up the price to make him the sucker.

Ivy and Serafina laughed openly, not bothering to hide their amusement.

"You... you played me?" Wilmer's entire body shook with rage, his face turning a sickly shade of green.

Eight million euros wouldn't cripple the Finley family, but spending that much to play the fool in front of everyone? That was worse than death.

"Can't handle the game? The real fun is just getting started."

Leo exhaled a lazy stream of smoke, a mocking smile playing at his lips.

"Our second item comes from Vienna, the City of Music's greatest genius—Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's original manuscript!"

The auctioneer's voice trembled with excitement. "This is the first movement of Mozart's 'Requiem,' written in his own hand shortly before his death! Only three copies exist worldwide, each one priceless!"

"Starting bid: two million euros!"

Gasps echoed through the hall.

An original Mozart manuscript—now that was a genuine treasure.

"Two point five million euros!"

A British duke in the second row immediately raised his paddle.

He was a Mozart fanatic. This manuscript would be his.

"Three million euros!"

"Three point five million!"

Bids flew back and forth.

The British duke kept raising, quickly pushing the price to five million euros.

Just when he thought victory was his—

"Six million euros."

Leo's paddle went up again.

The duke frowned, continuing to bid. "Six point five million euros!"

"Eight million euros." Leo's tone remained flat.

"Nine million euros!" The duke gritted his teeth.

"Twelve million euros."

Leo jumped by three million in one go.

The hall erupted!

The British duke's expression turned ugly.

Twelve million euros—far beyond his budget.

After several seconds of hesitation, he reluctantly lowered his paddle.

Wilmer watched this unfold, a gleeful smirk spreading across his face.

"Ha ha ha! That idiot thought he was so clever earlier, and now he's spending twelve million euros on a bunch of old paper! Serves him right!"

However.

The auctioneer shouted excitedly, "Twelve million euros! This gentleman bids twelve million euros! Do I hear any higher offers?"

"Twelve million euros once!"

"Twelve million euros twice!"

"Twelve million euros three times! Sold!"

Bang!

The gavel fell.

Leo calmly lowered his paddle, a satisfied smile touching his lips.

Wilmer's grin froze on his face.

A sudden realization hit him.

That bastard... actually wanted the manuscript?

The thought made Wilmer's expression even uglier.

He glared at Leo with pure venom in his eyes.

Leo merely glanced at him, his eyes full of pity—the kind reserved for idiots.

Twelve million euros for a manuscript, without batting an eye.

Watching Leo's effortless composure, Wilmer's jealousy grew like poisonous weeds, completely burning away his rationality.

He shot to his feet, pointing at Leo, his voice shrill. "Wait! I suspect this man has no ability to pay! He's just a fraud here to manipulate prices and disrupt the auction!"

Since Leo had come in as his guest, Wilmer assumed he couldn't be wealthy.

And even if he had money, Leo didn't have an invitation!

Wilmer's voice echoed through the auction hall, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

The auctioneer's smile froze. His gavel hung in mid-air—neither raising it nor lowering it seemed right.

However, after a brief silence, the hall didn't erupt with the questioning voices Wilmer had expected. Instead, every gaze turned toward Wilmer was filled with the contempt one reserves for complete morons.

Everyone who could sit in the inner hall of Hofburg Palace had clawed their way to the top through power and money. They were all sharks.

When Leo had bid twelve million for the Mozart manuscript, his ease and certainty—that absolute confidence radiating from within—couldn't be faked.

In contrast, Wilmer's current tantrum, throwing a fit because he'd been played like a monkey earlier, was utterly disgraceful. He'd completely shamed the old European nobility.

"That Finley family guy is such a fool. Shouting like that at a Rothschild auction—so uncultured."

"He got fleeced for eight million euros earlier and can't swallow it, so now he's trying to save face by slinging mud? Pathetically childish."

"That American gentleman has an unfathomable presence. Wilmer is creating trouble for the Finley family."

The whispered comments floating around were like invisible slaps across Wilmer's face.

Hearing the mockery from those power players, Wilmer's face burned with embarrassment, but he could only bull forward, shouting at the auctioneer on stage, "What are you people doing? According to the rules, for suspicious nouveau riche like this, if he can't provide proof of assets, you should throw him out immediately!"

The auctioneer looked at Leo with some difficulty. Though he also thought Wilmer was being unreasonable, after such a public scene, if they didn't go through the motions, the auction would be difficult to continue.

However, Leo simply pulled out that gold-embossed invitation from his jacket and casually handed it over.

The butler took one look, and his expression changed dramatically.

"Warren Franklin? Good heavens! Are you the Silicon Valley tech mogul? My apologies! Your seat is over here—please, follow me!"

The butler immediately became extremely respectful, personally escorting Leo to a super VIP seat in the center of the front row.

Even many old European aristocrats couldn't get that seat.

Seeing this, the power players who'd been making contemptuous remarks immediately fell silent.

"Warren? That tech genius worth a hundred billion dollars?"

"My God... what's he doing here?"

"No wonder he could bring three stunning women of that caliber..."

"I heard the Rothschild family has been trying to court him—looks like the rumors are true..."

The murmurs in the hall rose again, but this time they'd shifted from contempt to shock and awe.

Wilmer stood frozen, completely stunned.

How... how could he have that level of invitation?

And Warren?

That super-wealthy magnate dominating American business circles?

Not just the nobles—even the black-suited security guards flanking the auction platform looked at Wilmer with mockery in their eyes.

Leo casually pulled a pure black card from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it onto the auction platform.

The black card reflected a subtle, luxurious metallic sheen under the auction platform's spotlights.

The auctioneer walked over and picked up the card.

When he saw the gold-embossed shield logo and mysterious code on the card, this experienced auctioneer froze completely.

His hands began trembling violently, cold sweat instantly beading across his forehead.

"This... this is..."

The auctioneer's voice shook. "Swiss Bank... Supreme Black Card?!"

The moment those words left his mouth, the entire auction hall exploded!

"What?! A Swiss Bank Supreme Black Card?!"

"My God! There are fewer than fifty of those legendary cards issued worldwide!"

"Anyone holding that card has at least five billion dollars deposited with Swiss Bank!"

"And they must be world-class royalty or financial magnates!"

"I've worked in this field for thirty years, and I've only seen one used once—by a Middle Eastern oil tycoon at a private auction!"

The old-money European aristocrats who'd been watching the show now looked at Leo with shock and awe instead of amusement.

Even the Rothschild family elders on the main platform showed deep wariness in their eyes.

Anyone who possessed a Swiss Bank Supreme Black Card wasn't just an ordinary wealthy person.

It meant they not only had staggering wealth but also terrifying power capable of shaking the world order.

The auctioneer carefully held the black card with both hands, returning it to Leo with utmost respect, his voice full of reverence. "Sir, my sincere apologies for the disturbance."

Leo simply took back the black card and returned it to his pocket, not sparing Wilmer even a glance.

Wilmer's earlier smug expression had completely frozen into a statue.

He stood there, his mind blank. Wilmer felt like someone had slapped him hard across the face—it burned.

But he quickly consoled himself: that guy must have gotten lucky somehow, acquiring a fake invitation from somewhere!

The nobles' gazes had shifted from amusement to mockery of a complete clown.

"That fool is truly embarrassing."

"How does the Finley family have such a stupid heir? He's a disgrace to the name."

"He's offended someone holding a Supreme Black Card. The Finley family is in trouble now."

The whispers were like sharp needles stabbing into Wilmer's heart.

His face went from red to white, finally settling on a sickly purple-blue.

"I... I..."

Wilmer opened his mouth but found he couldn't form a complete sentence.

He knew that tonight, in Vienna's high society, he'd become a complete laughingstock.

A wave of intense shame and fear surged through him. Wilmer couldn't stay another moment.

Like a beaten dog, he fled the auction hall under everyone's contemptuous stares.

After bursting out of the hall, Wilmer had only one thought in his mind!

He had to find the Rothschild family's son and beg for help!

Only by connecting with a true core member of the Rothschild family could he salvage tonight's humiliation and get revenge on that damned nouveau riche!

Wilmer stumbled through corridors until he reached a secluded pavilion in the Hofburg Palace's rear garden.

In the pavilion, a young man in a white custom-tailored suit with slicked-back golden hair was elegantly sipping red wine.

His name was Edgar Rothschild—the current Rothschild family head's most beloved son, and one of the top candidates to inherit the position.

"Mr. Rothschild!"

Wilmer rushed to the pavilion, half-kneeling on the ground, gasping for breath, his face flushed. "Please help me!"

Edgar elegantly set down his wine glass, his deep blue eyes sweeping over Wilmer with cool detachment:

"Wilmer, you look absolutely undignified. What happened to reduce you to such a state?"