Chapter 166 Auction Item No. 17

Chapter 166 Auction Item No. 17

The day after tomorrow. West side of the city. Cloudrise Coffee Bar.

Nora arrived at 2:50 in the afternoon.

Storm's people had set up a ring within 300 meters of the Coffee Bar — six surveillance points, two signal-sniffing nodes, and a pickup car parked around the corner of an alley. Ryder followed behind her under the cover of a regular shift rotation, wearing the standard-issue earpiece, looking no different from the other guards.

Todd's people were watching Chase from the outer perimeter.

Cloudrise Coffee Bar was Nora's own choice. A private room on the second floor, one wall floor-to-ceiling glass with a view of the street corner. The room had one coffee table, four chairs — no room for a single extra person.

Calla had arrived five minutes earlier.

When Nora pushed the door open, Calla was standing by the coffee table, brewing coffee. She looked up at the sound of the door.

"Ms. Thorne, please sit."

Nora sat down across from her and took a quick look over the table.

The brewing equipment wasn't Cloudrise Coffee Bar's. Calla had brought it herself. Professional and complete.

Calla slid the finished cup across to her.

"What happened at the appreciation event last time — that was rude of me. This coffee is my apology. I brought 100% Kona Peaberry specifically — I heard it's your preference."

Nora's hand stopped halfway to the cup.

100% Kona Peaberry.

She did drink this. But very few people knew that. She never ordered by variety when having coffee out, never made requests. The only person who really knew her taste was Todd — restocking the coffee cabinet at home had always been something Todd arranged.

How did Calla know?

Nora didn't hesitate long. She picked up the cup and took a sip.

"It really is good coffee. You went to a lot of trouble, Miss Flynn."

Calla smiled and poured herself a cup.

The two talked for ten minutes. The conversation moved from the appreciation event to Calla's time studying painting in Barcelona — she had spent two years there, learning oil painting restoration from an old Catalan painter before switching to East Asian art history. Talking about it, Calla relaxed noticeably, her pace picking up, the occasional Spanish word slipping in.

Nora listened, adding a word here and there.

The atmosphere looked perfectly warm.

Then Calla put down her cup.

"Ms. Thorne, there's actually something I wanted to talk to you about today."

Nora held her coffee cup without moving.

"My father has a painting. It's very old — left behind by someone he knew, many years ago." Calla's voice dropped slightly. "He says he's been holding it for someone for too long, and he wants to find the right moment to return it to its rightful owner."

She looked up at Nora.

"But he's not sure who that owner is. I thought you might know."

Those eyes were clear, sincere, earnest. Too good. Good enough that Nora almost believed it — if she didn't already know Julian was an outside financier for The Ashes.

Nora set down her cup. Her index finger traced a slow circle along the rim.

She didn't take the bait.

"Has Miss Flynn set a wedding date with Mr. Chase?"

Calla's face stiffened for less than half a second.

Then she smiled, naturally and easily. "Still in the planning stage, no rush."

"That's good." Nora nodded. "Things that aren't urgent — take your time."

After those words, the air between them suddenly had weight.

Calla wasn't slow. Nora had put "the painting" and "the wedding" in back-to-back sentences, and the meaning couldn't have been clearer — I know the Flynn family and the Gray family are tied together. You bring up a painting, I bring up a person. Let's be direct.

Under the table, Calla's fingers were pressed hard into her own knee.

But her expression didn't move at all.

They sat for another fifteen minutes. They exchanged new contact information and wrapped up the coffee meeting politely. Calla left first, and paused at the door to add, "Ms. Thorne, about that painting — reach out whenever you've thought it over."

Nora stood by the window and watched Calla's car pull out of the alley before turning away.

Ryder was waiting outside the door.

"Follow her car. See where she goes. Don't get spotted."

Ryder nodded and left.

Nora went back to the coffee table and went through the brewing equipment piece by piece. The dripper, paper filter, gooseneck kettle — all clean, nothing hidden.

But when she picked up the gooseneck kettle, she caught a faint scent. Not coffee beans.

It was the air fragrance used in the lobby of Harmony Private Clinic.

Before coming here, Calla had just come from that clinic.

Nora put the kettle down and picked up her phone.

There was a new email in her inbox. Pushed twenty minutes ago.

An invitation. Tonight — an international art auction, an unscheduled added session in the city. Host: Harlow & Fitch.

Nora scrolled to the sender field.

Margeaux Thorne.

She stared at the name. Her thumb hovered over the screen without moving.

Margeaux was a French name. It was the name Atlas had used during those two years studying in Paris. Only a handful of people in the circle knew about it.

A French name belonging to someone who had been dead for three years. Appearing in an invitation from Harlow & Fitch.

Nora called Storm.

"Pull the consignor list for tonight's auction. Check lot number seventeen."

Storm typed for a few seconds on the other end.

The reply came back ten minutes later.

"Got it. Lot seventeen. An ink painting. Consignor — Julian Flynn."

Nora gripped her phone and stood up.

Half a pot of cold Kona Peaberry sat on the coffee table, and the gooseneck kettle Calla had brought was still sitting there.

She sent Oliver a message as she walked out of the room.

[Tonight's auction — Julian has an ink painting up. I'm going.]

Oliver's reply came back in thirty seconds.

[I already have an invitation. The box across from yours.]

Nora pocketed her phone and headed downstairs quickly.

Eight o'clock that evening. The ballroom of the InterContinental Hotel in the city center.

The unscheduled session from Harlow & Fitch was strange on its own. The auction house ran only four Asia-Pacific specialty sessions a year, with dates and venues announced at least six months in advance. An added session had only happened once in Nora's memory — three years ago, when the London headquarters added a late-night session for a delayed shipment of North African antiques.

There was a decent crowd tonight.

Nora scanned the seating chart as she walked into the hall. Two hundred and forty seats, mostly filled. She recognized seven or eight names in the front VIP section — familiar faces from the circuit, collectors, fund managers, art investors.

Julian was in the third seat of the front VIP row.

Calla sat to his right. She had changed into a black evening dress, her hair up, a pair of pearl earrings on. She looked nothing like the soft, gentle girl from the coffee room that afternoon.

Nora's seat was in the middle section, slightly to the left. She sat down and opened the auction catalog to lot seventeen.

An ink painting. Listed as "anonymous, approximately contemporary." The estimated price range was vague — "by negotiation."

No signature. No provenance note. The dimensions were listed simply as roughly three feet.