Chapter 5 - The Grand Auction
Two weeks later.
The Greenwich estate—a thirty-thousand-square-foot mega-mansion sitting on twelve acres of prime Connecticut land—was put up for emergency public liquidation by the Hart Trust.
To maximize the humiliation, I ordered the auction to take place live on the front lawn of the property.
By 2:00 PM, dozens of Manhattan’s elite, property developers, and news crews lined the manicured driveway. High-end caterers served champagne to prospective buyers, while local police maintained security at the wrought-iron security gates.
Everett, Patricia, and Madison arrived in a battered yellow taxi, standing outside the gates like disgraced ghosts looking back into paradise. They were legally barred from stepping onto the grass, but they couldn't bear to look away.
“That’s my house!” Patricia shrieked at the security officers guarding the gate. “I selected the Italian marble in the foyer! You can’t sell my house!”
“The house was purchased entirely by the Hart Trust in 2016, ma’am,” the guard replied in a flat voice. “Please step back onto the public sidewalk.”
On the elevated marble stage on the terrace, the auctioneer raised his gavel.
“Ladies and gentlemen, item number one: The Vance Estate at 450 King Street. Bidding starts at twenty-five million dollars.”
Bids flew through the air instantly.
“Twenty-seven million!”
“Thirty million!”
“Thirty-five million!”
Everett watched in horror as his former kingdom was casually carved up by his peers. His eyes burned with tears of pure rage as he saw Julian Ross—his primary rival in the private equity space—raise his paddle with a casual smile.
“Forty-five million dollars!” Julian called out.
“Forty-five million going once, twice... Sold to Mr. Julian Ross!” the auctioneer’s gavel struck the wooden block with a loud, final CRACK.
Julian stood up, looking over toward the gate where Everett was standing. He raised his glass of champagne in a mocking toast. “Thanks for keeping the place clean for me, Vance!”
Everett’s knees buckled, and he collapsed against the iron gate, clutching his chest.
“Wait!” Madison screamed, looking at the auctioneer as attendants began wheeling out wardrobe racks containing thousands of designer suits, dresses, and custom watches left inside the mansion. “What about the jewelry in the safe?! The diamond necklaces!”
“All personal property purchased using unauthorized corporate funds has been seized to reimburse the employee pension fund,” Grant announced over the loudspeaker, looking directly down at Madison. “Including the three-carat engagement ring currently on your finger, Miss Vance.”
May you like
Madison gasped, instinctively covering her left hand with her coat.
Two federal marshals, who had been standing quietly beside Grant on the terrace, walked down the driveway, passing through the gates, and stepped directly up to Everett Vance.
