My mom called me on the secure line at The Agency to tell me she’d set me up on a blind date. All I knew was that her last name was Sterling, and she was the daughter of the richest man in D.C. To pick out a decent greeting gift, my Director pulled some strings and got me into an exclusive charity gala. During the preview, I spotted a vintage Romanov Emerald necklace. Just as I reached for the display case to get a closer look, a guy in a cheap suit shoved me hard from behind. "Hey, pal! If you value your life, keep your hands off the merchandise." I stumbled, straightened my jacket, and turned to glare at him. "This is a public auction, not your living room. Who died and made you king?" The guy sneered, looking me up and down like I was something he stepped in. "You’re asking me who I am?" "I’m the guy telling you that this is D.C. If Miss Sterling wants something, nobody else touches it. Capiche?" I stared at him for a few seconds, processing the audacity. Then I pulled out my burner phone and dialed my "fiancée’s" number. "I hear you’re running this town... pretty aggressively." 01 If it weren’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have even bothered making the call. D.C. is a shark tank, but money isn't the only thing that makes you an apex predator here. If she apologized, I figured I could be the bigger man and let it slide. "I’m busy. Make it quick or get lost," a sharp female voice snapped on the other end. "Miss Sterling, I suggest you put a leash on your dogs, otherwise—" Click. She hung up on me. I stood there, phone in hand, blinking. Is this standard operating procedure for billionaire heiresses? Seeing my stunned expression, the guy who shoved me—Brad, the assistant—grinned so wide his face looked like it might split. "Oh, look at that! I thought you actually knew Miss Sterling. Turns out she won't even give you the time of day." "Listen, kid. You’re trying to snatch something from the Sterlings in this town? You got a death wish?" He saw I was in my early twenties and wearing off-the-rack clothes. He didn't see a threat. "Sir, let me be clear. This is an auction house. It’s not the Sterling estate." "The rule here is simple: Highest bidder wins." "Highest bidder?" Brad burst out laughing. "Kid, is your brain lagging? Do you need a reboot?" "Look around. Half of D.C. is built on Sterling money. You really think you can outspend us?" He was getting in my face now, spit flying as he yelled. I clenched my fist, my eyes going cold. "We’re in the capital of the free world, and a merchant thinks he’s royalty? That’s rich." The crowd around us started whispering. "Whoa, this kid has a death wish. Disrespecting the Sterlings?" "It’s just a necklace. Not worth disappearing over." "If I were him, I'd apologize right now. Maybe kiss the ring. He might even get a job out of it." The crowd’s murmurs only fueled Brad’s ego. "You little punk. You dare look down on the Sterlings? You’re done." I didn't flinch. I actually found it funny. "I suggest you rinse your mouth out with soap." "If you actually manage to piss me off, your boss won't be able to pay the repair bill." "Repair this!" Brad swung at me. I dodged effortlessly. He threw three more punches, hitting nothing but air. "Quit moving, you little rat! You want me to call Miss Sterling right now?" I didn't fight back. Not because I was scared, but because before I left the Black Site, the Director gave me strict orders: "You represent the Department now. Do not engage in physical altercations with civilians." Besides, I don't brawl. I neutralize. Brad thought I was scared. He wound up for a haymaker. Just then, someone shouted from the entrance. "Miss Sterling is here!" Chapter 2 02 A woman with legs for days, surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards, strutted toward us. "Brad. You’re my personal assistant. Why are you brawling with the help in public?" I looked her over. Mom had decent taste, physically speaking. She was wearing a crimson designer gown that fit like a second skin. The only flaw was the look in her eyes—absolute zero. "Miss Sterling. Let me introduce myself properly." "I’m Spencer. Spencer Vance. My mother—" "Save it," she interrupted, waving a manicured hand. "We aren't a match. And the Sterling family doesn't need a waste of space like you." I almost checked my hearing. With my clearance level, even the Senators she bought dinner for had to salute me. "Victoria, let’s get one thing straight. I was forced into this just as much as you were." "You think I want to marry you?" Victoria’s face twisted. "Don't play hard to get with me, Spencer! Do you know how many men in this city would kill to marry into my family?" I grinned. "Victoria, I don't know about them. But personally? I’d rather marry a barista from Starbucks than an heiress with zero class." "And this 'Sterling Empire' you brag about? It’s just new money built on real estate bubbles. You have no legacy." The room went dead silent. Then, chaos. "Holy... did he just say that?" "Victoria Sterling is the dream girl of every bachelor in D.C.! And he called her classless?" "This guy is insane." I ignored them. Sure, the Sterlings were rich. But money? In the face of true power, money is just a number on a screen. I remembered her father, Richard Sterling, sweating through his shirt in front of my mother, begging for this engagement. He probably never imagined his precious daughter was about to nuke his golden ticket. "You loser," Brad spat. "Look in a mirror. You aren't fit to tie her shoes." Victoria sneered. "Brad is right. If my dad hadn't forced this, I wouldn't even look at a broke joke like you." I narrowed my eyes, locking onto hers. "Since you feel that way, Miss Sterling, shall we call the wedding off?" I tried to be diplomatic. She took it as a negotiation. "Fine. How much do you want to go away?" I waved my hand dismissively. "Keep your money. I don't want to get my hands dirty." I turned to leave. "Hey! Get back here!" Brad yelled. I stopped and looked over my shoulder. "What? You want to buy me dinner, Brad?" He smirked and whispered something in Victoria’s ear. The heiress’s eyes flashed with rage. "Spencer! You dare try to outbid me?" Chapter 3 03 Brad had obviously poisoned the well. Judging by Victoria’s glare, diplomacy was dead. I didn't bother explaining. "Yeah. I want the necklace. So what?" Victoria looked shocked that I admitted it. "Good. Great. Today, I’m going to teach you what happens when you cross a Sterling." She raised her paddle high. "Open Bid. No limit." The auctioneer nearly dropped his mic. He stammered, "The... the opening bid for this item is ten million dollars. Do we have an opening bid?" In auction terms, an "Open Bid" or "Lighting the Lantern" means you cover the spread. You keep bidding until everyone else bleeds out. It’s a declaration of war. Since the Sterling family wanted to gamble their entire legacy on a necklace, I figured I’d play along. "Ten million? I’ll take it." The crowd gasped. They were all waiting for the punchline. Nobody knew who I was. "You idiot," Brad laughed. "Do you know how many zeros are in ten million? This is Christie's, not eBay." "If you can't pay, you go to federal prison." I smiled at him. "Brad, stop worrying about my wallet and start worrying about your boss." "There’s no undo button on an Open Bid." Victoria scoffed and raised her paddle again. "Ten million is nothing. That’s my monthly allowance." She glared at me. "You want to play? Let’s see if you have the cards. I raise to twenty million!" The room exploded. It was a charity auction. This necklace was worth maybe eight million, tops. "Generous," I said, clapping slowly as I stood up. "I’m sure the orphans will appreciate your donation." I held up one finger. "Twenty million... and one dollar." In D.C., people usually kissed the ground Victoria walked on. Nobody ever told her "no." Unfortunately for her, I wasn't from D.C. I was from a place that didn't exist on maps. "Ladies and gentlemen," Victoria announced loudly. "Just so we’re clear, this man is a charity case my father found. He has no connection to me." "When his check bounces, don't come looking at the Sterlings." I laughed out loud. "Thanks for the concern, Victoria. The auction house knows I’m good for it. But your family..." My voice dropped an octave, turning ice cold. "You guys should watch your backs." Chapter 4 04 Victoria rolled her eyes. "Don't talk big, Spencer. In this town, I’m untouchable." As the price climbed, sweat started to bead on her forehead. I didn't let up. "Victoria, since this is for charity, why are we nickel-and-diming? Let’s skip to the end." "One hundred million dollars. Do you call, or do you fold?" The room went silent. One hundred million. Liquid. Victoria froze. Brad jumped in to save her. "This is an auction, you fraud! It’s not a game of Monopoly! Show us the money!" The crowd, sensing blood, joined in. "Proof of funds! We want proof of funds!" I smiled. "Finally. Someone asked the right question." I pulled out my phone. "Director? It’s Spencer." The voice on the other end was warm. "Spencer! Did you pick a gift? How’s the girl?" I side-eyed Victoria. "Sir, I’m reporting a situation." My tone shifted to official business. "Hostile engagement at the auction. Someone is running a 'No Limit' bid against the Department." "What?" The Director sounded like he choked on his coffee. "That’s a federal auction. Who has the stones to do that?" "I wouldn't joke about this, Sir." I gave him the sitrep. I heard glass shattering on his end. "Hold your position. I’m handling it." Before he could hang up, Brad snatched my phone. "You’re this kid’s 'Director,' huh?" "Listen, old man. I’m giving you twenty minutes to wire a hundred million. If you’re a minute late, I break one of your boy’s fingers." The Director paused. I could practically hear the gears of the war machine turning. "You’re the one bidding?" Brad laughed. "Don't bore me. Just pay up." The Director’s voice went dangerously quiet. "One hundred million? Done. You just wait right there." Brad handed the phone back, looking smug. "Victoria, you really know how to pick 'em," I said, genuinely impressed. "I’ve never seen a man dig his own grave with such enthusiasm." "Screw your 'Director'," Brad sneered. "As long as the Sterling name is on the building, I’m safe." I smiled. "Is that so?" "You want to bet that by tomorrow morning, the name 'Sterling' won't exist in this city?" Before he could answer, someone screamed. "Look outside!" We turned. A convoy of armored trucks, flanked by black SUVs with government plates, screeched to a halt in front of the venue.
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