Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,92

that tiger first.

“Let us begin,” Ward said. “Once an item is presented, I will open the bidding. Once the winner is selected, they will be escorted to the back room to pay immediately, securing their ownership. All of you will be provided with letters of authentication as well as letters confirming the legal sale of this item. Keep these in your records should you ever have any problems.”

Sam glanced at me sideways. How could they provide those letters for items that were stolen?

“Up first for the animal lovers in our audience.” Ward smirked with glee, and the audience tittered. The prowling, caged tiger was rolled across the stage, and I felt utterly heartbroken for it. My mind spun with the implications—implications that Delilah and Abe had been talking about for the past year. The criminal underworld bled across boundaries and barriers, and thieves like Victoria Whitney were common. But that meant thieves like Ward and Bernard were common too.

The bid paddles flew up rapidly, winnowing down to two bidders who were furious with each other by the time the winning $2 million bid was announced. I schooled my features, trying to watch with a neutral expression. And when they won—a glamorous-looking couple that dripped wealth—the woman wiggled her fingers at the bars like the tiger was a kitten at a shelter.

The big cat growled at her.

“Don’t worry. We have more exciting things to come,” Ward said, clapping his hands. Two attendants wheeled out a very large, instantly recognizable tome in a glass case.

“A classic,” he said. “The classic. A manuscript that only grows in value, my friends. If you’re looking to add to your collection, a Gutenberg Bible will do it. You’ll recognize this copy from our good peers at the University of Texas in Austin.”

Sam knew it. I knew it. Two years ago, the University of Texas had its Gutenberg Bible stolen in a robbery that had flooded the news. It was worth millions of dollars.

Even more, it was one of the most vital pieces of cultural history in the entire world.

And it was sitting right in front of us.

The bidding battle for that Bible stretched on and on. Sam and I watched as casually as we could—even Thomas and Cora threw in a few million when they had a chance. But it was another man who finally won, triumphant with a bid of $20 million. People clapped as he strode down the aisle.

Henry is having an absolute meltdown, Delilah said in my ear. I could believe it.

Ward rubbed his hands together as the next item was wheeled out, concealed in the same type of glass case that I knew meant whatever was in there was fucking old. “Who here in the audience is a fan of Edgar Allen Poe?”

The audience murmured their assent.

“A heart beneath the floorboards,” he said. “A man buried behind a stone wall. A grave filled with live souls, not the dead. He is one of the most celebrated writers, and what I have here for you tonight is his book of poetry, of which there are only fifty left in the world. Tamerlane and Other Poems was written by Poe but published as anonymous. It was recently released by the McMaster’s Library at Oxford in England.”

Holy shit, came Delilah’s voice. Sam winced, touched his ear. I guessed Henry was shouting.

“All of you here are familiar with our very close connection to the librarians at the McMaster’s Library,” Ward said, face sly.

He was referring to Bernard Allerton. When Henry had confronted the man about it, Bernard had shown Henry a letter with Henry’s forged signature, declaring the book officially released. When, in actuality, Bernard had stolen it.

Watch who gets that fucking book, Delilah said—though she knew I didn’t need to be told twice. The battle for the Tamerlane was fierce—$16 million was the grand total. I didn’t recognize the woman who won. But she stepped into the back room, and I kept my eye on her. She needed to stay. Stay and be arrested by the FBI when they got here.

Two tables were wheeled out—propped up on one was a selection of old letters. The second table was placed close to the edge of the stage. It held two antique letter-openers.

“Call it a theme,” Ward said. “To the left, two letter-openers owned by a high-ranking officer in George Washington’s army and used during the American Revolution.”

Ward’s eyes twinkled as they landed directly on Sam and me.

“And to my right, the love letters between the controversial