They say time is money, but tonight the clock smells like diesel and burnt coffee and Jace can hear it ticking through the phone like a judge counting sentences, Leo driving fast with his jaw set, Amira's eyes on the map and a cigarette she doesn't light because they're not ones to add sparks to an open fuse, "Where do we think it's being run" Jace asks, voice flat as a blade, and Leo answers like a lad who's seen too many late films, "Somewhere with a feed and a back door, a warehouse that does nights for people who don't like paperwork"
They pick a place on the map that looks like a sore thumb, an old textile mill turned into a place for ghosts to meet money, the route smells of wet tar and late takes and the city is half asleep and half awake like a drunk with secrets, Jace feels the suit of him hanging heavy though he hasn't worn a tie in days, he kept it in the boot like a talisman he doesn't trust
Ethan doesn't pick up, of course he doesn't, some men only answer when they hold the handset, Sienna texts a single emoji and a private message that reads play it out and we'll see what falls, and Dean's number lights up with something clinical, "If you attend the auction you will be recorded, Mr Kavanagh, the world will have you in a frame they can sell" Dean says low, "stay away and we can broker something quieter"
"Broker" Jace repeats, the word a hairline fracture in his mouth, "I am done buying silence with anything but truth" and Dean's laugh folds like a blind, "Very theatrical of you, Mr Kavanagh, but we are not a theatre and you are not the only actor tonight" and the line goes dead leaving the hiss of static like a dare
They park two streets away and walk because it's less obvious and the wet air sticks to his hair and the mill's windows are teeth glinting in the dark, a security van idles with men who read like punctuation, quiet and unhurried, and a smell of bleach and cheap perfume bleeds out when a door opens for a moment and a man with a clipboard steps into a cigarette glow and the world tilts a degree colder, "You sure about this" Amira asks, and he nods though his chest is a drum, "I don't have the luxury of staying away" he says, and in the way he says it there is no swagger just the weight of a man who knows what losing looks like
Inside it's an old assembly hall with cables like veins and a stage set up where old machinery once stood, a dozen faces squinting at monitors and a bank of cameras like little black eyes, bidders on headsets tapping like people sending prayers into machines, the air hums with equipment and the smell of fried food from a van outside and for a second Jace thinks of cheap hostel noodles and how life compresses into the same tastes whether you're dining in marble or in cardboard, Leo slips him a small earpiece and says, "We go live on my signal, you get on the feed and you talk the truth, crash their auction with confession, make it personal and public and messy"
Jace thinks about confession as a weapon and he imagines wrists unclenching, he thinks about Maya's face in the Polaroid and the word remember like a sharp coin, "What if it's a trap" he says, and Leo shrugs, "Then we die in a ruck, at least the world will see the ropes" and Amira's fingers find his like a small pledge and she says, steady, "You are not doing this for headlines, you're doing it for her, that keeps it honest"
They edge toward the control booth and a man with a headset mistakes them for late supply and waves them on because the room is built to accept people who look like they belong, there's an operator at a bank of screens with a small crown of light reflecting on his glasses and his voice is bored as paint drying, "We're about to start, nine lots then an interlude then the big ticket, you two look like buyers or shills"
"Buyers," Leo says easy, and Jace smiles like a man at the gallows, he breathes and steps under the lights into a circle where cables bunch like worms and a tech taps keys and the screen flares live and there it is his face up on a feed he didn't sign off on and a caption that reads LIVE AUCTION — PRIVATE ASSETS — LOT ONE and he feels that same drop again the one from the boardroom only sharper because now the audience is anonymous and hungry
He banks on honesty and it is a strange currency, he takes the mic handed like a hot potato and he remembers Maya's plea not to be the hero who bleeds for applause and he tells himself he won't do a show, he will speak plain, the camera lens like a pupil and his palms sweating, "My name is Jace Kavanagh," he says and the words hang and the chat on the screen goes wild with emotes and dollar signs, "I have made mistakes that hurt people, I am not asking for mercy, I'm here because something has been taken that is not a commodity" and a murmur rolls through the room like a false wind, they expected confession maybe, drama for their wallets, but not the tremor in his voice
The feed cuts to the auction interface and the first lot slides up with a crisp image a folder stamped with his company's crest and a line beneath it ASSET — ITEMISATION — LEGAL DOCUMENTS and a watcher in a headset announces the opening bid in a syrupy voice, "Lot one will open at fifty thousand, do I have fifty thousand" and the chat explodes as bidders slap numbers, a hundred thousand, two, five, numbers flying like swallows and Jace wants to pull his hair out because they are putting a price on paper that could mean lives and reputations and everything that isn't meant to be bought
"Stop it" he hisses into his earpiece, "that's her folder, that's Maya's evidence" and Leo curses under his breath and taps keys, trying to overlay a live feed from somewhere else, trying to hijack the auction's stream, but the server is a locked safe and the auction techs are clean and the bids climb and with each climb Jace feels someone threading a rope around his neck, "If they buy it the buyer owns the contents legally enough to justify publication or disposal" Amira whispers, "they can make it public and call it property" and his throat closes
He is two decisions and one breath from acting when a voice in the booth cuts through, the auctioneer's tone syrup thick, "Gentlemen we have a special guest joining the screen, a confession from the owner himself, let's give him applause" and the hosts laugh like doors closing, then a clip plays and his confession rolls, the same words he hammered out in a hostel the night he thought he'd own truth, but it's edited with frames of Maya handing over a folder in a dim room and the angle cropped to make it look like purchase and the caption beneath reads PAID ACCOMPLICE — LOT ONE and the room goes cold as a freezer
He hears a chair scrape and someone behind him mutters "Jesus" and he wants to scream stop because it's not right but the chat is ravenous and the bids climb and then the lot number literally changes on the screen to LOT ONE — HUMAN ASSET and a video window shows a glass box in the far hall and his heart skips like a bad line, his stomach hits his shoes, because the live camera pans and there she is in the box half-turned, hair stuck to her face, a scarf at her feet, blindfold removed and eyes wide as though the lights might melt her, "Jace" she mouths, she does not speak into the mic, she mouths and the camera zooms so the room can see the small leather folder on her lap with his crest and a tag beneath it that reads REMEMBER — and the bidders laugh like it's theatre while his legs go weak
"That's her" he says, stupid and raw as a child, and the operator in the booth clicks and a name flashes across the stream an account name with a balance and a blue tick and then the bid hits an obscene number that makes him dizzy and the auctioneer coos "sold" before the server even confirms payment and the room erupts into a chorus of money and applause and some men with perfect shoes start to make moves as if they own the night and Dean's voice is a whisper in his ear though he can't see him, "You chose this stage, Mr Kavanagh" and Jace feels the world peel away like wallpaper
He lunges, he tries to reach the glass box and is stopped by a ring of men who say things about protocol and legalities while the feed buzzes and the chat becomes a beast, the host on the mic teases "Lot closed, what will the new owner do with such an item, dear viewers" and in the corner of the streamer there's a live ticker, PHASE NINE — AUCTION COMPLETE — INITIATE TRANSFER and Jace hears the words like a sentence and the auctioneer raises his hand in some ceremonial flourish that takes the biscuit for cruelty and Maya's eyes find his like a flare and she speaks at last, quick and sharp, and even over the feed he can hear the smallness of her voice, "Jace don't open the door" and the room freezes like a photograph caught mid-bleed.