"Five hundred thousand dollars to open," the auctioneer's voice echoed through the hall.
Not a single person in the room moved.
The wealthy and investors sat rigidly in their plush velvet chairs, keeping their numbered paddles glued to their laps. No one with an ounce of self-preservation was going to risk their neck to bid against Damien Sinclair for a dead company.
Aria held her breath, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
'Come on, Zoe,' Aria chanted internally, her eyes glued to the stage to avoid looking directly at her best friend. 'Raise the paddle.'
From the middle rows of the auction hall, a hand shot straight up into the air.
"Five hundred thousand to the young lady in the center!" the auctioneer announced, looking relieved that someone had actually broken the ice.
A condescending ripple of laughter swept through the room.
