Oliver's hands were trembling now as he snatched the vase back, turning it over again and again. I watched the smug confidence drain from his face like someone pulled the plug.
Panic finally broke through.
He grabbed his phone and barked into it. "Kiara, doesn't your brother work at Sotheby's? Get him on the phone. I need him to check the winner of that final auction piece, the one with the highest bid!"
Oliver didn't even wait for her response before snapping again. "And get that damn lawyer I hired over here. We're settling this now. I want her to admit she used my card! If I let her into my life, she'd be riding my neck and shitting on my head!"
If he was that desperate to humiliate himself, I was more than happy to watch.
Ten minutes later, Kiara showed up with the news and a lawyer following behind.
"Mr. Jefferson, I made a few calls," the lawyer said, clearing his throat. "That 16th-century Italian vase? It was purchased at auction by the richest man in the Capital City. He gave it to his daughter to use as a flower vase."
And just like that, Oliver's entire face lit up with a smug little smirk, as if he had just scored the winning touchdown he'd been waiting for.