The auction house rose like a f*****g cathedral to excess.
Glass and marble caught the city lights and threw them back brighter, sharper, crueler.
Valets in tailored black suits moved like chess pieces, opening doors, bowing slightly, handling cars worth more than entire neighborhoods.
A midnight-black Rolls-Royce Phantom purred to a stop. Behind it, a Bentley Continental GT, a silver Lamborghini Aventador, a pearl-white Maybach, a deep-blue Aston Martin DB11, and ...drawing the most attention ...a blood-red Ferrari SF90 slid into place like it owned the night.
Laughter floated through the air. Not the warm kind. The clipped, polished kind. The sound of people who had never worried about hospital bills or eviction notices. The sound of money congratulating itself.
Media vans crowded
