Page 47 of The Maid's Secret

“Reality is always different. And speaking of reality, the time has come, Molly, for us to address the reason we’re here: to auction your exquisite Fabergé,” says Brown.

“Are you ready?” Beagle asks.

“It’s been a fixture in my life for a long time. My gran and I used to have a savings account we called our Fabergé—a joke, since we had so little money in it.”

“I suspect your savings account will soon be worthy of the name,” says Beagle. “Bax, your gavel.”

Beagle passes his partner a small wooden hammer that fits in the palm of his hand.

Brown assumes his imposing height and strides across to the podium as the lights overhead shift, illuminating for the first time the glorious Fabergé in its protective glass case in the middle of the stage. The crowd gasps as it comes into view.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Brown as he gestures to the egg. “I’m thrilled to present anobjet d’artunique in all the world, the likes of which has not been seen or catalogued in art literature for over a hundred years. Featuring gold trelliswork and a cabriolet base, encrusted in quatrefoils comprising ten rubies, twenty rose-cut diamonds, and over thirty Russian emeralds, this singular prototype egg is the original design upon which all the famous imperial Romanov Easter eggs were based. The house that created it is well known to art aficionados, jewel collectors, historians, academics, andHidden Treasuresfans the world over. That house is Fabergé.”

Quiet whispers travel around the room. The lights change again, plummeting the egg into darkness and illuminating Brown’s tall form at the podium. He squares his shoulders to match his jaw, speaking with grave authority. “We’ll begin today’s bidding at a cool five million dollars, offered from a call-in client at the back. Do I have five million five? Five point five million dollars?” Brown scans the paddles flinging up all over the room.

“No shy bidders today. We have five-five, going up to six, do we have six million—yes!” says Brown as he points to a caller at the back. “Six million to Madame Orange on the phone, welcome, madam. Do I have seven? Seven million? Seven million to Mr.Wigham at table five—nice to see you, sir. Eight, eight five from our bidder in black. Do we have nine, nine million dollars? Yes, we do at table two. Let’s jump to nine five, nine million five hundred thousand dollars…”

As Brown repeats his banter, the bidders at the back consult with the clients on the phone lines, covering their mouths as they talk so no one can read their lips.

Brown natters on as the active bidders thin to just three. The tension mounts, but Brown maintains composure, enticing the bids higher and higher until he says, “Nine million nine hundred thousand dollars to our audacious bidder in black. Thank you, sir.” He pauses, then places both hands on the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, as we approach a seven-zero bid, I want to remind you that notonly is the work of art on auction today unique in all the world, but its current owner, Molly Gray, is a pop culture phenom and the maid of the moment. Do I have ten million dollars?”

The air in the room feels dense. The silence is deafening.

“Ten million! To Madame Orange, with her client on the line. Ten million one. Ten million, one hundred thousand dollars. Anyone?”

Brown eyes the crowd with his piercing blue stare. “This is fair warning,” he says as he holds his gavel high in the air.

“And sold!” he proclaims, pounding the gavel down, the sound ricocheting throughout the room. “Ten million dollars even. Thank you very much to your client, madam, and thanks to all of you who’ve joined us today.”

The lights go up and theHidden Treasurestheme music starts to play as polite applause issues from the crowd. Brown and Beagle unite at the front of the stage—one tall, one small—and both of them wave and shake hands with bidders as the cameras zoom in to close out the show.

It’s then I hear a shout from the crowd.

“Wait!”

There’s a cacophony of sound—music and chatter and gasps—but above it all, that voice again, so familiar.

“El huevo!”

In the front row, Juan is standing, waving his arms and pointing at the glass case at center stage.

It’s then that I realize why he’s clamoring for attention. The display case is still there, a spotlight now shining gently down on it, but the precious egg that was inside it when the auction began has vanished.

—

Chapter 14

Dear Molly,

Life is a mystery. Try as we might to solve it, a new puzzle always presents itself.

The Braun Summit marked a colossal change in my life, a moment when fate pointed its sharp arrow at me. Before that strange day, I was but a burden to be borne by my parents, a costly problem that plagued them, but the second Magnus noticed me in Papa’s oppressive boardroom, everything changed. It was as if both my parents recognized my value for the very first time, saw in me a pathway to a secure future.

Once Magnus and his men were out the front door of the manor on summit day, I was free to ponder what on earth had just transpired in that boardroom. I knew I’d achieved something significant, earning my father a reprieve from losing the family firm. But at what cost? Had I missed something, yet another subtlety of the world of men my mother was always reminding me I failed to comprehend?

My father said goodbye to Braun, seeing him off with a proper handshake and clap to the back. Then he locked the formidablemanor doors behind his archrival. As Mama and I watched alongside the staff gathered in the front foyer, Papa paused and took a breath, his hand still clenched on the ornate brass door handle. “You’re all dismissed,” he eventually said, sending the servants away. “William, take the workers to the housekeeping quarters and pay them what’s owed.”

“Yes, sir,” Uncle Willy replied with a curt bow.

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