coobybook Chapter 1239: Encountering the Genuine Elegant Scoundrel
Chapter 1239: Encountering the Genuine Elegant Scoundrel
The seventh day of the auction adopted an invitation-only system; only guests holding invitations could enter. It was said that the first criterion for the auction house’s invitations was assets over a hundred million, and with a bunch of other strange rules on top, there were fewer than ten people in Brocade City who could receive an invitation to the seventh day.
No one had any complaints about such harsh rules; on the contrary, everyone was proud to be able to take part in the final day’s ultimate auction.
In the world of the rich, what matters even more is hierarchy and status, and the auction house’s mysterious owner understood this all too well.
When Griffith Squire brought Aurora Coldwell over, they ran into the Seymour couple and Benedict at the entrance. The once high-flying Seymour heir didn’t have a trace of bruising on his face, and he was moving as usual.
Griffith narrowed his fox-like eyes at the sight. He and Cornelius Turner had gone in really hard; this punk could get back on his feet so fast? He looked like a gust of wind could knock him over—truly the kind who’d rather die than lose face and suffer for it.
The Seymour couple had been keeping a low profile with their son for so long, getting treated as an after-dinner joke by every old-money family in Brocade City. They’d finally received an invitation to the auction, so they were gritting their teeth and coming no matter what, otherwise life was just too suffocating. And the moment they arrived at the door, they ran into the bringer of bad luck.
The Seymour couple’s faces changed drastically when they saw their son start coughing violently, bloodshot veins crawling through his eyes, hatred twisting his features. They quickly dragged Benedict inside, terrified of provoking Griffith Squire again.
Griffith didn’t say a word, pretending not to see them. He dropped his gaze to the little girl who had just stepped out of the car. Seeing she didn’t show any particular reaction upon seeing Benedict, he finally curled his lips, his mood lifting, and pulled her into the auction house.
Staff from the auction house came forward, beaming as they led the two of them toward a designated private box.
The layout of the auction hall closely matched the local architectural style of Brocade City. The auction stage sat in the center, with all the elegant seats fanning out around it, partitioned by expensive Shu brocade screens. On the second floor were a few select private boxes.
Griffith was headed for one of the second-floor boxes. The Seymour couple and Benedict were seated in one of the first-floor elegant seats. Not long after, Ian Coldwell arrived with Zoe Kingston and Brooke Coldwell. They were just about to head upstairs when the staff smiled and tried to guide them to the first-floor seats instead, and Ian’s face flushed red in an instant.
The Brocade City autumn auction had been held more times than anyone could remember, and the custom every year was that local big shots from prestigious families sat on the second floor. Ian had always sat upstairs in previous years; now they wanted him on the first floor—if word got out, where would he put his old face?
"Mom, Aurora’s on the second floor." Brooke Coldwell looked up and spotted Aurora sitting by the window, and her nose almost twisted out of shape from rage. Why did Aurora get to sit on the second floor while they were stuck on the first?
"Do you even know how to lead guests? Is your Mr. Ji here?" Mrs. Coldwell’s face changed, and she lashed out at the staff.
The auction house’s mysterious owner, Mr. Ji, had always been a name without a face. He had swallowed up auction houses big and small across the country, and only in recent years had he taken over the Brocade City Auction—but this Mr. Ji had never shown himself.
"This year, Mr. Ji has come to Brocade City. If Mrs. Coldwell wishes to see our boss, you can make an appointment," the staffer replied with an unchanging polite smile.
As he spoke, the manager of the Brocade City Auction came in, nervous and deferential, accompanying a man as handsome and clear-cut as carved jade. The man wore a simple white shirt and dress pants; whether it was the blue diamond cufflinks at his wrists or the perfectly pressed lines of his clothes, everything exuded an air of noble refinement—a textbook gentleman in a suit and tie.
Sitting in the box, Griffith’s face turned black in an instant, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable all over. Damn it, the knockoff version had just run into the genuine "refined scoundrel."