Chapter 715:
Brad, who caught every word, let his frown deepen.
He really ought to take it out of Brock’s paycheck.
Later that evening, the Crescent Auctions bustled with anticipation. Frank swept in with Kristen on his arm, both dressed to impress. Several fresh faces among Crolens’ elite followed close behind, eager to make their mark. Frank glanced at his watch, growing impatient. There was still no sign of Brad.
He made his way to the entrance, handed over his invitation, and announced, “I’m with Brad. We’re sharing a private box. He’ll be along shortly.”
The security guard scanned his invite, confirmed his payment, and replied, “You’re assigned to box thirty-two. That’s a standard box.”
A murmur rippled through the group. One of the young men spoke up, sounding offended. “Hold on, I thought we’d reserved a VIP box. Why are we getting standard seats?”
Frank’s brow furrowed. “I told you, Brad’s my brother. This must be a mistake.”
Unmoved, the guard shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I can only check your reservation. You’re on the list for standard box thirty-two. That’s all I’m authorized to say.”
Frustration crept into Frank’s voice. “Seriously? There must be some confusion.”
He fumbled for his phone, realizing that he didn’t even have Brad’s number and hadn’t spoken to him enough ever since his return from abroad.
One of the socialites behind him began to whisper, “Are you sure you’re actually related to Brad? This all sounds a little suspicious.”
Trying to save face, Frank forced a laugh. “I just misplaced his number, that’s all.”
Kristen, clearly uncomfortable, shot Frank a glare. She’d gone out of her way to keep her identity under wraps and had followed Frank all the way to Eshea — being laughed at in public was not part of her plan.
Further back, a man with an unmistakable nouveau-riche air lost his patience and sneered, “If you can’t afford a VIP box, just take your seat and stop wasting everyone’s time. Quit showing off for your girlfriend or making things difficult for the guard.”
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Frank’s jaw tightened, anger burning in his eyes. He looked ready to snap, the argument barely held back.
Kristen muttered, her expression darkening, her tone icy. “I’ve never sat anywhere but a VIP box. Frank, this is embarrassing.”
Frank, all too familiar with Kristen’s temper, finally swallowed his pride and dialed his mother, desperate for a way out.
Frieda, who rarely denied Frank anything, wasted no time dialing Brad’s number.
The line connected almost instantly, and Brad’s low voice came through. “Yes?”
With a touch of warmth, Frieda asked, “Brad, are you heading to the auction tonight?”
Brad kept his gaze on the passing city lights. “Yeah. I’m on my way,” he answered, his voice even.
Frieda, eager to keep the peace, continued, “Frank’s already waiting for you at the auction entrance. Do you know how much longer you’ll be?”
“I’m stuck in traffic right now, but I shouldn’t be much longer,” Brad replied.
Concerned about Frank, Frieda added, “That’s only natural because it’s still rush hour. But if you’re not too far, maybe you could walk the last bit? Frank’s waiting, and I don’t want him to get too anxious.”
.
.
.