“Good,” I said.

“When the main presentation begins, I will handle the cue for the video.”

I sat down at the master control board.

My fingers hovered over the glass touchscreen.

Through the glass window of the booth, I looked down at the ballroom floor.

Tristan was standing near the front of the stage.

He was laughing with a group of hedge fund investors, a glass of scotch in his hand.

Khloe Dupont stood beside him, her arm looped tightly through his.

She wore a diamond necklace that could have bought a penthouse in Tribeca.

Tristan whispered something in her ear, and she giggled, patting his cheek affectionately.

I felt a cold wave of anger wash over me.

He had ruined my life.

He had taken my savings, destroyed my reputation, and left me to face federal charges.

But tonight, his own voice would destroy him.

The chime sounded through the ballroom, signaling the start of the auction.

The guests began to take their seats at the round, linen-covered tables.

The lights in the ballroom dimmed.

The spotlight focused on the center stage.