But there were cars. Expensive ones. Parked in a secured lot surrounded by security guards in black suits. Our car was waved through after a brief check.
We parked and got out. The November air was cold. Biting. I pulled my coat tighter and followed Sandro toward a side entrance where more security waited.
They checked names against a list. Confirmed we were invited. Wanded us for weapons and recording devices. Then let us through.
The interior was nothing like the exterior.
The warehouse had been transformed into an elegant space. Exposed brick and industrial beams, but decorated with expensive art and dramatic lighting. A stage at one end. Rows of chairs arranged like a small theater. Tables laden with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Everything designed to make illegal commerce look sophisticated.
There were maybe sixty people already there. I recognized some faces from society pages. Politicians. Business owners. Lawyers who represented the kind of clients who didn't ask questions. Everyone was dressed impeccably. Black tie. Designer gowns. Jewelry that cost more than most people's houses.
A server offered us champagne. I took a glass automatically. Sipped it. Tried to look calm despite my heart pounding.
"Smile," Sandro murmured. "We're here to observe and network. Nothing more."
I smiled. Let him guide me through the crowd. Matteo stayed close but not obviously guarding us. Just another attendee making the rounds.
Peter Costello appeared from the crowd like he'd been waiting. He was older than I expected. Late fifties with silver hair and an expensive suit. He smiled warmly and extended his hand to Sandro.
"Alessandro! I'm so glad you could make it. And you brought your attorney." He turned that smile on me. "Mr. Rossi. A pleasure to finally meet you properly. Your testimony during the trial was quite moving."
I shook his hand. "Mr. Costello."
"Please, call me Peter. We're all friends here." He gestured around the warehouse. "What do you think of our little gathering?"
"Impressive," I managed.
"Wait until you see what we're offering tonight. Some truly extraordinary items." He turned back to Sandro. "I'm glad we can put our disagreement behind us. Antonio told the truth. Justice was served. Now we move forward."
"I appreciate the invitation," Sandro said neutrally.
"Of course. Powerful men should be allies, not enemies. There's enough wealth in this city for everyone." Peter glanced toward the stage where people were starting to gather. "The auction's about to begin. Please, find good seats. I think you'll find it enlightening."
He disappeared back into the crowd. Sandro guided us toward seats in the middle section. Not too close to the front. Not too far back. Positioned where we could see everything but weren't too visible ourselves.
Matteo sat on Sandro's other side. Still silent. Still watching everything with predator's eyes.
The lights dimmed. A man in an expensive suit took the stage. The auctioneer.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to tonight's exclusive offering. We have some truly exceptional items for your consideration." He smiled. All charm and sophistication. "Let's begin."
The first items were relatively mundane. Stolen jewelry. A rare bottle of wine. A Renaissance sculpture that I was fairly certain belonged in a museum. People bid casually. Thousands of dollars exchanged for items they'd never be able to display publicly.
I watched and felt my stomach turn. This was casual criminality. Theft treated like legitimate commerce. And everyone here was complicit.
Then the items escalated.
"Our next offering," the auctioneer said, "is quite special. A Rembrandt. Stolen from a private collection in Amsterdam three months ago. Oil on canvas. Authenticated. Truly a masterpiece."
They wheeled out a painting covered with a cloth. Removed it with a flourish. I didn't know enough about art to confirm it was real, but the gasps from the audience suggested it was.
The bidding started at half a million. Rose quickly. Went to a woman in the front row for 2.3 million dollars.
"Excellent choice, Mrs. Bloom. We'll arrange discrete delivery." The auctioneer smiled. "Now, for our more technologically inclined collectors. Access codes to classified government databases. State Department. FBI. CIA. Full access for ninety days before the codes are rotated."
My blood ran cold. They were selling access to classified information. National security reduced to an auction item.
The bidding was fierce. Someone paid 1.8 million for FBI access. Someone else paid 2.1 million for CIA codes.
