Monkey’s paw -297

Tony studied the Devil's Deal Desk with a renewed sense of wariness. The possibilities were both thrilling and dangerous. He couldn't shake the thought that leaving this desk in the wrong hands would be asking for trouble—especially given the desperation and ambition already simmering in the room.

If it truly possessed the power to grant wishes, the fallout could be catastrophic, reshaping the world in ways even he couldn't control. But while he could afford the current bid, he hesitated, calculating his options and wondering if there might be something else, equally powerful, that he'd need more later in the auction.

Privatizing world peace is one thing, he mused. But keeping things like this under control? That's another challenge altogether.

Meanwhile, Brune's expression betrayed a flicker of impatience, his gaze shifting between the auctioneer and the desk. Already, he had spent a huge amount of money, so spending another hundred billion was a heavy investment. Yet, he knew he couldn't allow this object to go by him, and so with a pained heart he prayed that none would raise the price.

The tension in the room thickened as the unspoken truth weighed on each attendee. Everyone understood the appeal of the desk but was keenly aware of the price it might exact—one beyond mere billions.

The legendary "monkey's paw" effect seemed to radiate from the polished surface, as if the desk itself were a sentient trap waiting to twist the wishes of the unwary. Eternal youth could come at the cost of one's own life, or boundless wealth at the loss of all one held dear. There was no escaping the sense of foreboding.

Still, the allure was undeniable. Evelyn Crawley, her eyes flashing with barely concealed ambition, seemed ready to press on, her mind dancing over visions of power that this desk could grant. She lifted her hand again.

"One hundred ten billion," she announced, her voice firm, daring anyone to challenge her resolve.

Tony glanced at her, his mind racing. Evelyn, he knew, was ruthless, a player who wouldn't hesitate to use whatever means necessary to maintain her family's influence. He considered the consequences if someone like her, or worse—someone with even darker ambitions—secured this desk. Perhaps his own hesitation was misplaced; perhaps he needed to act before someone else used the desk to reshape the world in a way that would make even his efforts futile.

But before Tony could make his move, Vincent Blanc raised his hand, his eccentric grin betraying a reckless desire that seemed to teeter on the edge of madness. "One hundred twenty billion," he said, relishing the weight of his bid, as if challenging the desk itself to defy his ambition.

The auctioneer's gaze swept over the room, catching each guest's reaction as the numbers soared ever higher. Each bid revealed their hidden dreams, their deepest ambitions. The Devil's Deal Desk was no ordinary acquisition—it was a ticket to rewriting reality, for those daring enough to pay the price.

The auctioneer paused, savoring the energy thickening with each bid, the desperation and dark hope pulsing from every corner of the room. He knew this wasn't just about wealth; it was about the desires each of these elite players dared to pursue.

Evelyn Crawley's hand remained steady, her eyes hard as she considered the possibilities of the desk's power. In her mind, she could see herself using it to secure her family's dominion over European politics, manipulating rivals and allies alike without the typical restraints. With a single wish, she could secure the Crawley legacy for generations, ensuring her name would be spoken with reverence—and perhaps even fear. With a lift of her chin, she raised her bid.

"One hundred thirty billion," she called, her voice unwavering.

Tony caught her eye and saw the iron determination within. He wondered just how far she'd go, but as much as he could sense her ruthless ambition, he felt the desk was too dangerous to wield without severe consequences.

Vincent Blanc, on the other hand, had a gleam in his eye that bordered on deranged excitement. To him, the desk was the ultimate prize in his collection, an artifact he could use to indulge his every eccentric whim. He envisioned himself demanding knowledge beyond human reach, becoming a modern-day oracle whose genius was whispered about with reverence. If the world's richest were playing for control, Vincent was playing for immortality in the form of infamy. He threw in his bid with a laugh.

"One hundred fifty billion!" he said, his voice laced with manic energy. The crowd shot him curious looks, some admiring his audacity, others unnerved by the depth of his desire.

Gregori Forson, however, wasn't smiling. His brow was furrowed in focused calculation. Forson knew this desk could give him exactly what he needed to cement his power in the energy industry. With one well-placed wish, he could command control over every energy resource known to humanity, making Forson Energy a monolithic force that could topple governments. He lifted his card almost mechanically.

"One hundred seventy billion," he said, his voice barely more than a growl.

Harlan Brune's jaw tightened. Watching the competitors, he sensed their recklessness, the lengths they were willing to go to, and it only intensified his determination to win. For BlackRock, this desk wasn't just about power—it was about unyielding control over the forces that shaped the world's markets and policies. If he let Forson or Crawley take the desk, their ambitions would threaten BlackRock's dominance. And so, with a cold, composed expression, he lifted his hand.

"One hundred eighty billion," Brune stated, his voice measured but ironclad.

A murmur swept through the room. Each bidder fell silent, assessing the new power shift. Tony, watching, couldn't ignore the implications. Letting BlackRock possess both the butler and the desk was almost unthinkable. But with so many unknowns about the other items left to auction, he couldn't risk his own resources just yet. His mind churned, and though his instincts told him to act, he held his tongue.

The auctioneer, eyes gleaming, let the tension build, his voice rich with anticipation as he scanned the room. "One hundred eighty billion, from Mr. Brune. Any further bids?"

Evelyn Crawley, for the first time, hesitated, realizing her own resources were nearing their limit. Forson's scowl deepened, his jaw clenched as he weighed his options. Vincent Blanc, however, seemed almost disappointed, a wild glint dimming as he lowered his hand, conceding with a smirk.

Harlan Brune's gaze swept the room, his victory all but certain. His expression remained calm, controlled, but Tony didn't miss the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

The auctioneer raised the gavel, his voice steady. "One hundred eighty billion, going once… going twice…"

He let the words hang, giving one last moment for any rival to rise to the challenge.

And with a final thunk, the gavel fell. "Sold!" he declared, his tone triumphant, "To Mr. Harlan Brune of BlackRock!"

The crowd erupted in whispers as Brune nodded to the auctioneer, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. The weight of the Devil's Deal Desk was now his, its boundless potential locked in the hands of one of the most powerful forces in the room. And as the auctioneer gestured for the next item to be prepared, a new tension filled the air. With each winning bid, the stakes had only risen higher, and the night's dangerous allure was far from over.

As the Devil's Deal Desk was carefully wheeled off the stage, whispers filled the room, and a charged energy settled over the guests. BlackRock's acquisition of two of the most formidable items was sending waves through the attendees, a ripple of realization that the stakes were higher than any of them had anticipated.

Tony watched Harlan Brune from his booth, reading the calm satisfaction in the man's posture. It was becoming evident that Brune had come with specific goals, and Tony couldn't ignore the implications. If BlackRock had the butler's loyalty and the desk's potential, they could rewrite the rules of power as they saw fit. This can't end here, he thought, already considering the moves he'd need to make after the auction was over.

But his attention was pulled back as the auctioneer stepped forward, his expression bright, holding onto the momentum the night had built. With a measured smile, he gestured to the stage, where a new item waited beneath a velvet cover.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer began, his voice smooth, each word heavy with promise, "we now present an item of rare subtlety and unmatched utility. This artifact, though unassuming, offers a form of control and safety few would be able to replicate. May I introduce… SAI-268, or as it's commonly known, the 'Cap of Neglect.'"

With a swift motion, he removed the cloth, revealing a plain-looking cap, worn yet somehow timeless, with an aura that seemed to whisper of hidden power. The unremarkable appearance of the cap caught some guests off guard, its simplicity contrasting sharply with the power it promised.