The Gilded Hammer

The Grand Ballroom was a sea of tuxedos and black dresses. Paddles waved like fans.

On the stage, Marcus Sterling stood behind the podium, the gavel in his hand. He looked composed, regal. He was selling Lot 730.

"Sold! To the lady in the front for four thousand dollars."

Julian burst through the side doors. He looked like a wreck—jacket torn, tie loose, face smeared with server dust. Security moved to intercept him, but he flashed his badge with a glare that stopped them cold.

He scanned the room. Elena was in the back, holding Lily’s hand. She looked terrified.

Julian locked eyes with Sterling.

Sterling faltered mid-sentence. His face went pale.

"Lot 734," Sterling announced, his voice cracking slightly. "A collection of... miscellaneous crystal. Opening bid, one hundred dollars."

A plant in the audience raised a paddle. "One hundred."

"Do I hear two?" Sterling asked quickly. "Going once—"

"Ten thousand dollars!"

The room gasped. Heads turned.

Julian walked down the center aisle. "Ten thousand dollars."

Sterling gripped the podium. "Detective. This is a private auction. You are disrupting—"

"I'm bidding," Julian said, reaching the front. "Unless you want to disqualify a valid bid? That would be illegal, Marcus."

"Fifteen thousand," Sterling hissed, bidding for himself.

"Twenty thousand," Julian countered.

The crowd murmured. Why were they fighting over junk?

"Fifty thousand!" Sterling yelled, losing his composure.

"One hundred thousand," Julian said calmly. He reached the stage.

He didn't stop. He walked up the stairs.

"Security!" Sterling shouted.

Julian drew his weapon, not pointing it at Sterling, but holding it at the low ready. "Police! Everyone stay seated!"

The crowd screamed but stayed put.

Julian holstered the gun and grabbed the decanter from the display table. He pulled out the heavy, dust-coated stopper.

"This man," Julian pointed at Sterling, "killed Arthur Penhaligon for this piece of glass."

"He's insane!" Sterling shouted. "It's worthless crystal!"

"Is it?" Julian asked.

He pulled a tactical flashlight from his belt.

"The refractive index of glass is roughly 1.5," Julian announced to the room. "Light passes through it. It bends, but it stays white."

He held the stopper up. He clicked the light on, pressing it directly against the base of the object.

"Diamond," Julian said, "has a refractive index of 2.42. It slows light down. It bends it so violently that it splits into the spectrum."

The beam hit the stone.

Instantly, the room was dazzled. The "dusty stopper" exploded with light. Intense, laser-sharp beams of violet, indigo, and red shot out across the ballroom, dancing on the ceiling, blinding the front row. It was a disco ball made of pure fire.

The audience gasped. It was undeniable. That was no glass.

"Meet 'The Pure,'" Julian said.

Sterling lunged. He pulled a small pistol from beneath the podium.

"No!" Elena screamed from the back.

Julian didn't flinch. He was ready. He swung the heavy crystal decanter—the base, not the diamond—and smashed it into Sterling’s hand.

Bones crunched. The gun flew. Sterling fell to the floor, clutching his hand, screaming.

Julian kicked the gun away. He placed a heavy boot on Sterling’s chest.

"You're under arrest, Marcus," Julian said, breathless.

He looked up. The room was silent, save for the hum of the lights.

He looked to the back of the room. Lily was standing on a chair, clapping.