Only one chair was empty.

“Sixteen thousand. Do I see seventeen?”

Charles slipped into the open seat. He paged through the catalog.

“The bid is seventeen. Do I see eighteen? Thank you, eighteen thousand dollars. Nineteen?”

A man beside him, in thick black-rimmed glasses, leaned over.

“I figured you’d show up.”

“Which lot are we on?” Charles asked.

“Number sixty. The desk.”

“Derek’s desk.”

“Nineteen, thank you. Twenty?”

“You knew him, right?” the man said.

“Yes.”

“Twenty. The bid is twenty thousand dollars. Do I see twenty-one?”

Gold sconces on the pale blue walls pooled light on the white ceiling, and gold and crystal chandeliers showered light down on the fifty dark blue upholstered chairs. The carpet was even darker blue and very thick, a deep river, soaking up every sound but the auctioneer’s voice.

The crowd was darkly upholstered as well.

“Do I see twenty-two?”

A wide young man in the front row lifted a wood paddle.

“Twenty-two, thank you. Do I see twenty-three?”

He did, somewhere else in the room.

“Everything’s going high,” the man in the glasses said. “Too many out-of-towners. I just wanted to buy back what I sold the guy, but I haven’t won a bid yet.”

“Who’s bidding right now, Norman?” Charles asked.

“That guy with the frizzy hair, he looks like Einstein? He’s from a big New York showroom. And up front, in the brown suit, he’s from Houston. And that guy’s from L.A. Everybody else has dropped out.”

“The bid is twenty-eight thousand. Do I see twenty-nine?”

“Like I said, it’s all going high,” Norman said.

“It’s a nice desk.”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s real nice, all of it. The guy had great taste. Too bad he’s gone, he was a great customer. But that desk, I’d have said twenty-six, twenty-eight for it, and we’re blowing through thirty without a hiccup. But I don’t do furniture, so what do I know.”