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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

90: The Auction

The news about the bombs being planted at Edhellond brought a variety of responses from the people of Wiseman, with most of the town officials deploring the action. The mayor went so far as to vow that those responsible would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

“Well, they have to find them first,” one of the Elves said somewhat cynically when they heard the mayor’s speech and there were many nods of the head.

“Could it have been an Agency job?” another asked. “Revenge for what happened to Farrell?”

That caused a number of people to pause, but in the end no one, not even Amroth, could say for sure. Alex, when he heard what happened, was naturally upset.

“Man, I wish I’d known,” he groused when he drove over to Edhellond on Sunday morning to check on the Elves. “I was busy working on lesson plans for next week and writing essays and doing readings for my linguistic classes yesterday and Derek was at work. I never even turned on the news until I was getting ready for bed.”

“There was nothing you could have done, Alex,” Glorfindel assured him, “and the situation is in hand.”

“If nothing else, the furor over what almost happened may force the Mortals to stop and think of the consequences of their supporting us or not,” Valandur commented. “Perhaps some of the naysayers may find that they are uncomfortable with the direction they seem to be heading. They may not join us but hopefully they will no longer oppose us.”

“We can only hope,” Glorfindel said.

Otherwise, life continued as it had. The Three Amigos and Nell returned to the college and Nell was gratified when several of her fellow classmates in the Child Care Certificate Program rallied around her and told her that she would be foolish to drop out of the program.

“You’re a natural with kids,” one of them told her.

“Yeah, you dropping out would not be cool,” another said. “Besides, Kelly’s a jerk anyway,” referring to the child psychology instructor. To that, all the students agreed and Nell felt warmed by the support of these children, as she still saw them.

The Three Amigos were also assured by their friends that what happened to them was not to be borne. “From now on, we’ll be your bodyguards,” said one of the young Men, nodding to a couple of others, all three of them having been linebackers in high school and built like tanks. The three ellyn solemnly thanked their friends, though they were amused at the thought that these children, as they thought of them, could possibly offer them protection.

“Still, it’s very kind of them to offer,” Elennen said when they were alone, “and it’s nice to know that we have friends who will stick up for us.”

To that, the other two could only agree.

At the same time, though, Glorfindel and Finrod insisted that the ellith always be accompanied by at least two ellyn whenever they went out. Barahir and Gilvagor offered to stay at Amroth’s house for the duration. “We can escort the ellith whenever they need to leave the house and Ron and Amroth aren’t immediately available to accompany them,” Barahir explained and it was agreed, though with reluctance on the part of those living at ‘Edhellond-two’, as they were beginning to call it.

Later in the week that followed, the police made their arrest of those they were sure were responsible for Glorfindel’s mugging and Glorfindel went to the station, accompanied by Finrod and Prince Legolas (in his uniform), to see if he could make an identification. Glorfindel stood behind the two-way glass and solemnly studied the Men in the line-up, unconsciously rubbing the area where the surgical scars had long faded. Dave Michaelson stood to one side, watching but said nothing other than, “Take your time, Loren. Be very sure in your own mind.” With them was Ken Talbot, the prosecuting attorney.

After several minutes, Glorfindel said, “Number three was definitely at the Rusty Nail and was one of those who accosted me when I first came in, but I don’t think he was the one who was actually doing the razzing. That was another bloke, but he’s not here.”

“Anyone else?” Michaelson asked, his expression giving nothing away.

“The guy at the end on our right. He… he had a knife and…” Glorfindel took an involuntary step back, his eyes wide and possibly no longer seeing the police station around him, clutching at one of his wrists.

“Easy, gwador,” Finrod said soothingly, embracing him. “It is well. I have you.”

It took another couple of minutes for Glorfindel’s breathing to slow and for him to return to the present. Legolas went to the water dispenser and returned with a cup, which Glorfindel drank in a single gulp. “Pui-en-orch!” he muttered in disgust as he threw the cup into a nearby wastebasket. “Am I going to need Ron’s couch, too?”

Michaelson gave him a mirthless smile. “Before this is over, I think we’ll all need Ron’s couch. Are you going to be okay?”

Glorfindel nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, I will be. Are we done here?”

“Unless you can identify anyone else…”

Glorfindel shook his head. “No. None of the others look familiar. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Michaelson nodded to the sergeant in charge of the prisoners, who now spoke into the microphone directing the Men to leave as the police chief escorted the three Elves out of the room with Talbot following them.

“So were the Men whom Glorfindel identified the ones you arrested for his mugging?” Finrod asked as the five went into Michaelson’s office. Legolas closed the door and stood on guard while the other two Elves found seats before Michaelson’s desk and Talbot leaned against a filing cabinet on Michaelson’s left.

“Yes, they were,” Michaelson answered.

“So what’s the next step?” Glorfindel asked.

“Well, there’ll be an arraignment,” Talbot answered. “Both of those men have records, mostly penny-ante stuff, but it might be enough to keep them in jail, though I suspect they’ll make bail. My primary concern is the trial. The defense is going to try to show that because of your inebriated state, you identifying these two men as your attackers might be suspect.”

“Especially when you also said you had no memory of the attack,” Michaelson added. “That’s in your original statement to the police once you woke up.”

“But memory loss is common in such situations, or so I am told, and regaining one’s memory is not unheard of,” Glorfindel pointed out. “Defense will have a hard time proving that I am lying.”

“True,” Talbot allowed. “But all the defense has to show is reasonable doubt. It doesn’t have to show actual proof either way. That, unfortunately, is my job, but that’s what I do and I think we can make the charges stick. Those two were not the only ones involved in the mugging and we may be able to convince them to tell us who else was involved in exchange for a lesser charge of aggravated assault. Right now, they’re both facing attempted murder charges.”

“Well, slitting my wrists and throwing me into a dumpster certainly qualifies in my book,” Glorfindel said with a sour look.

“I agree, but if we want to get these bastards, we may have to let the little fish go. Those two were not the ringleaders. I want the one who gave the order.” And there was a coldness in his eyes that surprised even the Elves.

Michaelson noticed and gave them a knowing look. “Ken is a transplant.”

“Huh?” Glorfindel said, and he was not the only one to give Michaelson a blank look.

The police captain chuckled and Talbot grinned. “Ken was a hot-shot assistant district attorney in Anchorage a few years back. He was responsible for getting Crawford put away for life.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened in shock. “The guy who murdered all those women!”

Both Mortals nodded.

“So what are you doing here in the boonies?” Glorfindel asked. “By now, you should be pulling in a six-figure salary and pretty much owning Anchorage.”

Talbot chuckled. “Except, I stepped on a few toes that I shouldn’t have and this is my punishment, if you want to call it that. I came here because, oddly enough, no other doors were opened for me, not even Fairbanks. The former prosecuting attorney for this district retired and moved to Florida or somewhere south and lo and behold! Here I am.”

Glorfindel cast him a discerning look. “I see.”

“Another of the Valar’s unwitting recruits?” Finrod asked.

“Apparently. They’re obviously stacking the deck with aces,” Glorfindel replied. “Well, I won’t tell you how to do your job, Mr. Talbot. I trust that you have everything in hand. Just let us know how we can help and we will give you all the cooperation you ask for. I want these bastards put away as well, though not for the reasons you do.”

“And what reason do you have, other than to see justice done?” Talbot asked, looking a bit puzzled.

“Oh, child, you little understand us Elves,” Finrod said before Glorfindel could answer. “What my gwador means is that we have our own, very ancient brand of justice and it runs counter to what you believe it to be. We come from a darker and, yes, more savage world, a world where mercy was not a word that was often found in our vocabulary.”

“I helped throw Eöl from the precipice when Turgon declared his doom after his sister died of the poison from the javelin Eöl had thrown, though he had been aiming at his own son,” Glorfindel said in a matter-of-fact voice. “If those who attacked me were to fall into my hands, I would not hesitate to kill them outright for the outrage they perpetrated upon me and that holds true of every Elf here. Assaulting a lord of the realm is punishable by death and the manner of the execution is swift and sure.”

“Well, you just remember one thing, sir,” Talbot said gravely. “You’re not in Kansas any longer and I will nail your hide to the wall with unadulterated glee if you do anything of the sort and that goes for the rest of your people. You no longer rule the roost and you live under our laws, not yours.”

“Which is why I said I want them put away,” Glorfindel responded quietly. “I do not want the temptation of finding them myself, and that goes double for whoever ordered those bozos to plant the explosives.” He looked at Michaelson when he said that. “The anger of the Eldar is something no Mortal should witness, but someday you will and it will not be pleasant for anyone, even for those who are our allies. As I said before, we Elves take no prisoners.”

The two Mortals looked somewhat disturbed by this. Finally, though, Michaelson nodded. “We will endeavor to keep that particular temptation out of your hands, then.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said with all sincerity. “If there’s nothing else?”

“No, that’s it. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. DelaFiore,” Michaelson said formally as he rose and thrust out his hand for Glorfindel and Finrod to shake. Talbot also shook their hands.

“I’ll be in touch later and let you know how we will proceed from here,” the attorney said.

The Elves nodded and left, with Legolas escorting them to Glorfindel’s van before returning to the station, for he was on duty.

“We’ll see you later, then,” Glorfindel said as he started the van and the two gave Legolas a wave as they drove off.

“A most interesting experience,” Finrod said as Glorfindel maneuvered through traffic. “Not at all what it was like when I ruled in Nargothrond. And those Men truly could not see us even though we could see them clearly?”

Glorfindel cast him a wry look. “Cool, isn’t it? I have watched these Mortals over the ages as they developed their systems of law. Some were more enlightened than others, all of them strove to provide justice for wrongs done. This system isn’t perfect, and innocents still get accused of crimes they never committed, unfortunately, but they do seek to rectify such errors when they can. In many ways, they are far too civilized for me.”

 “Yes,” Finrod said as he glanced out the window at the passing scenery. “I agree. You were right to warn David as you did, for, in truth, I would be right beside you dispensing our brand of justice and damn the consequences.”

“And on that cheery note, I will drop you off so you can get back to work, Bookstore Boy,” Glorfindel said with a grin.

Finrod laughed. “I will see you later, then, gwador.” He opened the door and stepped out and gave Glorfindel a wave as he drove off, then crossed over to the square and headed for the bookstore.

****

The auction for the clothing store was held a couple of Saturdays after the near-bombing incident. Gregory Sanderson flew up from Seattle on Wednesday, rented a vehicle in Fairbanks and registered in the Goldmine Inn when he finally reached Wiseman late Thursday afternoon. As soon as he was in his room and had gotten rid of the bellboy he dialed a number on his phone.

“Hello?”

“The Sandman cometh,” was all Sanderson said.

“Thank you,” said the voice at the other end with polite neutrality. “I will let them know.” The person hung up and Sanderson stared at his phone for a second or two, shaking his head in amusement. “Bond, James Bond,” he muttered in a fake British accent, chuckling to himself before laying the phone on the night table and unzipping his suitcase to unpack.

Alex put the phone away as he stared at his computer. He was at his office, reviewing his notes for his Italian class that had ended shortly before, planning the next lesson. Felicity was there as well, grading a quiz for her German 102 class.

“Wrong number?” she asked, not really paying much attention to her surroundings.

“No, just a message that I promised to relay to some friends,” Alex answered. He switched over to his private email account and shot off an email to Daeron that said: Read the latest Sandman comic. It’s just a goldmine of good ideas for our next game. Highly recommended.

“So, I’m feeling like having pulled pork tonight,” he said as he sent the email on. “Feel like joining me for dinner at the Pig-In-Your-Eye?” naming a restaurant known for its pig roasts. “My treat.”

“Derek not home this week?” Felicity asked knowingly.

Alex shrugged. “He’s working the nightshift at the resort. He’ll be back on the weekend. I’m finding I hate eating alone now. Never realized how much I hated it until now.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Well, it’s a good thing I don’t do kosher, Mr. Grant,” she said coyly, “or you’d be out of luck.”

“Oops. Didn’t think about that. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Felicity said, looking amused.

“Yeah, but I should have thought about it. In my previous life, that sort of thing would’ve just been natural for me to know. I am getting sloppy.”

“Well, in your previous life, maybe that sort of thing was necessary, but you’ve rejoined the human race, Alex, and you’re no longer one of the gods.”

“I never thought I was,” Alex said, frowning, not entirely sure what the woman meant.

Felicity shook her head, smiling, and decided to change the subject. “Well, it’s almost time to close up shop. I’m going to freshen up a bit. I’ll be back shortly.” She stood and grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Alex spent the time while waiting for her by finishing up his notes and shutting down the computer. “I was never one of the gods,” he muttered to himself, “not even close.”

****

Daeron was in the process of sending a Sindarin lesson to the ap Hywel brothers for them to play with when he saw that Alex had sent him an email. Opening it and reading it, he shook his head in amusement. “Lord, it’s like being back in Florence with the Guelphs and the Ghibellines,” he said to himself as he closed down the computer and went in search of Glorfindel, who was sitting in the sunroom with Finrod, Elrohir and Serindë, the four of them playing poker. Or rather, teaching Finrod to play. All four looked up at his entrance.

“Gregory Sanderson has arrived safely and is registered at the Goldmine Inn,” Daeron said without preamble. “I just got the confirmation from Alex.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Then we’re all set,” he said with satisfaction.

“Run this by me again,” Elrohir demanded. “How is Sanderson being here going to assure that we get the store?”

“By setting us up as the decoy,” Glorfindel answered. “I will be very visible at the auction and have let it be known that I plan to bid for the store. Jacob is going to make sure I don’t win the bid by getting someone to bid against me. I will pretend to reach my limit after a reasonable amount of time and that is when Sanderson takes over, except, no one will connect him with us.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Serindë asked.

Glorfindel shrugged. “I cannot, but chances are good that people won’t remember him from Finrod’s court. He wasn’t in town long enough to leave any kind of impression and he wasn’t directly involved with things. It’s a gamble and we may lose, but so what? There will be other opportunities if this one does not pan out.”

“Well, I hope it does,” Daeron said with a grin. “I want to see Jacob’s face when he learns of it.”

Glorfindel gave him an amused look. “You’re out for blood, aren’t you?”

“You bet,” Daeron said and the others weren’t entirely sure if he was being serious or not.

“I made arrangements with Nick so I can accompany you to this auction,” Finrod said after a moment. “I am curious to see how this will work.”

“Well, the more, the merrier, I say,” Glorfindel responded with a chuckle. “You must all practice looking disappointed when I stop bidding though or they’ll know something’s up.”

“That will not be a problem,” Finrod said, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “I will simply recall some of your brilliant ideas that failed and got us into trouble.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel growled. “As I recall, it was usually your brilliant ideas that got us into trouble.”

“Hmph,” Finrod responded in mock disdain. “Obviously a case of selective amnesia, Watson.”

They all looked at him in surprise and then started laughing, though truly there was nothing all that funny in what he had said. Finrod just smirked. After they had calmed down, Daeron excused himself and the others went back to their game.

****

On Friday, Glorfindel walked into the Wiseman State Bank, asking to speak with the bank manager, Jake Chandler.

“I need to make a withdrawal for the auction tomorrow, Jake,” Glorfindel said as he shook the Man’s hand, making sure that most of the people in the bank overheard him.

“How large of a withdrawal, Loren?”

“Um… I don’t think I can go much higher than about one hundred fifty thousand,” Glorfindel answered. “Do you think that’ll be enough?” He gave Jake an anxious look.

Jake shrugged. “This isn’t the big city, so I suppose that might be enough. Property just isn’t as expensive here as, say, in Fairbanks. Why don’t you step into my office and we’ll get the necessary paperwork out of the way?”

Glorfindel nodded, keeping the smile off his face as he noticed the expressions on the faces of some of the Mortals who no doubt could not wait to spread the news to certain ears.

Fifteen minutes later, as he stepped out of Chandler’s office, carefully folding a cashier’s check and sticking it into his wallet before returning the wallet to an inside pocket of his coat, he said in a voice that was just loud enough to attract the attention of others without being obvious about it, “You know, a thousand years ago, I could have bought a small kingdom for this amount and still have change left over for pizza.”

Chandler laughed heartily as he shook Glorfindel’s hand. “Nice doing business with you, Loren. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Jake. I’ll need it,” Glorfindel said, then left the bank whistling, seemingly ignoring the Mortals who watched him leave.

Saturday, Glorfindel, joined by Finrod, Daeron, Valandur and a number of other Elves, went to the Grange Hall for the auction, which would begin at ten. Upon entering the Hall he duly registered as a buyer and was given something that looked like an oversize ping-pong paddle with a number — 12 — painted on it.

“When I want to make a bid, I just raise this paddle,” Glorfindel explained to those Elves unfamiliar with the system. “Saves from having to shout out bids all the time. Come on. Let’s find a spot to stand in.”

Jacob’s store was not the only property being auctioned off that day. There was another business and a couple of private homes which had been foreclosed by the bank. Thus, there was a good crowd attending and there was almost a festive air about it.

“Like vultures waiting for their meal to die,” Daeron muttered darkly.

Glorfindel gave him an amused look. “You’re just full of good cheer this morning, aren’t you? What’s the matter? Got up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“More likely, got up in the wrong bed,” Elladan quipped, giving Daeron a leer. “Anna still playing hard to get, is she?” Melyanna, who was with them, laughed lightly, whispering something to Helyanwë and Mithrellas who were also there. The three of them giggled, casting amused looks upon the ellyn, who patently ignored them.

Daeron muttered something too low for any of them to hear. Elladan smirked and Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. Finrod, apparently not paying attention to the conversation, said, “I do not see Mr. Sanderson yet.”

“He’ll be here,” Glorfindel promised. “Just don’t react to his presence. As far as we’re concerned, we don’t know him from Adam.”

Finrod cast him a smile. “I do know how the game is played, gwador,” he retorted mildly.

Before Glorfindel could respond, the auctioneer stood on the stage and announced that the auction would begin. First up was one of the foreclosed properties.

“You know, it’s a pity we’re set on buying the store,” Glorfindel whispered to the others, sure that none of the Mortals standing nearby would hear him. “We could bid for one or two of these houses for ourselves.”

“Too late now, though,” Elladan said. “I wonder who old Jacob has bidding against us.”

“We will find out soon enough,” Valandur said. “Ah, I do believe Mr. Sanderson has arrived. No, children, do not look around. Honestly, I would think you were all amateurs.”

“How do you even know he’s here?” Helyanwë asked. She and Glorfindel were holding hands. “You’re not even looking around.”

Valandur smiled, never looking at her, his attention apparently on the stage. “Alex would call it situational awareness. Hush now.” And they concentrated on the auction.

All the other properties were dispensed with in due time. There was a break for about half an hour for people to get something to eat or drink or to use the facilities without fear of missing out on the action. The Elves stayed closed to each other, ignoring the stares from the Mortals, quietly conversing in Sindarin about matters having to do with Elf Academy. Eventually, the break ended and the auctioneer came back on stage. With him was Jacob VonHoltz.

“Last item, Jacob’s Clothing Store,” the auctioneer said. “Bidding begins at twenty thousand. Do I hear twenty-one thousand?”

Glorfindel immediately raised his paddle. Jacob glared at him.

“Twenty-one thousand from number twelve,” the auctioneer said. “Do I hear twenty-two thousand?”

Now another paddle went up from the other side of the Hall but none of them could see who it was. “Twenty-two thousand from number seven,” the auctioneer intoned. “Do I hear twenty-three...?”

And so the bidding began. Other’s joined in but it was obvious to most that the bidding war was between Glorfindel and the person holding up paddle number seven. Some of the Elves craned to see who was bidding against them but the crowd prevented them from doing so, for Number Seven was standing on the far end, closer to the stage and only the paddle could be seen rising above the crowd. Jacob beamed whenever that paddle rose, and scowled whenever Glorfindel raised his paddle.

One-by-one, the other bidders dropped out as the bids continued to rise. Glorfindel never wavered, always upping the ante and the tension in the Hall rose with it and as they got down to serious bidding, everyone could see Jacob VonHoltz looking more and more nervous at the thought that the Elves might have the final bid. The other Mortals stood there acting as if they were at a tennis match, their heads swiveling back and forth to see if the other bidder’s paddle would go up at the next bid. Slowly the price rose… fifty thousand… eighty thousand… a hundred thousand…

At a hundred and fifty thousand, which was the bid from Glorfindel, the auctioneer said, “One hundred fifty thousand. Do I hear one hundred fifty-five?”

Number Seven’s paddle went up. The auctioneer nodded and said, “One hundred fifty-five thousand to number seven. Do I hear one hundred sixty thousand?”

The Hall was absolutely silent, all eyes on Glorfindel, who did not move. The Elves remained still as well, playing their part.

“Sir, do I hear one hundred sixty?” the auctioneer asked after a long moment, speaking directly to Glorfindel against all the rules of the auction house.

Glorfindel bent his head toward Daeron and Finrod as if consulting them, though what he actually said, speaking in Quenya, was, “Do you think I’ve made Jacob sweat enough?”

Daeron, keeping his expression neutral, replied, “Time to end this farce.” Finrod nodded.

Glorfindel gave them a feral grin and straightened, looking directly at the auctioneer and shook his head, handing his paddle to Elrohir, who happened to be standing nearby. There was an audible moan from many of the spectators, though some muffled cheers could be heard as well. The auctioneer gave Glorfindel an enquiring look, but he merely shook his head. The Man actually sighed, though whether because he had been hoping Glorfindel would win the bid or because the game was apparently over, was hard to say. Jacob smirked.

“One hundred fifty-five thousand, going once… One hundred fifty-five thousand, going twice…”

Many people were already heading for the doors, shaking their heads, assuming it was all over. One or two even stopped before Glorfindel to commiserate.

“Tough luck,” one of them said. Glorfindel just shrugged philosophically.

“… going….”

“Two hundred thousand.”

Everyone froze. Then heads were craned to see another paddle going up. People started murmuring, asking neighbors if they knew who was bidding, but everyone just shook their heads.

The auctioneer’s eyes widened and Jacob looked as if he were going to faint. “Er… two hundred thousand from number forty-two. Do… do I hear two hundred thousand and… um… five.” He gave Jacob a helpless look.

The Mortals turned their attention to the other side of the Hall where Number Seven had stood. There was no sign of a paddle.

“Two hundred thousand and five?” the auctioneer repeated, looking directly at the person who had been bidding against Glorfindel. There was only silence and Jacob looked ready to scream.

“Why is he so upset, do you suppose?” Daeron whispered to Glorfindel. “As far as he knows, you’ve lost. Why would he object to getting more for the store than he’d planned for?”

“You got me,” Glorfindel replied, “but methinks that Jacob may have been planning a little light swindling of his own.”

“You mean, he never truly intended to sell the store,” Daeron said.

Glorfindel just shrugged. “That would be my guess. Ah… I think the bid is about to be closed.”

“… two hundred thousand going thrice… sold to number forty-two.” He slammed the gavel down on the podium. There was a smattering of applause from some of the crowd, but much confusion, everyone trying to figure out who had actually bought the store.

Glorfindel turned to the others with a grin. “We’ll wait for Gregory to complete the deal and then we’ll finish this.”

“No, Fred, I’m afraid I don’t know who won the bid,” Elladan was heard to say, speaking solemnly to Fred Steiner and his wife, Ellen. “I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities.”

Glorfindel started toward the stage, and the others followed. Sanderson was already at the table handing over a cashier’s check while the clerk hunted through the papers before her for the deed to the store. A young man of about twenty or so joined Jacob on the stage, looking glum.

“Sorry, Grandpa,” they heard him say to Jacob. “You didn’t tell me to continue bidding after I reached a hundred and fifty-five thousand.”

Jacob merely sighed. “It’s alright, Davey. You did a good job. Go find your mother, will you? I’m sure she’d appreciate your help getting the rugrats back home.”

The young man nodded, still looking glum as he laid the paddle with the number seven painted on it on the podium and walked away. Glorfindel and Finrod exchanged knowing looks. Jacob spied them and sneered.

“Foiled your plans, anyway, Elf.”

“As we apparently foiled yours,” Glorfindel said amiably, then ignoring Jacob, he turned to Sanderson. “Hello, Greg. You’re looking well.”

“Loren,” Sanderson said, accepting the deed from the clerk. He glanced through the document, nodding, then looked up with a gimlet-eyed stare at Jacob. “It is a good thing I don’t practice here in Alaska, Mr. VonHoltz, because I would dearly love to see you prosecuted for fraud and embezzlement. Lucky for you, I don’t and so I will do the next best thing to seeing you in jail.” With that, he held the deed out to Glorfindel. “Here you go, Loren, signed, sealed and delivered.”

“What?” Jacob shouted, drawing the attention of others who were lingering in the Hall. “You can’t do that!”

Sanderson gave him a cold look, then turned to the clerk. “Did I not hand over the correct amount of money for the sale of Jacob’s Clothing Store?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the Woman said, nodding. “I will deposit the check on Monday and register the deed transfer as well.”

“Thank you,” Sanderson said. “Thus, for all legal purposes, I own Jacob’s Clothing Store, do I not?”

The Woman nodded again and Sanderson turned back to a still fuming Jacob, giving him a cold smile. “As the new owner of the property formerly known as Jacob’s Clothing Store, I am within my rights to do with it whatever I wish within the law. The law says I own the store and the law allows me to hand the store over to whomever I please and I please to hand it over to Loren DelaFiore.” So saying, he handed the deed to Glorfindel who accepted it.

“Thank you.” Glorfindel handed the deed to Daeron who slipped it into the briefcase he had been carrying.

“Thank you,” Sanderson said. “I haven’t had so much fun in a dog’s age.”

“So, let me get this straight,” the auctioneer said, looking slightly confused. By now close to twenty people were standing at the foot of the stage listening in on the conversation and several more were making their way there, drawn by instinct to the drama that was unfolding. “Mr… er…?” He gave Sanderson an enquiring look.

“Sanderson. Greg Sanderson, attorney-at-law,” Sanderson introduced himself, holding out his hand for the auctioneer to shake, which he did, giving his own name. “Hayden Davidson,” he said, then addressed Glorfindel.

“Mr. Sanderson pays two hundred thousand of his own money for the store but he’s giving you the deed?”

“Actually, all the money is mine,” Glorfindel said with a smirk. “I simply gave the check to Mr. Sanderson to handle.”

“But at the bank, you only withdrew a hundred and fifty thousand,” Jacob protested.

All eyes turned to him. “How did you know that?” someone from the crowd demanded.

“Ah, um, someone overheard DelaFiore say so and then told me,” Jacob replied, looking a bit flustered.

“Which is why I made sure everyone in the bank heard what amount I was withdrawing,” Glorfindel said. “However, they did not hear the conversation between Jake Chandler and me once Jake’s office door was closed.” He left it there, allowing everyone to draw their own conclusions. There was quite a bit of snickering from the crowd as they caught on.

“You’re a plant!” Jacob nearly screamed, pointing an accusatory finger at Sanderson.

“As was your grandson,” Sanderson said. “Cheer up, Mr. VonHoltz. Now you can actually retire to Florida the way you were pretending to when all along you meant to continue to run the store through your grandson without having to be responsible for it legally or financially.”

“Is that true, Jacob?” one of the Mortals listening to them asked.

“Well, whether it’s true or not is moot,” Sanderson said smoothly. “Mr. VonHoltz is two hundred thousand dollars richer courtesy of the good Elves of Edhellond, so he has no reason to complain, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Glorfindel said, giving Jacob a cold stare. “You really should have sold the store to us in the first place, Jacob. We even offered twice as much for it than what we’ve now paid. You used your own grandson in an attempt to prevent me from winning the bid. I don’t appreciate having an innocent being used against me in that fashion. I knew you would do all you could to prevent me from winning the bid, so, I stacked the deck, as it were.” He paused, more for effect than for any other reason, and then continued, the smile now on his lips never reaching his eyes. “You failed to understand one thing, Jacob VonHoltz: I’ve been around a lot longer than all the Mortals of Alaska combined. I know all the tricks. Hell, I taught most of them to your ancestors.”

He gave Jacob a significant look and then turned his back on him, effectively dismissing the Man from his mind as he gave Sanderson a genuine smile full of warmth. “So, Greg, care to join us for a celebratory meal? We were thinking of doing filet mignon and lobster.”

“Sounds good to me, Loren,” Sanderson said and he joined the Elves in exiting the building.

As they left, several of the onlookers began to applaud.





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