June approached the stall owner, the grimy coin resting in her palm.
Mickey Kowalski glanced at it, then let his gaze drag over her faded shirt and patched jeans. A lazy sigh escaped him. "Anything from that pile is five hundred bucks. No bargaining."
He pegged her for exactly what she looked like. A clueless kid. An easy mark.
A cold amusement coiled in June's chest. This coin—a rare Roman Imperial piece known as the Venus of the Sea—was worth millions. Five hundred dollars wasn't a price. It was a gift.
Her face remained a blank mask. "Okay."
She handed over her debit card. Mickey swiped it, his greed silencing any suspicion. The transaction cleared.
He tossed the coin at her, a dismissive flick of his wrist.
June caught it.
"Wait! Young lady!"
An older voice, trembling with excitement, cut through the market noise.
June turned. An elderly man in a tailored tweed jacket stood a few paces away. His eyes weren't on her face. They were locked on her closed fist, burning with an intense, almost desperate hunger. A prim butler hovered at his shoulder.
Theodore Hoffman. A titan in the antiquities trade.
He took a shaky step forward. "My child," he breathed. "May I please see what you have there?"
June's pulse stayed steady, but her mind raced. The game was up. A true expert would recognize the coin instantly, and Theodore's trembling hands proved he was no amateur. Hiding it now would only draw more attention.
She opened her palm.
Theodore took the coin as if it were made of glass. His hands shook as he pulled a loupe from his pocket. He raised it to his eye, holding his breath, examining every millimeter of the corroded surface.
Mickey sidled back over. His lazy contempt was gone, replaced by a sharp, nervous curiosity.
A sharp gasp shattered the quiet.
Theodore lowered the loupe. His eyes were shining, almost wet. "It's real," he whispered. Then louder, his voice cracking: "It's truly the Venus of the Sea."
He clutched the coin to his chest, overwhelmed by the discovery. "Child, will you sell it to me?"
June's voice was steady. "What are you offering?"
Theodore didn't hesitate. "Five million dollars. Wired immediately."
The whisper ignited the crowd. Heads turned. Every eye fixed on the dirty coin.
Mickey's face went from red to purple. He lunged forward, fingers hooked into claws, but Theodore's butler stepped in, blocking him with a stiff arm.
"That thing is mine!" Mickey shrieked, spittle flying. His features twisted with raw, ugly greed. He jabbed a trembling finger at June. "The deal's off! I'll give you your lousy five hundred back right now!"
Seconds ago, he had tossed it at her like trash. Now the scent of millions had driven him rabid.
June met his wild eyes. Her gaze was ice. "The transaction is complete. Are you trying to go back on a deal?"
"You little brat!" Mickey snarled, his voice dropping to a venomous threat. "I say it's mine, so it's mine. Hand it over, or you aren't walking out of here."
The onlookers murmured, their whispers thick with pity. A skinny teenager with no backup. The strong took. The weak lost.
Theodore frowned. "Barnaby, handle this—"
June raised a hand.
The gesture was so calm, so absolutely assured, that Barnaby stopped mid-step.
She turned to Mickey. Her posture was relaxed, but her voice carried a lethal edge. "The rule of the market is simple. Once a deal is made, it cannot be undone."
She let the silence stretch.
"The penalty for breaking that rule is the loss of a hand. Isn't it?"
The color drained from Mickey's face. He hadn't expected a teenager in faded jeans to know the market's oldest, most brutal law.
"Who are you trying to scare?" he blustered, though his voice cracked with sudden fear. "The enforcers won't bother with this!"
June smiled.
It was a cold, cutting smile. Utterly devoid of warmth. The kind of smile that promised violence.
"Won't they?" she said softly. "Let's ask."
Two men in black uniforms stepped out from the crowd. They moved with the heavy, deliberate weight of men who never needed to rush.
The market's enforcers.
Mickey made a strangled sound. He took a stumbling step back.
The crowd fell silent. Theodore clutched the coin tighter.
Up in the surveillance room, Jase Bryant stopped tapping his fingers.
He leaned forward, his dark eyes locked on screen four. A teenage girl staring down a grown man twice her size—and winning. Her back was straight. Her hands were still.
A slow, genuine smile spread across Jase's face. A flicker of deep intrigue lit his eyes.
He didn't move. He didn't call anyone off.
He just watched, waiting to see exactly how she would finish it.
