The silence in the grand rotunda was absolute. For a full ten seconds, the only sound was the faint, electric hum of the floating mirror platform beneath the orange McLaren P1.
Nearby, a couple who had been browsing a row of SUVs froze, their mouths slightly open. The husband slowly lowered his tablet, staring over at Jake with wide eyes. Two sales consultants standing by the reception counter completely stopped typing, their hands hovering over their keyboards as they exchanged rapid, stunned glances.
"Did he just say double?" one consultant whispered under his breath, his eyes darting from Jake to the pale-faced attendant. "A pristine P1 fluctuates around nineteen million marks on the global auction block. Double that is..."
"Thirty-eight million," the other replied, her voice shaking slightly as she reached for her desk phone. "He's trying to drop thirty-eight million marks on a car that isn't even for sale. On a Saturday morning."
