"It's genuine."
Mr. Hargrove's eyes were fixed on the vase, bright with the particular excitement of a man who had just found something he hadn't expected to find. He turned to Cole with real warmth.
"Son, I'd like to buy this from you."
"Mr. Hargrove, please look again carefully." Derek's voice came out tighter than he intended. "Zane has already examined it. He's a respected appraiser — he said it was a reproduction. The genuine piece is with Mr. Wallace."
"I can't fault Zane for that." Mr. Hargrove shook his head without looking away from the vase. "I nearly made the same call myself on first glance. But I've gone over it thoroughly. This is the real one. No question."
"That's... that's not possible."
Derek took two steps back. The color had left his face entirely. He had walked into Carter's Antiques to humiliate Cole in front of Margaret, and now he was standing in Mr. Hargrove's office having just committed to a million dollar payout in front of three hundred witnesses.
Mr. Hargrove finally turned his attention from the vase to Cole.
"You're sharp, young man. Very sharp. I wouldn't have expected someone your age to catch what the professionals missed. That's genuinely impressive."
Cole smiled and kept it modest. "I just got lucky with this one. I wouldn't claim to know more than I do."
He couldn't exactly explain that he'd read about this exact vase in a newspaper article from ten years in the future.
Mr. Hargrove studied him for a moment with the look of a man filing something away for later, then said: "I'd like to offer you three million for it. What do you say?"
Cole was about to answer when Margaret spoke first.
"Mr. Harmon." Her voice was composed and direct. "I'll pay six million. I'd like to buy it."
Mr. Hargrove turned to her with genuine surprise. "Miss Ashford, you—"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hargrove. I really do want this one." She gave him an apologetic smile without any real apology in it.
Cole looked at her with something close to admiration. She had moved fast, and she hadn't hesitated. He had a reasonable guess about why.
"Miss Ashford, that was impressive. You saw the opportunity immediately." He gave a small nod. "This vase has real potential for the Ashford Group, doesn't it."
Margaret went very still for just a second. She hadn't expected him to get there that quickly. If he understood the vase's value to her family, he might push for a higher price.
Cole read her expression and spoke before she could.
"I won't raise the price. I mean that. And honestly — someone like Mr. Wallace isn't easy to get in front of. This piece will do far more good in your hands than mine."
Margaret studied him carefully.
"You're serious."
"I'm serious."
She was quiet for a moment, then nodded.
Cole understood the situation well. In his previous life, when Mr. Hargrove authenticated the vase and paid three million for it, the story had made every outlet in the city. Mr. Wallace's prized collection turned out to contain a reproduction — which meant Mr. Wallace, a man who guarded his reputation above almost everything else, had been publicly embarrassed. The internet had not been kind. Memes, jokes, endless commentary. For weeks the man couldn't escape it.
Margaret had clearly done the same math in about thirty seconds. A gift like this — the kind that quietly solved a problem Mr. Wallace desperately needed solved — was worth considerably more than any dollar figure.
"Grandpa Hargrove," Margaret said, turning back to the old man, "would you package this for me please? And I'd also like the Harrison mountain landscape — the one in the back office."
Mr. Hargrove let out a long sigh and handed the vase over with the expression of a man surrendering something he genuinely loved. "Six million then. Not a cent less for the painting."
"Of course."
The only person in the room who hadn't said anything in several minutes was Derek. He was standing slightly apart from the others with the rigid stillness of someone working very hard to contain something.
Cole turned to him pleasantly.
"Miss Ashford, could I trouble you for a slip of paper and a pen?"
She handed them over without comment. Cole wrote down his bank account number and passed the slip to Margaret.
Margaret looked at it, then looked at Cole with a slight smile.
"I'll add an extra million. And if anyone asks about this vase going forward—"
"It's a reproduction," Cole said. "Not worth the wrapping it came in."
The corner of Margaret's mouth curved. "You're easy to work with."
She took out her phone, entered the account number, and transferred the funds.
Cole's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen.
Seven million dollars.
He put the phone away and kept his expression calm, though his heart was doing something considerably less calm.
"Thank you, Miss Ashford."
"Thank you, Mr. Harmon. You've just given the Ashford Group a significant advantage." She extended her hand.
Cole took it. The handshake lasted a beat longer than strictly necessary, and he held her gaze with a slight smile that he didn't entirely try to hide.
Margaret's cheeks warmed. She looked away with a small, composed press of her lips.
"Cole." Derek's voice came out low and sharp. He stepped forward and pulled Cole's hand back. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
"I apologize," Cole said, turning to Margaret with a perfectly straight face. "It's just — I don't often meet someone who can read a situation that quickly and move on it. I was caught off guard."
"He's lying." Derek's voice had gone up a register. "He's doing this deliberately."
"Oh — right." Cole reached into his pocket and produced the slip of paper with his account number. He held it out to Derek with a cheerful smile. "One million dollars. Whenever you're ready."