When at last the auctioneer stepped up to the polished wood podium, the lights in the hall began to dim. A massive gold latticework screen ran along the wall facing the stage, and at the appointed moment, the screen began to part, revealing the hanging scrolls in all their glory. Brilliantly enhanced by the state-of-the-art lighting system, they almost appeared to glow from within. The crowd gasped, and when the lights came up again, the auctioneer promptly began the session without any fuss: “An exceedingly rare set of twenty-four hanging scrolls from the Qing dynasty, ink and color on silk, depicting the Palace of Eighteen Perfections, by Yuan Jiang. Inscribed by the artist, and dated 1693. Shall we have an opening bid of—one million?”

Valerie could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she saw Corinna raise her blue-numbered paddle to volley the first bid. A flurry of paddles began popping up around the room, and the price began its stratospheric climb. Five million. Ten million. Twelve million. Fifteen million. Twenty million. Within a matter of minutes, the bid was at forty million. Lester leaned forward in his chair, analyzing the action on the auction-room floor like some complex chess match, and Valerie clawed her nails into his shoulder repeatedly in high anticipation.

When the bidding hit sixty million, Lester’s phone rang. It was Corinna sounding frantic. “Suey doh sei,*2 it’s going up too fast! We’re going to pass your seventy-five-million limit in no time. Do you want to keep bidding?”

Lester breathed in deeply. Any expenditure over fifty million would surely be noticed by his father’s bean counters, and there would be some explaining to do. “Keep going till I stop you,” he ordered.

Valerie’s head was spinning in excitement. They were so close. Imagine, soon she would own something that even Araminta Khoo coveted! At eighty million, the bidding finally slowed down. No more paddles in the room were raised with the exception of Corinna’s, and it seemed like there were only two or three telephone buyers remaining to bid against the Lius. The price was going up only in increments of half a million, and Lester closed his eyes, praying he would get it for under ninety million. It was worth it. It was worth the scolding he would get from his father. He would make his plea that he had bought the family a billion dollars’ worth of good publicity.

Suddenly there came a commotion from the back of the auction room. Murmurs could be heard as the standing-room-only crowd began to give way. Even in a room packed with celebrities dressed to the nines, a hush came over the space as a strikingly attractive Chinese woman with jet-black hair, powdered white skin, and crimson lips, dramatically dressed in a black velvet off-the-shoulder gown, emerged from the crowd. Flanked by two snow-white Russian wolfhounds on long diamond leashes, the lady began to walk slowly up the central aisle as every head swiveled toward the sensational sight.

Clearing his throat discreetly into the mic, the auctioneer tried to regain the attention of the room. “I have eighty-five point five million, who will say eighty-six?”

One of the associates manning a telephone nodded. Corinna immediately raised her paddle to challenge that bid. And then the lady in black velvet raised her paddle. Looking down from the skybox, the director of Christie’s Asia turned to his associates in astonishment and said, “I thought she was just some publicity seeker.” Straining to take a better look, the director observed, “Her paddle number is 269. Someone find out who she is. Is she even prequalified to bid?”

Oliver T’sien, who was in the lounge bidding on behalf of a private client, had been staring intently with his opera glasses at the lady with the silken-haired dogs ever since she entered. He let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, she’s prequalified.”

“Who is she?” the director demanded.

“Well, her nose and chin have been refined and it looks like she’s also gotten cheek implants, but I’m quite certain bidder number 269 is none other than Mrs. Tai.”

“Carol Tai, the widow of Dato’ Tai Toh Lui, that tycoon who died last year?”

“No, no, she’s the wife of Bernard, the dato’s son who inherited all of his father’s billions. That lady in black is the soap-opera star formerly known as Kitty Pong.”

WAN CHAI, HONG KONG, 8:25 P.M.

This is special correspondent Sunny Choy reporting for CNN International. I’m live at the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre, where the world’s top collectors are in a frenzied state of bidding for The Palace of Eighteen Perfections. The price has just hit $90 million. To put this into perspective, a Qianlong vase sold in London for a record-breaking US$85.9 million in 2010. But that’s London. In Asia, the highest price ever achieved was US$65.4 million for an ink painting by Qi Baishi in 2011.*3 So this painting has already broken TWO world records. Now, about ten minutes ago, the former actress Kitty Pong—who is married to billionaire Bernard Tai—brought the auction to a standstill when she made an entrance with two gigantic dogs on diamond leashes and began bidding. Right now, there are four others bidding against her. We’re told that one is a representative for the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, another suspected bidder is the heiress Araminta Lee Khoo, and there are unconfirmed reports that the third bidder is a representative for the Liu insurance family. We don’t know who the fourth mystery bidder is yet. Back to you, Christiane.

UPPER GUDAURI, REPUBLIC OF GEORGIA, 12:30 A.M.

“There’s some ridiculous woman in black with two friggin’ dogs who will not stop bidding!” Araminta cursed into her laptop, not recognizing Kitty Pong in the live video feed of the auction. After a long day of heli-skiing in the Caucasus Mountains, her muscles ached and this auction was delaying her much-needed soak in the gigantic sunken tub of their winter chalet.

“What’s the price up to now?” Colin asked drowsily as he lay stretched out on the black-and-white yak-skin rug by the fireplace.

“I’m not telling—I know you’re not going to approve.”

“No, really, Minty, how much is it?”

“Shhh! I’m bidding!” Araminta admonished her husband, resuming her dialogue with the Christie’s associate on the line.

Colin pulled himself up from the cozy rug and padded over to the desk where his wife was set up with her computer and satellite phone. He blinked twice at the video feed, not sure if he believed what he was seeing. “Lugh siow, ah?*4 You’re really going to pay ninety million for a bunch of old scrolls?”

Araminta gave him a look. “I don’t say anything when you buy huge ugly canvases with elephant dung on them, so don’t you start on me now.”

“Wait a minute, my Chris Ofilis only cost about two, three million each. Think about how many elephant-dung paintings we could buy—”

Araminta cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “Make yourself useful and get me another hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows, please. This auction isn’t over until I say it’s over!”

“Where are you even going to hang them? We have no more wall space left in the house,” Colin continued.

“You know, I think they would go splendidly in the lobby of the new hotel my mother’s building in Bhutan. BLOODY HELL! The bitch in black isn’t giving up! Who the hell is she? She looks like a Chinese Dita Von Teese!”

Colin shook his head. “Minty, you’re getting too emotional. Hand me the phone—I’ll do the bidding if you really want it that bad. I have much more experience with this than you do. The most important thing is to set your limit. What’s your top limit?”

COLD STORAGE JELITA, SINGAPORE, 8:35 P.M.

Astrid Leong was at the supermarket when her phone rang. She was trying to cobble together a meal for the cook’s night off tomorrow, and her five-year-old son, Cassian, was standing in the front section of the cart, doing his best impression of Leonardo DiCaprio on the prow of the Titanic. As always, Astrid was a little mortified to use her phone in a public place, but seeing that it was her cousin Oliver T’sien calling from Hong Kong, it couldn’t be helped. She steered the cart toward the frozen vegetables section and took the call.

“What’s up?”

“You’re missing all the fun at the auction of the year,” Oliver reported gleefully.

“Oh, was that today? So tell me, what’s the damage?”

“It’s still going! You’re not going to believe this, but Kitty Pong made quite the entrance and has been bidding up the painting like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Kitty Pong?”

“Yes, in a Madame X cocktail dress with two borzois on diamond leashes. It’s quite the spectacle.”

“When did she become an art collector? Is Bernard there? I didn’t think he spent his money on anything but drugs and boats.”

“Bernard is nowhere to be seen. But if Kitty succeeds in acquiring this painting, they will immediately be considered the top collectors of Asian art in the world.”

“Hmm—I am missing out on all the fun.”

“So it’s down to Kitty, Araminta Lee, some Mainland couple that Corinna Ko-Tung is bidding for, and the Getty Museum. We’re up to ninety-four million on the painting. I know you didn’t set a limit, but I just want to be sure you want to keep going.”

“Ninety-four? Keep going. Cassian, stop playing with those frozen peas!”

“It’s ninety-six now. Oops. Holymarymotherofgod—we’ve just broken a hundred million! Bid?”

“Sure.”

“The Mainlanders have finally dropped out—poor things, they look like they’ve just lost their firstborn child. We’re at one hundred and five.”