Back in the magnificent hall of the Celestial Garden safehouse, the atmosphere shifted as the initial networking concluded and a large set of ornate double doors opened, revealing a specialized auction room.

Congressman Thompson, beaming with anticipation, immediately approached Ethan.

"Mr. Blake, the main event is beginning!" Thompson said excitedly. "Right this way. As my personal guest, you deserve a seat right up front."

Ethan, relieved to finally move toward the true center of the compound, followed Thompson into the auction room. It was dimly lit, designed like a grand, tiered theatre, where every bidder had a mahogany desk and a small, electronic bidding paddle.

The auction began with what appeared to be perfectly normal, if highly exclusive, items.

"We start tonight with Lot 101: A truly magnificent original oil painting from the early Baroque period, 'The Fall of Icarus,' attributed to Bruegel the Elder! We start the bidding at $5 million!" the auctioneer declared.

Ethan watched as the wealthy attendees casually raised their paddles, tossing millions back and forth. For a brief moment, he played along to maintain his cover.

"I bid $15 million for the painting," Ethan said, raising his paddle with an air of boredom. He eventually conceded the item to a bidder across the room, having successfully blended in.

Over the next thirty minutes, the bidding continued with typical luxury items.

"Lot 115: A genuine 15th-century Crusader's broadsword, perfectly preserved," the auctioneer announced. Ethan found the weapon intriguing.

"Twenty-two million," Ethan bid. He secured the sword and a few antique navigational maps of supposed lost treasures, simply to give Thompson something to talk about.

Then, the items began to shift.

"Lot 120: An item of unparalleled intimacy. We have here a set of—authenticated and well-used—silk lingerie belonging to the globally acclaimed actress, Miss Aurora Lane. The value is purely sentimental, but the thrill is priceless! Starting bid, $500,000."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, thinking, That's certainly a strange shift from Baroque art. Thompson merely snickered next to him.

"And now, Lot 121: This is a collector's dream! The personal, gold-inlaid pleasure device—yes, that device—from the private collection of a certain foreign princess who recently caused a royal scandal. An intimate piece of history! Starting bid: $1 million."

Ethan felt a genuine flicker of disgust, but kept his expression neutral. The objects were designed to appeal to the bidders' most perverse desires for ownership and degradation.

"Lot 125: An exclusive, all-inclusive, private two-week Mediterranean cruise with the stunning international pop sensation, Celeste. She will be your exclusive companion, entirely at your command. Starting bid: $10 million."

Ethan watched as the pop star, Celeste, stood up on a small stage, giving a carefully rehearsed, provocative wave. The bids flew immediately. Ethan thought, Is she being paid for this, or is this veiled prostitution? The intent behind the objects was becoming unsettlingly suggestive.

"And now, gentlemen, for a brief five-minute recess before we move on to the truly unique and extraordinary collections of the evening!" the auctioneer announced, tapping his gavel.

Thompson leaned toward Ethan, his eyes glittering. "Excellent purchases, Mr. Blake! But trust me, you'll want to save your real capital for the next section. That's where the real gems are found."

Ethan's stomach twisted. I have maintained a neutral expression. "Congressman," Ethan said, his voice low and firm. "Tell me exactly what kind of 'gems' you are referring to in the next collection."

Thompson studied Ethan's face for a moment. He sensed something strange about Ethan's attitude. Ethan possessed the power, the contacts, and the money, yet he seemed completely ignorant of this world. Thompson had assumed that a man of Ethan's stature would have attended this type of high-stakes gathering many times before.

Thompson sighed and subtly gestured for Ethan to follow him. They walked out of the tiered auction room and stepped into a secluded section of the mansion's meticulously maintained garden, away from the chatter of the recess.

"Tell me, Mr. Blake," Thompson said, his voice dropping to a confidential level. "Have you truly never attended an auction like this before?"

"No," Ethan confirmed simply.

"That is... unusual," Thompson said, pausing to choose his words carefully. "Based on my intelligence, and what I've seen of your operations, I know you must have at least $500 million in liquid assets. And if we count your properties and everything else, you must command well over a billion."

Thompson paused, then pulled a heavy, sealed envelope from the inner pocket of his tuxedo and handed it to Ethan.

"When someone reaches a certain level of wealth and influence, an invitation like this eventually arrives," Thompson explained, nodding toward the envelope. "Perhaps not to you, but certainly your father should have received one. I know your father passed away, but since you direct such a powerful business, I assumed he might have taught you. Now I see there are things you remain unaware of."

Thompson looked genuinely sorry for the role he was about to play. "Perhaps this is too much for you, but allow me to explain. Usually, this conversation should be held by a father, as he is the person who knows his son best. Since he is not here, I regretfully must take his place for a moment to tell you how this world truly works."

Thompson paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing.

"These auctions, Mr. Blake, always follow the same format," Thompson said, his voice now a low, conspiratorial murmur. "There are three distinct rounds. The one we just left, the initial one, is for 'common' luxury items: art, antiquities, celebrity trinkets—the things you can show off publicly. It's the decoy."

Thompson gestured back toward the auction room. "The second round, the one about to begin, is why most of these distinguished gentlemen traveled here. It features slaves, Mr. Blake. Beautiful, valuable, often unique human beings, acquired globally. People stolen from their homes, sometimes highly specialized individuals—artists, scientists, even children. They are sold with no contracts, no moral oversight, simply as property to be owned and used."

He looked directly at Ethan. "And finally, if you survive that, comes the third and final round: the Taboo Collection. These are objects and services so dark, so forbidden, that even the people in this room hesitate to acknowledge them. They are items that violate every law and moral code imaginable."

Ethan's carefully constructed composure began to crack. His face remained neutral, but the fury in his eyes intensified as he stared into Thompson's soul.

"You knew about this?" Ethan demanded, his voice dangerously low. "You knew they were selling people? Are you in agreement with this, Thompson? Do you support this horror?"

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