HE GAVE HIS MISTRESS MY PADDLE. HE FORGOT THE AUCTION HOUSE BELONGED TO ME

curled her manicured fingers around the ivory paddle marked 18 and smiled across the candlelit ballroom at me.

Not a nervous smile.

Not the guilty smile of a woman caught sleeping with another woman’s husband.

It was the serene, polished smile of someone who believed the wife had already lost.

Around us, eighty of Manhattan’s wealthiest collectors sat continue reading …