8
Three months later, at an awards ceremony, the host, smiling, announced:
“The UN Heritage Guardian Medal is officially awarded to Ms. Stella Sterling.”
I smiled faintly, unfazed by the honor.
The audience, watching on screens, began to buzz with comments. This was Stella Sterling, the art restorer, who with her gifted hands pieced together millennium–old fragments to their original state.
But who remembered that three months ago, I was just a nobody kicked out of Sterling Auction House?
And now, with a UN award, trending across social media, and applause from the global heritage protection community, Adrian Vance stood beside me, a palpable sense of pride he couldn’t hide on his face.
The celebration gala was held on the top floor of the Metropolis City International Art Center.
Invitations were extended only to eminent figures in the field of heritage preservation.
Guests conversed in small groups about restoration techniques and art circulation. Occasionally, someone would look at me from a distance, their eyes mostly filled with respect.
11:11 AM P
<
“Professor Sterling’s restoration techniques are at the forefront of the world.”
“Is she the Chief who recovered the stolen ancient manuscripts?”
“I heard that case was completely dead, but her tiny restoration insight cracked the whole thing open.”
D
I usually shunned jewelry, but today was different. Around my neck hung a string of lustrous jade, a bespoke UN–commissioned
medal.
1
As I took my seat, the crowd instinctively parted, every eye fixed on me, with admiration and, occasionally, resentment.
I smiled and took my place. The main guest table faced the stage. Adrian Vance was beside me, our seats even more prominent than Grandpa Sterling’s used to be when he was the chairman of the Sterling Arts Foundation.
The award ceremony proceeded as planned, everything orderly.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside the hall.
The security guard’s earpiece crackled with a voice. Someone was being shoved:
“Stop! You can’t
go
in!”
Then, Julian Sterling, pushing a garbage cart, lunged towards the venue like a malfunctioning robot.
Others instinctively kept their distance as a foul smell quickly permeated the air.
For a moment, the entire hall feli silent.
I gazed calmly at him, my heart perfectly still.
Julian Sterling, once the founder of a prestigious auction house, had basked in endless glory.
Three months of living on the streets had hollowed him out, leaving only wild desperation in his eyes.
He stumbled towards me, his voice hoarse and raw:
“Stella… please, save the Sterling family!”
My face remained impassive, as if he were a stranger.
Guests whispered amongst themselves. Someone pointed a live–stream camera at him, disgusted that his stench was tainting such a solemn event.
Julian Sterling unsteadily lowered a hand, trying to grab my sleeve.
“Stella, please, for old times‘ sake, forgive me and help the Sterling family…”
His words were filled with an abject humility that had stripped him bare of all his former pride.
“Who’s that crazy person?”
“Didn’t they say Julian Sterling was homeless just a few days ago?”
“Where did this madman come from causing a scene with a garbage cart?”
11:11 AM P
<
“Where did this madman come from, causing a scene with a garbage cart?“.
I subtly glanced at a nearby security guard and spoke calmly:
“This man used to be a cleaner at the auction house. He seems mentally unstable. Please handle him according to regulations
I stated it as if merely commenting on a trivial interruption.
Julian Sterling’s hand froze in mid–air, his eyes wild with desperation:
“Stella, you can’t do this to me!”
“I know the birthmark on your chest very well, we used to…”
Before he could finish, the atmosphere in the hall shifted dramatically.
Adrian Vance made a subtle movement, and two bodyguards from behind him immediately understood. They swiftly approached from the side door, silent and precise, pinning Julian Sterling to the ground.
He struggled wildly, rambling incoherently: x
“Stella, help me go back to the past, don’t be like this…”
He screamed, his fingers clawing at the pristine white tablecloth, leaving streaks of reddish–brown blood.
Guests gasped, scrambling to get away.
Julian Sterling’s other leg was broken.
