Chapter 7 - THE LINING OF THE JEWELS
The cold harbor wind seemed to drop twenty degrees as Thomas Miller’s words settled over us.
“Sewn into the lining of the necklace?” I repeated, the breath catching in my throat.
“Every sapphire spacer in that piece isn't just decorative,” Thomas explained, stepping closer, his cane tapping rhythmically against the concrete. “Arthur had a master jeweler in Providence custom-build the setting in 1971. The backing plate of the teardrop pendant unscrews with a specialized micro-tool. Inside the gold casing is a micro-film roll containing the original, notarized bearer shares of Whitmore-Bell Enterprises.”
The memory of the gala flashed violently through my mind.
Celeste Rowe standing beneath the crystal chandelier, laughing, with my dead grandmother’s sapphire necklace resting against her collarbone.
Vivian panicking when I noticed the initials E.K.B. carved into the clasp.
They hadn't just given the necklace to Celeste to humiliate me. They had given it to her because Celeste was moving into the Beacon Hill mansion next week, and Vivian was planning to smuggle the necklace—and the micro-film hidden inside it—out of the country under the guise of wedding gifts.
“Celeste has it,” I whispered, horror dawning on me. “She’s wearing it right now.”
“Not for long,” Thomas said grimly, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small, flat leather pouch. He tossed it to me.
I caught it instinctively. I unzipped the pouch and tipped it over.
Inside lay a set of three micro-precision jeweler’s screwdrivers and a pair of white cotton handling gloves.
“What is this for?” I asked, looking up at him.
“You’re going to get your necklace back, Mallory,” Thomas said, his voice dropping into a hard, commanding register. “Tomorrow night, the Whitmore Foundation is hosting a private post-gala brunch at the Beacon Hill mansion for their top international investors. Celeste will be the guest of honor.”
He stepped right up to me, placing a heavy, calloused hand on my shoulder.
“You’re going to walk right through those front doors, look Vivian in the eye, and take back what belongs to you. Because once you unscrew that pendant in front of the entire board of directors, their billion-dollar empire collapses like a house of cards.”
I looked down at the leather pouch in my hand.
For six years, I had believed I was a stranger in their world—a quiet, unremarkable woman who had lucked into marrying a wealthy heir.
I wasn't a stranger.
I was the rightful heir to the entire dynasty.
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“And what about Marcus?” I asked, remembering the enforcer searching the municipal archives. “He knows I have the probate file.”
“Marcus works for Vivian,” Thomas said, turning back toward the shadows of the warehouse. “But tomorrow night, Vivian won't be able to hide behind her enforcers. Not when the whole world is watching.”
