“Ten thousand?” Vivian’s eyes went wide. “Marcus said it was costume jewelry.”
“The sapphires are Burmese,” I said. “The platinum is antique. Current appraisal is twelve thousand dollars. So, yes, it’s a felony theft charge if you don’t hand it over. Now.”
Vivian looked at Marcus. He was staring at the tablecloth, unable to meet her eyes.
She let out a sob. Her fingers scrambled frantically at the clasp. The bracelet fell onto the white tablecloth with a heavy clink.
Maya picked it up. She checked the clasp, then handed it to me.
The weight of the cool metal in my palm grounded me. I fastened it around my wrist. It felt like my mother holding my hand.
The countdown to midnight started on the TV screens.
Ten… Nine… Eight…
The room around us was frozen. No one was watching the ball drop. They were watching the ruins of Marcus Hartley’s life.
Three… Two… One…
“Happy New Year,” I said to Marcus.
His face was gray. “Elena, please. We can talk about this. I made a mistake. I was… confused. We can fix this.”
“You’re right,” I said. “We can fix this. With lawyers. And judges. And a very public divorce where everyone learns exactly what kind of man you are.”
I turned to leave. Maya fell into step beside me.
Behind us, I heard Vivian sobbing. I heard a client ask Marcus, “What the hell were you thinking?”
I walked out of the restaurant and into the cold night air, breathing freely for the first time in months.
Maya drove me home. Not to the brownstone—that was a crime scene now—but to my father’s old house in Dorchester. I had inherited it when he died and hadn’t been able to bring myself to sell it. Now, it was a sanctuary.
We sat in the kitchen where my father used to make blueberry pancakes on Sundays. Maya made tea.
“The firm will fire him,” Maya said, watching me. “Fraud investigation plus this public disaster? He’s radioactive. He’s done.”
“Good.”
