Chapter 3 - the sapphire lock
The private gallery on the second floor overlooked the glittering auction floor below. Heavy velvet drapes muffled the murmur of the crowd. Victor stood by the arched balcony rail while Julian unlocked a velvet presentation case resting on a mahogany pedestal.
Inside sat a piece of jewelry that made the air leave Victor’s lungs.
It was an antique pendant crafted from platinum, shaped into an intricate rose, holding an unheated Ceylon sapphire the size of a pigeon’s egg.
Victor did not need to touch it to know its weight. Seven years ago, on the night of the harbor fire that took his wife Elena and burned down his family’s primary estate, that pendant had been around her neck. Her body had never been recovered from the burning wreckage of their yacht, but the council had declared her dead after finding her scorched wedding band among the debris.
"Item seven," Julian said softly. "Entered into tonight’s catalog under Marcus Moreau’s private trust."
Victor’s rugged jaw set hard. He reached out and lifted the cool platinum from the velvet. The metal was pristine. Not a single trace of smoke, heat, or salt water damaged its polish.
"This never went into the water," Victor said, his tone lethal.
"No," Julian agreed quietly. "It did not."
Victor turned toward the door as footsteps approached. Celeste entered the gallery, escorted by two of Victor’s personal guards who had materialized from the ballroom perimeter. She had fixed her hair, but the faint red mark on her cheek remained visible beneath her powder.
"You tore my invitation because you didn't want me at that table," Victor said, holding up the sapphire pendant so the light caught its deep blue heart. "Who gave you this, Celeste?"
Celeste looked at the pendant, then crossed her arms, trying to appear unbothered. "It was purchased through a Swiss estate broker two weeks ago. My father wanted it as the centerpiece for the charity drive."
"Lie to me again," Victor said quietly, taking a slow step toward her, "and you will leave this building in the back of an ambulance."
Celeste backed up until her shoulders hit the wooden doorframe. She looked at Julian for help, but the old adviser kept his eyes fixed strictly on the floor.
"I’m telling the truth about the broker!" Celeste stammered, her voice cracking. "Marcus handed it to me directly! He told me it would secure fifty million dollars from the northern syndicates!"
"You just told the ballroom your father signed a deed three days ago," Victor countered, his voice like grinding stone. "Yet Marcus hasn't been seen in public for six months. The council reported him bedridden with terminal lung disease."
Celeste went pale. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Where is he?" Victor demanded.
"He's at the family estate in Westchester," Celeste whispered desperately. "He's sick, Victor. Truly. He can barely speak."
May you like
Victor lowered the pendant, sliding it into his pocket. "Then we're going to Westchester right now. And if Marcus isn't in that bed, Celeste, you will take his place."
***
