“I’d like to be alone,” Leana said. The man’s gaze flicked up to hers. Hesitation crossed his face and she sensed he wanted to stay and see what was inside the box. He didn’t move.
“Do you mind?” Leana said. The man bowed slightly and left the room.
Leana watched him go. He went no further than the entrance to the vault, where he crossed his arms and watched her from there.
She turned her back to him and opened the box.
Inside were seven black velvet cases of various sizes. Leana chose one of the cases, opened it and was greeted with a brilliant flash of diamonds. She looked into another case and was rewarded with a glimmer of sapphires. In the third was the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace.
She lifted the necklace from its case and held it to her neck. Its coolness and the sheer weight of the stones warmed her. For awhile, at least, you’re going to give me time to make my mark.
After checking the other cases and tucking them in her oversized straw handbag, she slid the box back into place, locked it and left the bank with an armed guard at her side.
The sun was bright and the heat was oppressive-it rising in waves from the street. Three young boys on rollerblades darted through the crowds on the sidewalk, nearly toppling an elderly woman.
Leana wasted no time leaving. She stepped to the curb, flagged a cab, got one on the fourth try and left for the jeweler on Park.
To be certain he wouldn’t lose her, Vincent Spocatti, who had been waiting for her outside the bank, did the same.
Quimby et Cie Jewelers was an elegant establishment, with a liveried doorman on the outside and two armed guards on the inside. Some of the wealthiest people in the world bought and sold their jewelry here, and they had to have an appointment to do so.
Leana was met at the door by Philip Quimby, the owner and her mother’s good friend. He was a small, impeccably dressed man with short graying hair and blue eyes that were just this side of being unnaturally too blue. She noticed the shop was empty, as it should be. “It’s good to see you, Leana,” he said, in a slightly nasal voice. “Let’s go to my office. We’ll have tea there.”
His office was large and impressive, paneled in dark wood and decorated in quiet good taste. Paintings by the old masters tiled the walls. He offered tea. When Leana declined, he said, “Well, then, at least a martini?”
“Only if you’re having one.”
“As if I’m not,” he said.
He made the drinks, handed one to her and motioned toward the two Queen Anne chairs arranged at the center of the room. They sat. Leana sipped. Few things were better than a cold martini on a hot day.
“So,” he said. “What do you have for me?”
Leana put the martini on a side table, opened her handbag and removed the seven velvet cases. She placed them on the table in front of them. “These,” she said. “All were purchased here.”
“I would hope so.” He had known her since she was a child and winked at her. “I'm sure I'll remember them. They're like children, you know.”
One by one, Philip Quimby opened the cases. Diamonds and emeralds and rubies blazed. “Goodness!” he said. “Heavens!” He brought a hand to his chest and looked sideways at her. “You expect cash for these? Today?”
“If it’s possible.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “The banks will be closing soon. All those lazy clerks and vice presidents and stupid little bank managers will be going home. But I’ll see what I can do. Naturally.”
“If you want them-and if we come to a price-I’ll need the money today. Could you do me a favor and have someone make a call now and let them know a transaction will be forthcoming?”
“Anything for you.” He lifted a phone and gave the instructions to whoever answered. Then he inserted an eyepiece and removed an enormous canary yellow diamond ring from its case. He held it up to the light and turned it around with his slender fingers.
“Hmmm,” he said, and reached for the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace. He glanced at Leana and studied the rest. When he finished, his face was slightly flushed.
“Is something wrong?” Leana asked.
One magnified eye turned to her. “You purchased these here?”
“You know I did. You sold them all to me.”
“Not these, I didn’t.”
“Excuse me…?”
“They’re fake,” Philip Quimby said. “Nothing but cut glass and cubic zirconium. Every last one of them. And that's not the world I move in.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “They can't be fake.”
“I’m afraid so, Leana.”
“But there’s more than a million dollars’ worth of jewelry there.”
He plucked a white envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Your father sent this to me,” he said. “He called and told me not to open it unless for some reason I should see you. Now, look. I don’t know what’s going on here and I don’t care to know. It’s none of my business. But something tells me you’ll find the answers to your questions in that envelope.”
Leana tore into it. Inside was a note.
Leana:
I told you if you wanted to make it on your own, you’d have to do it on your own and not with my money. The originals, along with the rest of your jewelry, are at home where they-and you-belong. Why don’t you stop this foolishness and come home? You’ve taken this far enough.
— Dad
Leana read the note twice before folding it in half and putting it in her handbag. Her father was convinced she couldn’t make it on her own. Convinced. She felt the beginnings of a spear sinking into her heart. What was it about her that made him think she was such a failure?
She lifted one of the necklaces. “Are these worth anything?”
Quimby’s eyes sparkled with renewed interest.
“They’re excellent counterfeits,” he said. “Only an experienced eye like mine could tell they’re fake. I would have no problem selling them to the Hollywood set. You think what they're wearing on the red carpet is real? Get real. They wear these.”
“How much are you offering?”
He sat poised and ready on the edge of the Queen Anne chair. “Twenty thousand.”
“Make it thirty and you’ve got a deal.”
She ended up with twenty-five.
When Leana returned to Harold’s townhouse later that afternoon, she found him seated alone in his study, leaning back in a chair, flipping through a file on WestTex. She managed a smile when he looked up at her. “I need someone to talk to,” she said. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
He motioned toward the sofa that was in the corner of the room and asked her to sit down. “Tell me everything,” he said, sitting beside her. “Tell me why you’re upset.”
Leana rested her head on his shoulder and told him what had happened.
“But how did George get a key to your safe-deposit box?”
“My father doesn’t need a key, Harold. He’s George Redman.”
“But it’s illegal.”
“He’s George Redman.”
“And you think one of the bank’s assistant manager’s helped him?”
“He probably paid off their mortgage for their trouble.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?”
“Go and ask your father for the originals. They are yours, after all.”
“And give him the pleasure of seeing me grovel? Forget it. I’ll make my own money.”
“How?”
“This morning you mentioned something about finding me a job. That sounds like a good place to start making money to me.”
“I’ve been having seconds thoughts about that job,” Harold said.
Leana pulled away from him. “Why?”
“I’m not sure it’s right for you.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” she said. “Harold, please, if you’ve found something, anything, you have to let me know what it is. I have to be given a chance.”
“You really are determined to make it, aren’t you?”
“If I accomplish nothing else, I want the world to know that George Redman has another daughter-one who is smarter, tougher and more successful than Celina ever could become.”