Chapter 2 - THE RECEIPT THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST
Julian recovered first.
He always did.
He had built a career on recovering quickly enough that people forgot what they'd just witnessed.
“This is ridiculous,” he said. “Victor sold me the ring. I paid for it.”
I turned toward him.
“With what money?”
His expression sharpened.
“My money.”
“Which account?”
“Ava.”
“Which account, Julian?”
Sloane pushed back her chair.
“I don't understand why you're making such a scene.”
I looked at her.
“You dropped stolen property into my drink and asked me to celebrate. The scene was already underway.”
A few guests looked away.
Victor loosened his collar.
“The diamond was supplied to our workshop by an intermediary,” he said. “We were told the trust had authorized a private disposal.”
“Who told you?”
He glanced at Julian.
I waited.
Finally, Victor whispered, “Mr. Hale's office.”
Julian stood.
“That's enough.”
“No,” I said. “It isn't.”
I took another document from my bag.
Six months earlier, the trust's annual inventory had identified one missing stone.
An oval diamond weighing 6.8 carats.
Its identifying characteristics matched the ring sitting in my champagne.
The diamond had disappeared while being held by a bonded storage company used by Hale Capital.
Julian's investment firm.
At the time, Julian had assured me the discrepancy was clerical.
I had wanted to believe him.
But by then, I'd already found the hotel receipts.
The secret apartment.
The messages he thought were deleted.
I stopped believing him and started asking questions.
A discreet forensic accountant discovered that the storage company had received instructions from an executive assistant working under Julian.
The paperwork carried an authorization number that belonged to my trust.
But the signature was not mine.
I placed a copy on the table.
“That's a forged authorization.”
Julian's face hardened.
“You're accusing me of a crime?”
“I'm asking you to explain a document.”
Celeste suddenly stood.
“This dinner is over.”
I looked at her.
“Sit down, Celeste.”
Her eyes widened.
For eight years, I had never spoken to her that way.
“Excuse me?”
“I said sit down. You might want to hear the next part.”
Julian reached for my wrist.
I moved my hand before he touched me.
“Don't.”
He stared.
Then lowered his arm.
I turned to Victor.
“You will preserve every invoice, message, and transfer record associated with that stone. My attorney will contact you tomorrow.”
He nodded.
Sloane looked from him to Julian.
“You told me the ring was custom-made.”
“It was,” Julian snapped.
I smiled without humor.
“The setting was custom-made. The diamond was stolen from my grandmother's collection.”
Sloane looked at the champagne glass as though it contained something poisonous.
Then Julian leaned close.
“You've made your point. We'll discuss this at home.”
I shook my head.
“No, Julian.”
May you like
His expression changed.
“We won't.”
