Her tone became more practical. "Do not leave the shop with it. Do not photograph it. Is Sebastian there?"
"Yes."
"Put him on for a minute."
Adam handed the phone to Marsh. He listened in silence, then said, "I see. Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you, Diana."
He returned the phone.
Diana's voice was brisker now. "I'm in Cambridge. I can be there in forty minutes. Don't leave the shop. I'll arrange secure transport for the contents to a private vault tonight, and we'll find you somewhere to stay where your brother cannot get to you."
She paused.
"Your grandmother told me almost nothing, Adam. I don't know what you found. I only know she trusted me to help if you ever called. I'm going to help. Stay where you are."
The line did not disconnect immediately. Diana cleared her throat, and when she spoke again her voice carried the slight catch of a woman who had apparently not known until this call that her oldest friend was gone.
"She was a stubborn woman, your grandmother. I miss her already."
Then the line went dead.
Adam looked at Sebastian Marsh. Marsh nodded once.
"Diana doesn't lose," he said. "That's the only thing about her you need to know tonight."
Forty-eight hours later, Adam stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of a corner suite at the Four Seasons Boston and watched the Charles River turn copper in the late-afternoon sun. He wore a dark blue button-down Diana had ordered for him from a tailor on Newbury Street. It fit.
Until that morning, Adam had not known what a shirt that truly fit felt like.
The necklace was no longer in the suite. It was secured in a vault, and the strong box was with it. The bearer bonds had been moved into an escrow account in Adam's name. Marsh had insisted that Adam keep one small thing from the necklace before it was packed for secure transport, a single pink diamond from the outermost loop, the smallest stone in the piece.
The diamond rested in a tiny velvet pouch in Adam's pocket. He kept touching it through the fabric as if to reassure himself the last two days had happened.
Diana stood beside him drinking black coffee.
"They're early," she said. "That's good. It means they're scared."
There was a knock at the door.
Adam opened it. Spencer stood in the hallway wearing a charcoal suit. His face was the color of old wine, and his tie was crooked for the first time Adam could remember.
Camille stood behind him in a black dress, mascara already beginning to run. Edmund Crane waited one careful step behind them, his eyes fixed on the carpet. Two attorneys in dark suits flanked the group, leather briefcases in hand.
Spencer pushed past Adam without invitation.
"You manipulated her," he began. "A dying old woman, alone with you for years, and..."
He stopped.
He had taken three steps into the suite before realizing something was different, and another second to understand what it was. Adam was looking directly at him. Not at the floor. Not away. At him.
Spencer forgot the rest of his sentence.
"She was clear when she wrote it," Adam said. His voice was low. "Clearer than you've been in a while, I think."
Camille rushed in after her husband. "This is fraud. He was alone with her for years. He could have made her sign anything."
One of the attorneys stepped forward and placed a thick folder on the coffee table. "Mr. Carter, we have filed an emergency injunction to freeze any auction or disposition of the assets pending litigation. We are prepared to pursue this matter through the courts for the next decade. Unless you sign these papers transferring custody of the assets to Mr. Vance today, you will spend your young life paying legal fees you cannot afford."
Spencer crossed his arms and smiled.
From the adjoining bedroom, Diana Hargrove stepped into view. She wore a charcoal-gray suit and carried a red folder under her left arm. She walked into the center of the room.
"Gentlemen. Diana Hargrove. I'm Mr. Carter's counsel."
The atmosphere changed instantly. Spencer's smile faltered. The lead attorney glanced at his colleague. Edmund Crane took a small, involuntary step toward the door.
Diana placed the red folder gently on the coffee table beside the attorneys' thicker file.
"Before we discuss the injunction, I would like Mr. Vance to read his actual inheritance."
She opened the folder and turned the first page toward Spencer. He did not read it. He kept his eyes on her.
"Your grandmother's wealth was a magic trick, Mr. Vance," Diana said. "She made you believe in it for thirty years."
She let the sentence hang.
Spencer's jaw tightened.