Chapter 1 - THE MARK INSIDE THE CLASP
At 10:02 the next morning, Sebastian Romano walked into Norah’s workshop alone.
That frightened her more than if he had brought ten men.
The workshop occupied the second floor above a narrow antique shop in Lincoln Park. No crystal chandeliers. No marble floors. Just worn oak benches, task lamps, magnifiers, metal drawers, and the faint metallic smell of polishing compound.
Sebastian looked completely wrong there.
Too expensive.
Too controlled.
Too dangerous.
Norah pointed toward a stool.
“You can sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t hospitality. You’re blocking my light.”
He moved.
Good.
She placed the broken replica necklace beneath her microscope.
Sebastian watched every movement.
“You carry security everywhere?” she asked.
“They’re downstairs.”
“So you did bring men.”
“I brought distance.”
Norah almost smiled.
She rotated the damaged clasp.
The laser scar she had found at Laurent & Vale was only the beginning.
Under higher magnification, she discovered three microscopic dots arranged in a triangle.
Not random.
A maker’s mark.
Very small.
Very deliberate.
She pulled an old reference book from a shelf.
Sebastian noticed the cracked spine.
“You already know what it is.”
“I think I know what it resembles.”
Norah flipped pages.
European private jewelers.
Postwar workshops.
Unregistered houses.
Then stopped.
Three dots.
Triangle.
A symbol used by Elias Varga.
Hungarian-born jeweler.
Worked in Vienna, Paris, and later Chicago.
Famous for producing discreet replacement pieces for wealthy families that did not want insurance companies knowing originals had disappeared.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
“When?”
“Mostly late eighties through early two-thousands.”
“My mother died seventeen years ago.”
“Fits.”
“Is he alive?”
Norah checked.
“No.”
Sebastian stared at the mark.
“Convenient.”
“He died twelve years ago.”
“Still convenient.”
Norah looked at him.
“You think everyone who dies did it suspiciously?”
“In my family?”
“Yes.”
He did not smile.
Norah continued examining the necklace.
Then something else appeared.
Inside one ruby setting, invisible without removing the stone, a number had been scratched by hand.
She found another under the central setting.
Again.
Sebastian’s expression changed.
“What does it mean?”
“Could be inventory.”
“Could be date.”
“January seventeenth?”
He went still.
Norah noticed.
“What happened January seventeenth?”
Sebastian looked at the necklace.
“My mother died January seventeenth.”
Silence filled the workshop.
Norah leaned back.
“That isn’t coincidence.”
“No.”
“Who had the necklace after she died?”
“My father.”
“Then?”
“My father died nine years later.”
“Who inherited it?”
“I did.”
“Anyone else have access?”
Sebastian did not answer immediately.
His silence gave her the answer.
“Family vault?”
“Yes.”
“Who can open it?”
“Me.”
She waited.
“And?”
“My uncle Carlo.”
His voice became colder.
“My younger brother Matteo.”
Norah nodded slowly.
“Anyone else?”
Sebastian looked toward the window.
“One person used to.”
“Who?”
“My mother’s sister.”
“Aunt?”
“Isabella.”
“Where is she?”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
“Missing.”
“How long?”
“Seventeen years.”
Norah stared.
“The same year your mother died?”
“Yes.”
He finally looked at her.
“Three days after the funeral.”
That was the first real secret.
Sebastian’s mother had died.
May you like
Her sister had vanished.
And somewhere between those two events, the original Romano necklace had been replaced by a replica marked with the date of death.
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