Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO DISAPPEARED AFTER THE FUNERAL
Norah expected Sebastian to demand answers.
Instead, he asked:
“What do you need?”
That surprised her.
“Access.”
“To what?”
“Your mother’s photographs. Insurance appraisals. Jewelry records. Anything that shows the necklace before January seventeenth.”
“You’ll have it.”
“And something else.”
Sebastian waited.
“The truth.”
His expression changed slightly.
“About?”
“Your family.”
He almost laughed.
“That will take longer than jewelry.”
“Then start with Isabella.”
Sebastian sat.
Finally.
Isabella Romano—born Isabella Moretti before marriage—had been Elena Romano’s younger sister.
Elena was Sebastian’s mother.
Isabella was five years younger.
Unmarried.
Restless.
Brilliant with numbers.
For years she handled parts of the family’s legitimate art and jewelry holdings.
“She disappeared three days after my mother died.”
“Police?”
“My father reported her missing.”
“Did he really want her found?”
Sebastian’s silence answered.
Norah noticed.
“You were twenty-one.”
“Yes.”
“What did you think happened?”
“I thought she ran.”
“Why?”
“My father told me she stole from us.”
Norah raised an eyebrow.
“Jewelry?”
“Cash. Documents. Some diamonds.”
“Convenient.”
Sebastian looked at her.
“You enjoy that word.”
“It keeps appearing.”
Later that afternoon, Luca delivered three archival boxes.
Norah spent six hours comparing photographs.
The necklace looked nearly identical in every image.
But in one photograph—taken at a Chicago charity gala eight months before Elena died—the center ruby sat lower.
Original.
In another photograph from the funeral reception—the ruby sat higher.
Replica.
The swap happened between those two dates.
Norah enlarged the funeral photograph.
Elena’s necklace rested inside a glass memorial case.
Sebastian stood beside it.
Young.
Grief-stricken.
Beside him stood his father, Salvatore Romano.
Behind them—
Norah zoomed.
A woman in black.
Isabella.
Her face half turned.
Looking not at the casket.
Not at Sebastian.
At the necklace.
In her hand was something small.
Metal.
A jeweler’s loupe.
Norah called Sebastian.
He arrived after midnight.
She showed him.
“That’s Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“She knew.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
Sebastian’s voice hardened.
“She knew.”
Then Norah found another photograph.
Same evening.
Taken thirty minutes later.
The necklace case was open.
Salvatore stood alone near it.
No Isabella.
No necklace visible.
Sebastian stared.
“My father told me Isabella stole it after the funeral.”
Norah looked at him.
“But if the replica was already in place, there was nothing left for her to steal.”
He understood.
His father had lied.
Then Luca called.
He had checked old travel records.
Isabella did not flee Chicago after the funeral.
She bought no ticket.
Crossed no border.
Used no passport.
Her credit cards stopped.
Bank account untouched.
Then one final discovery.
A parking-garage camera still existed in archived police evidence.
Isabella entered a black Cadillac at 11:42 p.m. three days after Elena’s funeral.
The driver?
Sebastian’s father.
May you like
Salvatore Romano.
And Isabella was never seen again.
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