“I mentioned before that I started searching for the diamond after your aunt’s exhibit at Pavlin & Co. But every call I made, every email I sent, was a dead end. I figured the diamond had gone underground, as some pieces do.”

“Yes, you told me,” Gemma said impatiently.

“I almost gave up. But then a source came to me.”

Gemma felt a chill run through her entire body. “Who?”

“A journalist. Regan O’Rourke. I believe you’re familiar?”

Gemma nodded, her stomach tightening into a fist.

“Apparently, while Regan was doing background research for your interview, she came across a big jewelry collector—very well-known, but very private. Impeccable taste and reputation. And this collector told Regan that she had a pair of two-carat pink diamond studs that had been cut from the larger stone known as the Electric Rose.”

“Impossible,” Gemma said.

“The collector said she’d been told by a jewelry designer she’d commissioned to create custom pieces for her that the Electric Rose had been chopped up sometime around 2007 to make a few dozen pieces.”

Gemma gripped the arms of her chair, her mouth suddenly so dry it was difficult to speak.

“That can’t be true.”

Sloan looked at her with pitying eyes, her hand resting on the manila envelope.

“Maybe,” she said, “you should speak to someone in your family.”

Elodie drummed her fingers on her vintage brass and leather desk. Behind her, out the window, Fifth Avenue teemed with tourists braving the heat to shop. The day’s New York Times style section was spread out in front of her. She hadn’t thought about the press while she’d been away, but now that she was back in her seat of power—literally—the idea of the auction felt like fun, not just a necessity.

How had she spent so much time away from the office? It must have been a sort of temporary insanity. Sure, her subordinates had kept everything running smoothly. But even that delegation of work had maybe been a mistake. It was never smart to make oneself seem dispensable.

Now she was thankful Tito had been so obstinate about the trip. It made her decision very simple. She belonged in the city. She belonged behind that desk. Whatever had bloomed between the two of them, it was over. Now she just owed it to their friendship to tell him in person. She checked her watch; if she left the city in an hour, she could be back in Provincetown just as it was getting dark. She could collect her belongings, end things with Tito, and put her energy back where it belonged.

Her desk phone rang, a call from her assistant.

“Yes?” she said, the receiver cold against her cheek.

“A visitor, Ms. Pavlin. Your niece is here to see you.”