The mementos started arriving by mail four years ago. The first package was an old-fashioned leather photo album, the type where photos were arranged four at a time on a page and held in place by sticky plastic sheets. The spine was embossed with 1980–1981 in gold lettering. Every picture was of the Pavlin sisters, or the sisters with their parents. The package didn’t include a personal note of any kind, but the return address was Park Avenue—the sender: her maternal grandmother, Constance. Over the next year, seven more packages arrived, some photo albums, some meticulous scrapbooks. Every time she found one waiting inside the vestibule of her apartment building, she was tempted to try to contact Constance. But loyalty to Anne Maybrook, knowing her wishes where this was concerned, kept her from reaching out. Two years after the first package arrived, she saw the New York Times headline announcing Constance Pavlin’s death. The realization that she was too late, that she’d hesitated too long, took her breath away.

Her phone rang with an unfamiliar number. She had the impulse to send it to voicemail, but considering she was simultaneously looking for an apartment, a lead for financing her business, and a part-time job, she was in no position to ignore her phone.

“Hello?” she said, glancing at Sanjay. He seemed to be fitting the last of the larger boxes into the space and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Gemma,” the voice said on the other end. “It’s Elodie Pavlin. We need to talk.”

She stood up, walking a few paces away. Her heart began to race.

“I’m listening,” Gemma said coolly, still feeling the sting of their confrontation at the party. She hated to admit it, but deep down, she’d had a fantasy that the estrangement had ultimately been in her imagination; her mother’s sisters had actually tried to be in touch with her but simply couldn’t find her (a scenario that she knew was more plausible before the internet had been invented). Still, in her weaker moments, she imagined she’d cross the threshold of Pavlin & Co, and her aunt would spot her, and like in a film they’d run toward each other in slow motion and Elodie would say, “I’ve been waiting for this day. We all have.”

“I spoke to my sister—your aunt Celeste—and it seems she might have an idea where the pink diamond can be located.”