L'Eclat smelled of old money and lavender.
Isidora and Harper walked in. The security guard eyed Harper's combat boots with suspicion. The sales clerk, a woman with a face pulled tight by surgery, didn't even look up from her ledger.
Isidora ignored them. She walked straight to the central display case.
Her heart stopped.
There it was. The emerald brooch. It was shaped like a peacock feather, the gems glowing with a deep, verdant fire under the halogen lights. It was the only thing her mother had left her before the state took her away.
Isidora pressed her hand against the glass. The cool surface felt like a barrier between worlds.
"Excuse me," Isidora said. Her voice trembled slightly.
The clerk looked up, bored. "Yes?"
"That brooch. How much is it?"
The clerk glanced at the item, then back at Isidora's borrowed leather jacket. "That is a Victorian original. It is listed at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
The number didn't shock her; the betrayal behind it did. Two hundred and fifty thousand. He had sold her last connection to her mother for the price of a mid-range sports car.
"He stole it," Harper whispered fiercely behind her. "Frank stole it from you."
"Can I... can I see it?" Isidora asked. "Just hold it for a second?"
"I'm afraid not," the clerk said, turning back to her papers. "We only open the case for serious inquiries."
The bell above the door chimed.
Isidora turned.
Gavin walked in.
He looked nervous, checking his phone. He walked straight to the manager, who materialized from the back room instantly.
Isidora grabbed Harper's arm and dragged her behind a marble pillar.
"That's Cash's assistant," she hissed.
They watched through the reflection in a large, gilt-framed mirror.
"Mr. Ferguson sent me," Gavin said, his voice echoing in the quiet shop. "He wants the emerald peacock brooch. Wrap it up."
Isidora felt like she had been punched in the throat.
The manager beamed. "Excellent choice. For Mrs. Ferguson?"
Gavin shifted his weight. He looked uncomfortable. "Uh, no. Send it to this address." He handed over a card. "It's for Ms. Duran. And keep it discreet."
Isidora slid down the pillar until she was crouching on the floor.
Cash was buying her mother's heirloom. For his mistress.
It was a cosmic joke. A cruelty so precise it felt engineered.
"I'm going to kill him," Harper whispered, her hands balling into fists. "Let me go over there."
Isidora grabbed Harper's wrist. Her grip was iron.
"No," Isidora said. Her eyes were dry, burning with a cold, hard light. "Not here. Not like this. He has the money. But I have the intelligence."
She watched as the clerk removed the brooch. The emeralds flashed one last time before disappearing into a velvet box.
Gavin swiped a black card. He took the bag. He left.
Isidora stood up. She smoothed the leather jacket.
She walked to the counter. The manager was still smiling, holding the receipt.
"That brooch," Isidora said. Her voice was steady. "When it gets returned, call me."
The manager scoffed. "Mr. Ferguson doesn't return gifts."
"This one he will," Isidora said. "Trust me."
She turned and walked out of the store. The sun outside was blinding.
"He's going to give it back," Isidora said to Harper on the sidewalk. "He's going to get on his knees and hand it to me."
She didn't look back at the shop. The target was locked.
