Chapter 3

I picked up the second report and read that the tourmaline ring was fake, while the genuine piece would've been worth around 27,000 dollars.

The third report said the same about the pearl brooch, which would've been worth 17,000 dollars.

Every page carried some variation of the same words: synthetic, imitation, not natural.

These were pieces Mom had spent years saving for, dollar by dollar, and someone had stolen each original, replaced it with a fake, then returned it to its place.

I sat there with my fingers pressed against the reports, barely hearing the appraiser as my eyes moved to the fourth page.

The ruby necklace was fake. The genuine piece would've been worth 560,000 dollars, and the appraiser had added a note stating that if it had entered the pawn or resale market, they might be able to trace it.

"Can you find out where it was sold?" I asked.

"If it went through a licensed pawn shop, there should be a record."

*****

That afternoon, I visited the three largest pawn shops in the city.

At the second one, an employee spent about ten minutes searching the system before finding a match.

"We found it. A ruby necklace came in two years ago. The person who pawned it was Edward Miller," the employee said.

My hand tightened around the edge of the counter.

"It was later sold to someone else," he continued, then glanced at me before giving me the buyer's name. "Chloe Foster."

I knew that name. Chloe Foster was the woman from the gala, and I'd seen it on her statement at the police station.

Edward had sold Mom's necklace, then brought Chloe to the same pawn shop and helped her buy it.

Five hundred and sixty thousand dollars.

Mom had bought that necklace for herself when she retired, calling it her reward for making it through all those years of work.

"I made it through," she'd said that day.

I didn't cry at the pawn shop.

Instead, I asked, "Are there any other records under Edward Miller?"

There were.

A pair of diamond earrings had been pawned a year earlier, with the genuine pair valued at 255,000 dollars.

When I asked for the date, the employee read it aloud.

It was the anniversary of Mom's death.

That morning, I'd left home at seven to visit the cemetery, and Edward had told me, "Go ahead. I'll stay home and make lunch for you when you get back."

I spent two hours at Mom's grave cleaning the headstone, replacing the flowers, and burning offerings.

When I came home, Edward had braised ribs waiting for me, and I'd thought he was being thoughtful.

All that time, he'd gone to a pawn shop while I was at the cemetery and sold Mom's diamond earrings for 255,000 dollars.

On the anniversary of her death, her daughter was tending her grave while her son-in-law was selling her jewelry.

I stood at the counter for a long time.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" the employee asked.

"I'm fine."

I had them make copies of every record.

Back in the car, I left the engine off and spread the appraisal reports and pawn records across the passenger seat.

The emerald bangle was worth 285,000 dollars and had ended up on his mistress's wrist.

The emerald pendant was worth 140,000 dollars, and the original had been sold three years earlier, the same year I had surgery.

That year, Edward had told me we were short on money, although my surgery had cost only 9,500 dollars.

The ruby necklace was worth 560,000 dollars, and Chloe had bought it from the pawn shop with Edward beside her.

The diamond earrings, worth 255,000 dollars, had been sold on Mom's death anniversary.

Then there was the 27,000-dollar tourmaline ring and the 17,000-dollar pearl brooch.

I still hadn't traced the emerald signet ring, but the appraisal report had already confirmed that the one sitting in my safe was fake.

I didn't add up the total because I didn't want to know it yet.

I switched off the interior light and sat there with damp palms, staring at the papers covering the passenger seat. Edward Miller's name appeared on one record after another.

Everything he'd taken had belonged to Mom, and for ten years, from 2014 to 2024, I hadn't known about a single piece.

*****

When I got home that night, Edward was on the couch watching TV and barely looked up as I walked in. "You're back. Have you eaten?"

"Yeah," I said.

"What happened to you today? You didn't contact me once."

"My phone died."

He gave a quiet acknowledgment and turned his attention back to the television, while I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of our bed.

We'd bought it the year we got married, the same year we bought this home. I'd paid half the down payment, and during the first five years of the mortgage, I'd covered three years of payments alone because Edward said business was bad.

I believed him.

Now I couldn't stop wondering what he'd actually been doing during those years.

The emerald pendant had been sold three years ago for 140,000 dollars, during the same year Edward kept telling me we had no money.

While I paid the mortgage alone, took the bus, and bought groceries at wholesale markets to save wherever I could, he'd already had 140,000 dollars from selling Mom's pendant.

And I believed him.