But when I check the screen, my eyebrows draw together. It’s Beth.
“Hey,” I say. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain. But I’m calling to see howyouare. I know how tough breakups can be.”
“I’m fine,” I say, mustering all my energy to sound convincing and only partially succeeding.
“Okay. Glad to hear it. Marissa and I were wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner tomorrow night.”
I press my lips tight. “Oh.”
“Come on,” she insists. “Girls’ night. It’ll be fun, help you take your mind off things.”
I blow a few messy strands of hair from my face. She’s right. I need a change of scenery. And maybe—just maybe—the girls and I can stay friends even after my breakup with Baptiste. When they first reached out, I thought they were just being polite. But they seem to mean it.
And honestly, a real meal would do me some good.
“All right,” I breathe out. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
“Awesome! I’ll text you the details. See you tomorrow.”
I drop my phone beside me, and a photo of Victor slightly rumpled on the floor snags my attention.
It’s an old one, taken in an art gallery somewhere in Europe. His hand is threaded through his hair, that familiar smug half-smile plastered on his face. But what catches my eye is the ring he's wearing. He’s always loved that obnoxious ring. He got it from hismother, but since it’s a simple band with a black gemstone, it passes as unisex.
Hold on. Gemstone, gemstone… Topaz
Everything starts to unravel in my mind, fast and sharp, and I lunge for my laptop. My fingers fly over the keyboard.
A quick search confirms it.
Topaz can indeed be black.
My pulse is racing now, pounding behind my ears. I knew I’d heard the name of the holding company behind Golden Age somewhere before, but could it really be this? Could it really behim?
Deep inside, I already have my answer. I feel it in my bones.
What if Victor is behind the Golden Age scandal?
I start building the case again, pulling out old documents, trying to find connections, but I’m still missing something.
I jump when the phone rings again. It’s Glenn, my guy from the New York Department of State.
“Glenn,” I say, my breath coming shallow as I pick up.
“Harper, I finally got some answers,” he says. “That company you asked about? It’s a shell. Buried deep in the Cayman Islands. I had to call in a favor down there, but I got the name.”
My heart thrums in my ears.
“And?” I peep.
“A guy named Victor Pike.”
Time seems to freeze, each second suspended in the air.
I was right.
My blood turns to ice and liquid fire all at once. The pieces of the puzzle snap into place—the intimidation techniques telling me he was up to something, the threats as I went to visit my grandma. He really was on to his next scheme, only this one hit at a personal level.
