The fund collapsed eighteen months later.
Millions vanished.
Malcolm blamed market conditions.
Then he died in a boating accident before civil litigation reached trial.
Cordelia claimed she had known nothing.
The records suggested otherwise.
Transfers.
Shell companies.
Properties purchased through intermediaries.
Money passing through accounts Cordelia controlled.
But there had never been enough evidence to prove she knowingly participated in fraud.
Until now.
I turned pages.
Bank transfers.
Handwritten notes.
Photographs.
Depositions.
At the bottom was a copy of something that made my heart stop.
A photograph of my grandmother wearing the emerald pendant.
Beside her stood Cordelia Vale.
Much younger.
Smiling.
“What is this?”
Phoebe said nothing.
“Phoebe.”
“Your grandmother knew Cordelia.”
“How?”
“They were friends.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Grandfather never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because their friendship ended very badly.”
My head spun.
Phoebe continued.
“When Malcolm Vale’s investment scheme began collapsing, your grandmother discovered evidence that Cordelia had been moving money for him.”
