“How?”
“Cordelia confided in her.”
I stared at her.
“She admitted it?”
“Not formally.
She panicked.
Said Malcolm had used her accounts.
Said she didn’t understand what he was doing.”
“Did Grandmother believe her?”
“At first.”
“What changed?”
“Money from the fund was traced to a trust created for Flynn.”
My stomach dropped.
“How much?”
“Nearly four million dollars in today’s value.”
I whispered, “Flynn’s inheritance.”
“Yes.”
The elegant apartment Cordelia owned.
The elite schools.
The connections.
The image of old-money stability.
All of it had been built, at least partly, on stolen investor money.
“Why wasn’t it recovered?”
“Because Malcolm buried the trail well.
And after he died, several critical documents disappeared.”
I touched the pendant instinctively.
Then remembered Cordelia had it.
“The emerald.”
Phoebe nodded.
“Your grandmother hid microfilm inside the setting.”
I stared at her.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
That was why Cordelia had recognized the back plate.
