That was why she wanted the pendant.
Not because it was valuable.
Because it was evidence.
“What’s on it?”
“We don’t know.”
“Cordelia took it.”
“Yes.”
“She has the evidence.”
Phoebe’s mouth tightened.
“Maybe.”
The way she said it made me look closer.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Your grandfather had the pendant restored twelve years ago.”
“And?”
“He replaced the original stone mount.”
I stopped breathing.
Phoebe opened a small velvet case.
Inside lay an emerald pendant.
Identical to the one Cordelia had ripped from my neck.
I stared.
“No.”
“The one she took was a replica.”
I looked from Phoebe to the necklace.
“Where has the real one been?”
“In my firm’s vault.”
My skin prickled.
“You mean Grandfather knew she might come looking.”
“He expected someone would.”
Phoebe turned the pendant over.
The tiny back plate opened.
Inside, sealed beneath the metal, was a wafer-thin strip of film.
