Page 33 of The Expat Affair

“Maybe because the thief was looking for something else.”

I don’t have to think about it, not even for a split second. “Like diamonds.”

The detective puffs a breath through his nose, sharp and loud. “Like diamonds.”

Willow

That same night, Thomas and I are seated at a table at Willem’s business club on Dam Square when his finger taps my knee, a silent signal to stop my bobbing leg from rattling the table and his nerves. The board room is far too big for just us four—Fleur and a bored-looking Roland sit in the chairs across from us—but at least the decor snuffs out the noise from the bustling Dam, the navy silks and wood paneling sucking up most of the street sounds. I shove both heels into the thick carpet and clamp my teeth together to hold back a scream.

How do people do this? Smile and kiss their husband when he returns from the business trip that wasn’t? Live with someone who’s lying about where he is, who he’s with, acting like there’s not another woman banging around his brain but who’s sneaky enough to not leave any clues?

Because I spent the entire afternoon searching the house. Iturned the place upside down, and there’s nothing there. No more ugly necklaces tucked away in a drawer, no notes or crumpled receipts in his pockets from stores or romantic restaurants, nothing at all to indicate Thomas has been unfaithful or even dishonest.

I glance at him now, his handsome profile as he downloads the newspaper on his phone, his body as relaxed as if he’s lounging on the couch at home. Whatever Thomas’s secrets are, he’s obviously skilled at hiding them.

Roland pushes back his chair, patting his jacket pockets for his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and Fleur shoots him a look that saysdon’t you dare.

“What? I’ll step outside.”

She shakes her head. “You can’t miss Papa. He’ll be here any second.”

Will he, though? I check the time on my cell, 7:49, which means we’ve been sitting here for a good twenty minutes. It’s just like Willem to do this, too: summon us here with acome immediatelytext smack in the middle of dinner, then once we arrive, making us wait.

I stare out the wall of windows at the Royal Palace, lit up and looming over the square, and I wish I was one of those tourists outside, tipping their heads up at the imposing architecture and wondering what kind of shiny, happy people are sitting inside. Ilook at Fleur and Roland studiously ignoring each other, at Thomas pretending to be engrossed in the news. They’re certainly shiny, but are they happy? Am I?

“A bunch of dusty old rocks.” Xander’s voice fills my head. We were at some stuffy diamond function, crowded like sardines in a hotel ballroom filled with old-money types, when he shout-whispered the comment in my ear.

He wasn’t referring to the diamonds.

The door swings open and in breezes Willem, Anna close on his heels. They’re dressed for the club in custom silks and designer tweeds, both of them holding fresh drinks because this is cocktail hour and heaven forbid their glasses run dry.

Willem catches Anna’s eye, and she doubles back and shuts the door. The noise from the club below and the square outside dampens to a low murmur, like a faint and distant humming of bees.

“I spoke with Arthur tonight,” he says as soon as we’re alone.“A security company in Munich specializing in low-light video surveillance systems received an order last spring for a system that’s essentially a carbon copy of the one in the vault.”

At that, Thomas tosses his cell to the table and sits up straighter in his chair, and so does everybody else. The vault means we’re talking about the Cullinans. Willem has our full attention now.

He stretches the moment with a slow sip of his drink, ice chinking in the crystal glass. Without warning, Patrick says to SpongeBob in my head,pinky up!

Willem puts down his glass and leans with both hands on the table, polished to a shine so glossy there are two of him as he stares us down from the head. “The buyer was a front, a fake name attached to a shell corporation, with a PO box address here in Amsterdam. Guess who owns that PO box.”

“Xander,” Thomas says, and it’s the first name I thought of, too. Across from us, Fleur looks like she agrees. Roland just looks bored.

But Willem shakes his head. “No, it was Frederik Albers. Police found the surveillance system invoice when they searched his house.”

Frederik Albers, the trader Thomas fired after a security guard caught him smuggling in a thumb drive—an unforgivable offense in a company where computers are bolted to the desks. Where no one is permitted to work from home after hours, where there’s a fully stocked cafeteria so that no Prins employee has to worry about a lunch bag. They don’t want employees to bring anything in, mostly so they can forbid them from taking anything out. The drive was empty, but it was hidden in a secret compartment in his water bottle. Thomas fired him on the spot.

Now his face brightens in a way I haven’t seen since the Cullinans disappeared on his watch. “This is excellent news. What did Frederik say? I assume police also questioned him.”

Fleur snorts. “From a jail cell, I hope.”

“They’ll have to find him first.” Willem sinks into the chair atthe head of the table, folding his hands on the table. “Apparently, Frederik has gone underground.”

Thomas frowns. “Since when?”

“Since around the time Xander was killed.”

The board room falls into silence, hot and meaningful. Police have evidence connecting Frederik to the Cullinan theft, but no Frederik. He’s been in hiding since Xander was killed. A diamond trader and a gemologist with a sneaky supply of lab-growns. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out the two were connected by more than just their employment history.

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