Page 34 of The Expat Affair

“They were working together,” Fleur says, getting there quicker than her brother. “If Frederik is spooked enough by Xander’s murder to go into hiding, then that means they were partners somehow. Moving lab-growns, I bet.”

Willem gives her a good-girl nod. “It seems likely, yes. But Arthur also told me something else. A few weeks ago, a woman in Blaricum took a ten-carat solitaire ring her husband gave her for their anniversary in for an appraisal. Apparently, their insurance company required a second assessment for any piece valued at over a million euros. Her husband paid one point four.”

Thomas leans onto an elbow. “I remember that stone. Internally flawless, D color. One of the finest stones I’ve seen in a while.”

“Do you remember who sourced it?”

Thomas frowns, shakes his head. “I only ever spoke to the jeweler.”

“The jeweler who sourced the stone via a trader.”

Willem doesn’t say who, but we all know: Frederik. Frederik was the trader.

“The jeweler did everything right. He tested the stone, had it independently certified, put it through all the correct verification processes. But somewhere between the purchasing of the diamond and getting the ring on the customer’s finger, the stones got switched.The one in the ring the customer received was lab grown, but to the specifics of the original mined stone. Same size, same cut and color, same GIA certification number engraved on the girdle. An identical twin.”

He gives us a moment to process the news. A lab-grown diamond. An exact match to a certified Prins stone including the certification number, a phony copy grown with the intention of fooling the customer and making off with the original diamond. If the insurance company hadn’t insisted on the second appraisal, no one would have ever known.

I have to admit, it’s a pretty brilliant scheme. By the time a stone lands on the consumer’s finger, it’s been touched by dozens of people. The traders, the polishers, the jewelers and who knows how many of their employees. Try proving which one of them made this switch.

And more to the point, this has Xander written all over it.

Thomas blinks. “So where’s the original stone?”

Willem lifts his hands in a silent shrug, but I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing I am: lining the pockets of Xander’s killer. Millions of euros of diamonds missing, and this ten-carat flawless Prins diamond is one of them.

And it won’t be the only one. There would have been a bunch more just like it, mined stones switched out for a lab-grown copy while the customer remains clueless, the stolen stones stuffed in Xander’s safe.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text, and I dig it out of my bag, a familiar worry gathering in my chest. This afternoon, the school sent out an alert that a boy a few years ahead of Sem was diagnosed with fifth disease, a virus that’s not serious unless your name is Sem.

It’s not Martina on the other end, but an unfamiliar number.

That necklace I’ve been seeing all over the news. I want those diamonds too.

And then, right on its heels.

Or would you prefer I ask Thomas?

My skin goes hot then icy cold, and I drop the phone in my bag like it sizzled my fingers. I knew that asshole would be back.

Next to me, Thomas’s breath is sharp and loud, and his hands curl into tight fists on the table. “For Frederik’s sake, he better be deep, deep underground. When I find him, I’m going to murder him.”

Later, much later, I carry my phone into the hallway bathroom and flip the lock, then awaken the screen. The two texts are still sitting at the top of the string.

That necklace I’ve been seeing all over the news. I want those diamonds too.

Or would you prefer I ask Thomas?

For the past couple days, I’ve managed to distract myself with thinking Thomas’s secret was more scandalous than mine. I focused all my energy on his betrayal because it was easier than thinking about how mine came first. I pretended by ignoring the threats and the demands, convincing myself they were finished, even though I’ve always known there would be more coming down the line.

And now, here he is.

My thumbs tap out a reply.

I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’ve already given you everything we agreed on. I don’t have the necklace, and I can’t get you more diamonds. Stop contacting me on this number.

I hit Block and delete the string, even though the same applies here: I’m well aware it won’t be the end. This man is not going to stop firing off texts just because I tell him to, and I can’t block what seems to be an endless supply of burner numbers. I’m going to have to come up with another way to appease him, and quickly.

He’s already killed for Xander’s diamonds. I have zero doubts he’d do the same to me.

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