Page 68 of The Expat Affair

At least three of them go by the name of Prins.

If that’s true, if one of the Prinses cleaned out the Cullinan drawer, then it really would be the heist of the century. The flagship House of Prins stones, stolen by a Prins. Claiming their precious Cullinans were lifted and collecting the insurance money while secretly keeping their diamonds. Not a theft, but an elaborate insurance scam.

I think about Thomas firing Xander only hours before he was strangled in the shower. About the dead trader with a hole in his head and the instructions for printing a 3D gun on Thomas’s desk. About my husband who will do just about anything to protect his beloved House. Thomas, who, if I’m to believe Jan, may also have my twelve lab-grown diamonds.

All this time, I thought I knew who killed Xander, but now I wonder if I was wrong.

The transaction with Maksim takes place in the back room of an ethnic clothing store, and it’s quick and surprisingly easy. A loaded Ukrainian pistol for less than €800, but thanks to a delay with the trams, I’m almost late picking up Sem. I make it to school just as the double doors burst open with an explosive whack, letting out a thick stream of noisy kids. They race out the doors and scatter across the concrete slabs, an army of ants in floppy hats and bright, puffy coats, running every which way. I search their faces for Sem, but there are so many little bodies, and not one of them is standing still.

But because this is the lunch break and we have to do this all over again in ninety short minutes, folks generally don’t linger long. One by one, the kids peel away and head for home. The older kids to the kid-sized bikes, the younger ones hoisted onto their parent’s bike seat. I stand here as the crowd thins out, frowning when I don’t find Sem.

My gaze wanders down the building to the windows of his classroom. I spot his teacher, Juf Addie, behind the glass, talking to someone pint-sized—an adorable blond boy. I pull out my phone to see if I missed a text or call, but there’s nothing. Maybe Sem needed to stay longer for some reason? Maybe he needed a quick pit stop at the bathroom?

I head across the schoolyard for the double doors.

Inside, the hallway is quiet, the coat hooks mostly empty except for the few kids who stay during the lunch break, the ones with working mothers and no nanny. I hear them somewhere deep inside the building, a muffled clamor of children’s laughter.

At Juf Addie’s room at the end of the hall, I rap a knuckle against the wood, then hang my head into the open doorway. “Hi. I’m looking for Sem.”

I say it in my best Dutch. The teachers here understand Englishjust fine, but they’re a whole lot nicer when you speak to them in their native tongue.

Addie looks up with a smile. “Oh, Willow, you made it. You just missed him, though. He left about”—she glances at the clock on the far wall—“seventeen minutes ago.”

Seventeen minutes is before the bell, and by a good ten minutes. Sem left school ten minutes early.

“What do you mean he left? With who? Did Martina pick him up?”

Addie frowns, a combination of confusion and worry. “Not Martina. His aunt. I don’t remember her name, but she was listed in Sem’s file as an emergency contact. Sem knew her. He went willingly.”

His aunt. Sem only has one, but never, not once, has Fleur ever picked him up from anywhere. Not from our home for a sleepover with his cousins, definitely not from school. I’m surprised she even knows where to find him.

“Fleur?”

“Yes, Fleur. That’s her name. She said you had an unexpected appointment outside the city. She was to fetch Sem and take him back to her house, so you could pick him up after. She told me not to expect him back until tomorrow.”

Now I’m really confused. Fleur lives all the way in Blaricum, which means I have to go home, switch out my bike for the car, and fight traffic on the A1 there and back.

And why? What for? Fleur isn’t exactly a doting aunt. She never bothered learning even the simplest of signs when Sem’s world was still silent, she never asks what shows he likes or what books he reads or what subjects are his favorites at school. She didn’t call to make plans. Sheneverasks to spend the afternoon with her nephew. This makes no sense.

“Did I do something wrong? Was he not supposed to go with her?” Addie says, starting to look worried again. “She promised the McDonald’s drive-through. Sem was very excited.”

What kid wouldn’t be? And Fleur is smart. She knew Sem wouldn’t love the prospect of an entire afternoon with the twins treating him like the pesky baby brother. The promise of a Happy Meal was the only way she could get him out the door quickly, without complaint or pushback.

I thank Addie and rush back down the hallway and out the double doors, my skin prickling in warning. Something is not right. As I hustle across the yard to my parked bike, I hit Call for Fleur’s cell. She takes her sweet time, letting it ring three full times before answering.

“Willow, what a surprise.”

Fleur is in the car. I hear the zoom of wheels on asphalt, the hiss of wind rushing past. I picture Sem sitting on the back seat of her big Range Rover, and I wonder if she thought to bring a booster seat. Probably not. Fleur never wanted a third child, and she would have purged her house of all of that stuff the second it was no longer useful. Whatever booster seats she once had are long gone.

“As much as I applaud you wanting to spend time with your nephew, want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I have something I’d like to discuss. In private. As soon as we hang up, I’ll text you an address. Meet me there and I’ll explain.”

“Explain what? Am I on speaker? Sem, can you hear me?”

Even if I am on speaker, it’s a crapshoot as to whether or not Sem will pick up on my voice. If Sem’s busy on an iPad, for example, or focused on something outside the car windows, I could be screaming and he’d likely not notice. Sem hears when he knows to listen.

“Sem’s fine. Don’t worry.”

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