Page 76 of The Expat Affair

Willow

“Those fifty stones.” My gaze dips to the bag in Fleur’s hand, a deep velvet Prins pouch. Not the twelve diamonds I wanted Jan to help me find, but possibly even better. “How do I know they’re not lab-growns?”

“Because I’m Fleur Prins. Because my entire reputation, my life, mydestinyis dealing in mined diamonds. Not those second-rate imposters grown in a lab.”

“Except if you’re the type of person who’d run a DNA test on my son, whom you essentially kidnapped from school, then I’d imagine you’re also the type to screw me over with fifty carats of imposter stones grown to the exact same weight and cut and color of certified Prins stones, including the cert number engraved on the girdle.”

It’s what Xander would have done, what hehaddone with the twelve stones I asked him to grow. Twelve identical twins, engraved with the certification numbers of the original mined Prins, and voilà—no one suspects a thing. Xander’s the one who taught me that trick. As long as Jan makes sure the original mined diamonds are long gone, no one will bother with having them tested.

Fleur’s face doesn’t change, but her silence is telling.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Those stones are not worth half a million dollars. They’re not worth anything close.”

She drops the velvet pouch back into her pocket. “Fine. So you’resmarter than I gave you credit for, but let’s not forget you’re the one with the problem here. Not me.”

“I don’t know, Fleur. It seems to me that your problem might be even bigger than mine. Because what happens when people start figuring out what Xander was doing? Growing copies of Prins stones that were so good that not even you or Thomas would know the difference, not unless you put the stone through a diamond detector, and even then...” I shrug just like Xander did that night in his penthouse, quick and nonchalant. “Lab-growns make it through the machines designed to identify all the time, don’t they? Especially when the buyer doesn’t know to have them tested.”

I have to admit, it was a pretty genius scheme. Growing and polishing stones to be replicas of certified Prins stones, essentially creating two identical diamonds—one “real” and one “fake,” but who switched the stones? Was it the jeweler? The diamond trader? The polisher or any of the other half-dozen people who handled the stone along the way? The price of the fraud falls on the consumer—or if they’re smart, their insurance. Like that couple in Blaricum with the ten-carat solitaire. By the time they figured out the stones had been switched, the offender was long gone, and so was the mined diamond.

Fleur regards me with squinty eyes. “You have enough to worry about. Why don’t you let me worry about the House? Prins ismycompany, or it will be as soon as you go back to wherever you came from.”

“How does this work? You think Thomas will be so devastated he’ll—what? Give up? Shrug his shoulders and hand you the reins? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“He will, once the board finds out what Xander was doing. Thomas is the one who introduced the lab-grown line. He was the one who hired Xander. This is all on him.”

“Except it’s not, is it? You knew about Xander’s scheme all along, didn’t you? And you were fine with it, because you hoped it would be Thomas’s downfall. You were hoping it would change your father’s mind.”

“And it will. It has. He’s already in talks with the board about replacing him.”

This is news to me, and I’m betting it would be for Thomas, too, if he were here. Automatically, my heart squeezes for him until I remember Cécile. Cécile who is sucking up all his love and attention instead of him giving it to me or Sem.

“It never made any sense anyway, Papa appointing Thomas. My brother never wanted to be CEO. He was always more interested in the design side of the business, always busy with his pretty drawings. Rings. Pendants. Your bracelet. He spends more time on the floor with the designers and polishers than he does worrying about profit and loss margins. Do you know he almost flunked out of Nyenrode? Papa had to hire a whole team of tutors. He had to pull some very expensive strings to drag him through six long years of school, and even then, Thomas doesn’t know what EBITDA means. He doesn’t have a clue! I can’t imagine what Papa was thinking.”

I stay silent. No matter what my opinion of my sister-in-law is, Fleur is right; it never made any sense for Willem to pass her over to appoint Thomas CEO, especially if even a scrap of what she just said is true. She’s always been so much better suited for the role than her brother. Why not hand her the reins?

Ask yourself who had the most to gain.

I think of Willem at last Sunday’s supper, his impatience that the insurance company was dragging their feet. His strict orders that Thomas tie himself into knots to ensure Xander’s murder stayed separate from the Cullinan theft in the press, the constant discussion of company business despite his retirement. Willem is still very much in charge, both of the family and the House.

A clueless and distracted CEO would be mighty handy if, say, you never wanted to retire in the first place.

Or if you wanted to sneak contraband diamonds into shipments from Asian labs. Or if you shut your eyes to something that would torpedo your brother’s job as CEO—no. Not just shut your eyes. Fleur is more proactive than that.

Fleur, who wants Thomas’s job more than anything. Who never makes a move without thinking twelve steps ahead. Since when did Fleur ever sit back and play a passive role? Since when was she ever not in control? She wouldn’t just sit back and watch her brother fail. She would help him crash and burn. Fleur, who isn’t above kidnapping a little boy so that her twins would inheriteverything.

“Fleur, what did you do?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but it’s a deeper voice that rips the air.

“Sorry to disturb, ladies, but which one of you has my diamonds?”

Rayna

Willow and Fleur whirl around, and their twin masks of surprise would be comical if there weren’t a loaded gun pointed at my chest. They take in Lars and the weapon in his hand, the way he’s positioned himself so he can cover all of us at the same time. Ingrid and me huddled in our winter coats a few feet away, Willow and Fleur in theirs just beyond. None of us move, but Fleur is the first to recover.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Her voice is all Prins haughtiness and bravado, her question directed at Lars and Ingrid but not at me. Her eyes brush right over mine and keep going. “This is a private meeting. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Before any of us can answer, Willow’s gaze finds mine across the dusty space. “You got my message.”

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