Chapter 4 - SPLINTERS AND GOLD
Eleanor Vance’s fingers slipped off her handbag strap.
The expensive bag drooped, hanging awkwardly from the crook of her elbow.
"That's... that's private financial data," she whispered, her eyes wide with sudden terror.
"You can't know that."
"I signed the paper ten minutes ago in the back office," Yacita said, her voice remaining perfectly steady.
"While my son was looking at the street through the window."
She looked down at the wooden horse in her palm.
The broken ear left a sharp wood grain exposed.
She pressed her thumb against the sharp grain until the skin turned white.
"My father carved this horse in a refugee camp in 1992," Yacita said quietly, looking at the wood, not at Eleanor.
"He had no shoes."
"He had no coat."
"He had a pocket knife and a piece of pine wood he found near a drainage ditch."
She lifted her head, her gaze locking back onto Eleanor's pale face.
"He told me that rich people buy things because they think gold stays heavy when you die."
"He said they build cages around themselves so no one notices they've already starved inside."
Eleanor swallowed hard. Her throat made a loud, dry click.
"I... I came here to buy the teardrop sapphire," Eleanor stammered, her arrogance completely evaporating into desperate compliance.
"I have the deposit. I have the card."
She reached into her purse with frantic, trembling fingers.
She pulled out a sleek, black metal credit card and held it out toward Matteo.
Her hand shook so violently the card rattled like a dry leaf in the wind.
"See? I can buy it. I have the money. Take it."
Matteo didn't reach out his hand.
He kept his arms folded neatly behind his back, his posture straight as a iron rod inside his burgundy suit.
"We do not accept payments from accounts under active risk assessment," Matteo said smoothly.
"Risk assessment?" Eleanor cried, her voice cracking into a shrill register.
"I am not a risk! My husband is a partner at—"
"Your husband's firm defaulted on a lease in London three weeks ago," Matteo replied without looking at his tablet.
"The assessment was finalized four minutes ago."
"By the desk behind you."
Eleanor took a quick step back, her heels making a sharp, frantic clatter against the marble.
Click-clack-click-clack.
She backed right into a velvet ropes barrier that marked off the private viewing salon.
The heavy brass stanchion swayed, its iron base groaning against the floor.
SCREECH.
The sound was sharp enough to make two sales representatives near the front window turn their heads.
Leo looked up from his shoes.
He walked over to Eleanor, stopping just out of arm's reach.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, melted piece of wrapped peppermint candy.
The plastic wrapper was crinkled and covered in pocket lint.
He held it out to her on his flat palm.
"You look like you're going to throw up," the boy said simply.
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"My mama gives me this when my belly hurts."
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