Chapter 3 - The Diamond That Burned
By midnight, the awards rehearsal had been officially suspended.
By one in the morning, the Starlight Orchid was locked inside the studio evidence safe.
By two, Evelyn had left Hartwell Studios through a side gate with Conrad Pike and refused to answer another question.
Mara took Ivy home.
Julian did not follow them.
Their house in Los Feliz had always seemed too quiet after major studio events.
That night, the silence felt hostile.
Ivy stood in the kitchen while Mara removed the diamond clips from her hair.
“Can I sleep in your room?”
“Of course.”
“Is Grandma going to jail?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she really steal that diamond?”
“I think she took it from somewhere she wasn’t supposed to.”
“But it was hers.”
“That’s what she said.”
Ivy frowned.
“Adults make owning things complicated.”
Despite everything, Mara almost smiled.
“Yes.”
Ivy leaned against her.
“Why did Grandma hate me tonight?”
The question destroyed the smile.
“I don’t think this started with you.”
“But she tried to make everyone think I was bad.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mara did not tell her daughter the thought that had been haunting her since the conference room.
Because you saw something she needed hidden.
Instead she said, “Sometimes people who are scared of the truth try to make somebody else look guilty.”
“Like in movies?”
“Unfortunately, not only in movies.”
After Ivy fell asleep, Mara sat by the bedroom window until dawn.
She thought about Evelyn.
She thought about the Starlight Orchid.
And she thought about the name on the old access credential.
Mara Ellison.
Her maiden name.
Her mother’s name had been Lillian Ellison.
For twenty-three years, Lillian had worked in Hartwell Studios’ heritage department, eventually becoming chief archivist.
Mara had grown up among racks of old costumes and shelves of production photographs.
Then, twelve years ago, her mother had been dismissed.
The official explanation had been misconduct involving missing property.
Lillian never discussed the accusation in detail.
She only said she had crossed someone powerful.
Mara had been twenty-three, angry and broke and too proud to ask the Hartwells for answers.
Years later, after Lillian died of ovarian cancer, Mara met Julian at a documentary fundraiser.
She almost refused to speak to him when she heard his surname.
He told her he had been young when her mother left the studio and knew almost nothing about it.
Mara believed him.
Now she wondered what “almost” had concealed.
At nine the next morning, Julian came home.
He found her at the dining table surrounded by old storage boxes.
“What are those?”
“My mother’s papers.”
He took off his jacket.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“Neither did you.”
Julian pulled out a chair.
“The brooch is almost certainly authentic.”
Mara looked up.
“Already?”
“Daniel called a conservator who worked on the collection before the fire. She compared microscopic tool marks around the clasp to archive photographs.”
“And?”
“Same piece.”
Mara sat back.
“So your mother filed an insurance claim on a diamond that wasn’t destroyed.”
“We don’t know that she filed it personally.”
“Stop.”
Julian went silent.
“Don’t start protecting her with grammar.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m not protecting her.”
“You did last night.”
“I apologized to Ivy.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
Julian looked toward the hallway.
“She won’t speak to me.”
“She shouldn’t have to make you feel forgiven before she’s ready.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“What are you looking for?”
“My old badge.”
“Mara—”
“Somebody used its credential number to enter the vault.”
“Marcus thinks it was cloned.”
“I know.”
“Then why does the physical badge matter?”
“Because my mother kept everything.”
Mara opened another box.
“Receipts. Keys. birthday cards. Expired library cards. If my badge isn’t here, I want to know why.”
After ten minutes, she found the envelope.
HARTWELL STUDIOS — SUMMER ARCHIVE PROGRAM.
Inside were two photographs, an orientation booklet, and a faded parking sticker.
No badge.
Mara turned the envelope over.
Something had been written on the back in Lillian’s handwriting.
Mara read it twice.
Julian noticed her expression.
“What?”
She handed it to him.
The message was only one line.
If they ever use your name to open a door, follow the inventory, not the accusation.
Julian looked up.
“When did she write this?”
“I don’t know.”
A second line, written more faintly near the edge, caught Mara’s eye.
Nora knows why the orchid never burned.
“Nora?”
Julian frowned.
Mara already knew.
“Nora Bell.”
The retired prop master.
Her mother’s closest friend at Hartwell Studios.
Mara reached for her phone.
Julian said, “Let me come with you.”
“No.”
“Mara.”
“My mother was accused of stealing from your family.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her gaze held his.
“Because last night somebody used my old identity to open the same kind of door.”
Julian’s face changed.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Evelyn didn’t invent that trick yesterday.”
She put the note into her purse.
May you like
“And I’m going to find out who she practiced it on first.”
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