ent was fi
door softly. Kierra had cried un
k to her own bedroo
ne velvet dress and let
the heavy fabric, checking the hidden pockets. Nothing. No ma
ulled out a worn sketchbook – then stopped. She didn'
the whole night out
ears
ss training regimen, refining her skills in absolute secrecy until her mentor
at, at least for now. The black diamond brooch had been returned the morning after the gala, with a cold note from Dominique: "Ms. Pierce does not accept
ligree box. Eleonore had nev
ir in Manhat
lass doors of the Christie's auctio
of intense training under Bradley had stripped away her hesitation – not because sh
exhibits and headed straight fo
rows of bulletproof
d dead in
e gold filigree box. The lid was encrusted with ti
of her family. She had last seen a photograph of it in the f
elled. Tears burned
st the cold glass. Her heart was
lked quickly to the VI
hind the counter. Her voice was shaking. "I want to make a pr
s last gift – that she had never touche
keyboard. She looked
ithdrawn from the auction last night.
ach plummeted.
e client informati
nter. "Please. It belongs to
ing around the empty lobb
the Carlyle Group
ore like a physica
– only a memory – s
word. She turned and
low taxi and threw her
Carlyle Building.
he massive, marble‑floored lobby
traight to th
aufman," Eleonore deman
looked at her wit
ave an ap
it is an
ee anyone without an ap
marble lobby. She looked up at the private el
text from Bradley: Come back. I know
dy knew she was a Pierce, then sending the brooch hadn't been an apology –
etween her and her family's legacy was made of billion
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