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