Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Iron ChestThe drive to Westbridge Manor took forty minutes through a thick, creeping New England fog that swallowed the headlights whole.
Inside the black bulletproof SUV, the partition separating the front cabin from the back was raised. It was just the two of them. The leather interior smelled of rain and leather and the faint, intoxicating musk of Sebastian’s cologne.
Chloe sat on the far side of the backseat, her hands folded tightly over her leather portfolio. Sebastian sat opposite her, his long legs stretched out, his eyes never leaving her face.
“Why bring me back here tonight?” Chloe asked, breaking the thick silence. “The appraisal was finished yesterday.”
“Because an appraiser of your caliber misses things when she is distracted,” Sebastian replied smoothly.
“I missed nothing.”
“Did you?” Sebastian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy, iron key with an intricate, double-bitted head. It looked like it belonged to a medieval dungeon. “The Florentine chest you evaluated yesterday. You told me it was worth six hundred and forty thousand dollars based on its seventeenth-century craftsmanship.”
“It is,” Chloe insisted, narrowing her eyes. “The dovetailing, the hand-hammered iron hinges, the Medici crest embedded in the interior walnut lining—it’s textbook Florentine guild work.”
“Guild work, yes,” Sebastian agreed softly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face dangerously close to hers. “But you didn't check the false bottom.”
Chloe froze. Her professional pride spiked instantly. “There is no false bottom. I ran my fingers along the interior base; the wood is solid oak with a cedar veneer—”
“The cedar veneer is a secondary insert, Chloe,” Sebastian interrupted, a faint, dark smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Installed in 1944 by my grandfather to hide three million dollars in uncut diamonds stolen from a Nazi railcar rolling through northern Italy.”
Chloe’s breath caught in her throat. “That’s... that’s absurd. That's myth.”
“History is only a myth until someone opens the box,” Sebastian said.
The SUV rolled through the iron gates of Westbridge Manor and came to a smooth halt beneath the grand portico. The rain was drumming a heavy, hypnotic beat against the stone tiles.
Within minutes, Sebastian was leading her through the darkened corridors of the mansion, past the flickering wall sconces, straight into his private study.
The room was freezing. A dying fire cast long, writhing shadows across the mahogany bookshelves. In the center of the room sat the massive iron chest, its heavy metal straps gleaming dully in the firelight.
Sebastian walked over to the chest, inserted the heavy iron key into the side lock, and turned it with a loud, echoing clack.
The iron lid hissed as the vacuum seal broke.
He lifted the heavy lid and stepped aside, gesturing for her to approach.
Chloe walked forward hesitantly, her heels clicking softly against the Persian rug. She peered down into the chest. It smelled of old iron, dust, and centuries of preserved silence.
“Lift the interior walnut panel on the left side,” Sebastian instructed, standing close enough behind her that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest against her back.
With trembling fingers, Chloe pressed her nails into the narrow groove of the walnut floorboards. With a sharp tug, the panel lifted away, revealing a hidden compartment lined in black velvet.
Inside sat three heavy velvet pouches.
Chloe reached out, her fingers sliding open the drawstring of the first pouch. She tipped it downward.
A cascade of brilliant, raw, uncut diamonds tumbled out onto the dark wood, catching the amber firelight and refracting it into a thousand dazzling, blinding points of light. They were massive, irregular, and unquestionably worth millions.
“My grandfather stole them,” Sebastian whispered, his voice dropping to a rough, low rumble right beside her ear. “The federal government spent forty years trying to find them. The men who want them back are currently sitting in state and federal offices across Boston.”
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He reached out, his large, rough hand covering hers where it rested beside the diamonds. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, slow and deliberate.
“And now,” Sebastian whispered against her hair, “you’ve seen them. Which means, Chloe... you are no longer just an appraiser.”
