Chapter 10 - THE DIAMONDS I NO LONGER WANTED
“Eleanor, please.”
Conrad's voice followed me as Detective Grant escorted him toward the exit.
I stopped.
So did everyone else.
He looked smaller than he had the day before.
Not because of the handcuffs.
Because nobody was pretending he was larger than the truth anymore.
“Don't let them destroy my company,” he said.
I studied him.
Even now, surrounded by the consequences of his decisions, he was asking me to protect the thing he loved most.
His business.
Not our marriage.
Not the children whose scholarships he had endangered.
Not the trust he'd broken.
“I won't punish innocent employees for what you've done,” I said. “But I won't hide it either.”
He closed his eyes.
Then Detective Grant led him away.
I thought that would be the hardest moment.
I was wrong.
The days afterward were full of consequences that didn't fit neatly into a triumphant headline.
Conrad's arrest made the news.
The necklace scandal appeared in newspapers.
Financial reporters examined Whitcomb Properties.
Employees demanded answers.
Investors questioned the company's accounting.
And several hundred people worried about whether they would still have jobs.
Some blamed Conrad.
Others blamed me.
A former company executive went on television and called me a vindictive wife who had ruined a successful businessman over an affair.
It hurt more than I expected.
Not because I believed him.
Because I knew people would.
For years, Conrad had taught the world to see me as an accessory.
Now some people couldn't imagine that I'd acted for any reason other than jealousy.
But the evidence was larger than my marriage.
The financial investigation continued.
Independent accountants traced the disputed transactions.
The foundation pursued recovery of its restricted funds.
Whitcomb Properties' board began a separate review of its finances.
And I did something nobody expected.
I requested a meeting with the independent directors of Conrad's company.
I had helped finance its earliest years with my own premarital savings, when his business was little more than a rented office and three employees.
I still held a substantial ownership interest.
For years, I had allowed Conrad to represent our shared investments publicly.
Not anymore.
I told the directors I would support a lawful restructuring that protected employees and legitimate creditors.
I would not support concealing evidence.
And I would not authorize another dollar to cover up Conrad's misconduct.
One director, an elderly man named Arthur Mills, looked exhausted.
“Eleanor, we may have to sell Westbridge Tower.”
“Then sell it honestly.”
“We could lose the entire development.”
“Better to lose a building than keep stealing money to pretend you own it.”
He stared at me.
Then he nodded.
Within the following weeks, the company began negotiating with lenders under independent supervision.
Some projects were sold.
Executive bonuses were suspended.
A temporary employee-support arrangement was established while the board worked through the company's obligations.
Not every job was saved.
I refused to pretend otherwise.
But employees finally received information they could trust.
Meanwhile, Linden Hall began rebuilding.
Margaret offered to resign as chair of the trustees.
I told her I wouldn't decide for the board.
“The foundation needs accountability,” I said. “Not another person making decisions based on loyalty.”
She accepted that.
The board appointed an interim chair while Margaret remained available to help complete the financial review.
She spent several afternoons helping teachers organize the scholarship records.
Sometimes we worked together.
Sometimes we disagreed.
But we no longer allowed Conrad's words to stand between us.
That was how our friendship began to heal.
Not through one apology.
Through showing up.
Vivienne's future was less certain.
Her artistic ambassador contract was suspended.
Her photographs disappeared from the redevelopment campaign.
Several donors refused to work with her.
She accepted those consequences publicly.
Then she asked Ruth whether she could help repair the costumes for the winter show.
Ruth looked at her for a long time.
“Volunteers don't get special treatment here.”
“I don't want special treatment,” Vivienne answered.
“Then you'll start in the sewing room.”
Vivienne nodded.
Every Thursday, she arrived in jeans and an old sweater.
She repaired ribbons.
Sorted donated shoes.
And helped clean the rehearsal mirrors.
Some people were kind to her.
Others weren't.
She didn't complain.
I wasn't sure whether we would ever become friends.
But I could see she was trying to become someone she could respect.
One afternoon, Ruth found me watching her.
“Your mother would have given her a chance,” she said.
I smiled faintly.
“My mother gave everybody a chance.”
“Not everybody. Just the people willing to do the work.”
That made me laugh.
Then came my divorce.
I didn't fight Conrad over the family photographs or the furniture.
I wanted a fair division of what remained.
And I wanted my own name back in my own life.
The legal process was neither quick nor painless.
But it was mine to complete.
Several weeks later, Martin Bellamy asked me to visit Bellamy & Rose.
The necklace had been documented, and investigators had authorized its release to me.
When I entered his office, he placed a familiar velvet case on the desk.
“I thought you'd prefer to receive this privately,” he said.
He opened it.
Forty-three antique diamonds shimmered against dark blue velvet.
The platinum setting looked exactly as it had on my anniversary.
Beautiful.
Expensive.
Almost unbearably sad.
I remembered Conrad fastening it around my neck.
I remembered believing we had survived the worst life could give us.
And I remembered Vivienne touching those diamonds in the ballet studio while my husband told me beauty had moved on.
Martin studied my face.
“Mrs. Whitcomb, would you like us to return it to your private vault?”
I didn't answer.
He waited.
Then he asked the question I'd been avoiding since the day the diamonds were stolen.
“Do you still want to keep the necklace?”
May you like
I looked at the forty-three stones.
And for the first time, I realized I didn't know.
