Chapter 1 – The Red Velvet Ribbon

The staff sitting room was perfectly quiet.

I sat alone by the window, the newly repaired gold chain resting cool against my collarbone, Matthew’s ring safe against my chest. But my hands were trembling for an entirely different reason.

I stared at the dark red velvet ribbon on my lap.

The two gold initials embroidered on the edge caught the dim light of the reading lamp. A.F.

Abigail Foster.

I hadn’t dropped this ribbon. I didn’t own anything made of velvet. Vanessa had been holding it upstairs in the dressing room right before she ordered me to hand over my necklace. She had brought it with her.

She had a tag prepared for my husband’s wedding ring.

My stomach turned over. I thought about the conversation Mrs. Carter mentioned. Three weeks ago, Vanessa had asked for a list of employees who had recently lost a spouse. She claimed she wanted to do something thoughtful.

I stood up, slipping the ribbon into my apron pocket.

I walked down the narrow staff corridor toward the kitchens. The engagement dinner was officially over. Caterers were carrying out silver trays of half-eaten dessert, their faces pale and confused by the sudden, quiet dismissal of the bride-to-be.

I found Maria, the head pastry chef, sitting on a stool near the industrial ovens.

Maria was fifty-two. She had lost her husband, David, to a heart attack six months ago.

“Maria?” I asked softly.

She looked up, wiping her eyes with a flour-dusted towel. “Abigail. I heard what happened upstairs. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I said, stepping closer. “But I need to ask you something strange. Did you lose anything recently? Something that belonged to David?”

Maria’s breath caught. Her hand instinctively went to her wrist.

“His watch,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “It was a cheap leather thing, but he never took it off. I brought it to work last week because I was feeling anxious about the anniversary of his diagnosis. I left it in my locker. When I went to get it… it was gone.”

She looked at me, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I thought I was just losing my mind with grief. Why are you asking?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the red velvet ribbon.

“Because Vanessa Bellini didn’t just take my ring tonight,” I said quietly. “I think she’s been stealing from us.”

Maria stared at the ribbon. “But why? The Bellinis have millions. Why would she want a cheap leather watch or a scratched mechanic’s ring?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m going to find out.”

I left the kitchen and hurried toward the grand foyer.

Luca had ordered Vanessa’s things packed. That meant her luggage would be waiting by the front door for her driver. If she had taken Maria’s watch, it might still be in her bags.

The foyer was empty. Three matching designer suitcases sat near the heavy mahogany doors.

I knelt beside the smallest one—her carry-on—and unzipped the front pocket.

My fingers brushed against a cold, hard piece of metal.

I pulled it out. It wasn’t Maria’s watch. It was a heavy brass key, the kind used for antique bank lockboxes. But it wasn’t the key that made my blood run cold.

It was what the key was attached to.

Wrapped around the brass handle was another piece of red velvet ribbon. And embroidered on the edge were the initials M.F.

Matthew Foster.

I dropped the key onto the marble floor. The sharp clatter echoed in the empty foyer.

This didn’t make sense. Matthew had been dead for eighteen months. He didn’t have a bank lockbox. We couldn’t afford one.

I picked up the key with shaking hands and examined the ribbon. Unlike mine, this ribbon felt thick, almost stiff in the center. I pinched the fabric. There was a tiny slit sewn into the seam.

I slid my fingernail inside and pulled out a small, tightly folded piece of paper.

I smoothed it out under the chandelier’s light.

It was a pawn ticket from a shop on the south side of Chicago. The item listed was a silver pocket watch.

The name on the ticket was Matthew Foster.

And the date printed at the top was exactly one week ago.