Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ANTOINE
I t’s ten in the morning as Laura and I step into the lobby of Jie Ting’s high-rise. Laura punches the elevator button. My nerves are taut, but I do my best to hide just how badly. Jie might literally hold the key to the success of my mission. I need this encounter to go as well as it possibly can.
The elevator doors slide open, and Laura casts me a sympathetic look. “Nervous?”
“No, but a little apprehensive that my charm might get lost in translation,” I reply, stepping in.
She snorts. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it! Just give her your most ravishing smile, and I’ll do the rest.”
I laugh, grateful for her humor. It’s exactly what I needed now. On the way to Jie’s door, Laura straightens her tee and smooths her hair. Despite her lighthearted joking, my nervousness seems to rub off on her. It’s a shame, given that she has no dog in this fight.
When the door swings open, Jie greets us with a warm but cautious smile. Her sharp eyes dart between us as if sizing us up. She’s dressed in a simple blouse and slacks, understated but well put together.
“ Nǐ hǎo ,” Jie says and ushers us inside after we return her greeting. We sit down around a coffee table loaded with refreshments. She was expecting us. An hour earlier, Laura’s grandmother called her to ask if we could come by and look at the music box.
Jie says something and Laura responds. My extremely limited Mandarin allows me to catch only snippets—family this, Feng that. Jie sounds both gracious and guarded.
To calm myself, I look around. The room makes me think of a newly refurbished rental property. Modern furniture and light fixtures fit neatly into the space. A large flat-screen TV is built into the wall opposite the sofa where Laura and I are sitting. The polished hardwood floors are spotless.
Laura’s tone changes when she asks a question. I’m guessing the small talk is over, and this one was about the music box. Jie’s smile falters. Laura speaks again, her voice soft but insistent. Jie screws up her face and answers, her hands spread in a gesture of helplessness.
Laura translates for me, “I asked if we could see the music box Grandma gave her. She can’t remember where she put it.”
My skepticism must be showing because Laura whispers, “Let me handle this.”
She says something to Jie, before repeating it for me in French, “I told her we’ll be happy to help her look.”
Jie shifts in her seat, visibly ill at ease. Then her shoulders drop slightly, and she blurts something out, her voice tinged with embarrassment. Laura’s expression tightens.
“She says she’d been eyeing that music box for years, because she always suspected it was special and valuable,” Laura explains to me. “After Grandma gave it to her, she had it appraised, and then she sold it at an auction.”
My jaw tightens. “When?”
Laura relays the question to Jie. The housekeeper replies in an apologetic tone of voice, gesturing around the room.
“Back in May,” Laura translates. “She used the money to redo her apartment, which was in a dire need of renovation.”
Jie’s defense stirs up even more bile, but I rein it in. Getting angry won’t help.
I breathe out slowly, focusing on Jie as I speak, “Which auction house?”
Laura translates, and Jie perks up, nodding quickly, before rattling off something that I believe I understand.
“Chengdu Poly Auctions,” Laura confirms. “You think they’ll have the buyer’s details?”
“Maybe.”
Laura turns to Jie and says xièxiè , thank you. Her tone is polite but her expressive face screams disappointment. Jie clasps Laura’s hands and speaks with an intense, almost tearful earnestness. I don’t understand the words, but I get the gist.
As we leave the building, Laura’s expression is tight. I must look even tenser, given how hard I’m clenching my jaws. With a sharp wave, I flag down a passing cab. Laura leans in to speak to the driver, her Mandarin fluid as she requests Chengdu Poly Auctions. The driver nods, and we slide into the back.
The car lurches forward. I text Adam with the latest info. As the city flashes by, a nagging fear rises in the pit of my stomach. What if the buyer was Kurt?
I grip the edge of the seat and force myself to stop panicking and start thinking. Logically, it doesn’t add up. The music box was sold in May. If Kurt had bought it, he would’ve already had the key in his possession by the time Henri and Gigi embarked on their quest.
That would have meant the end of the game for us. Our royals need all nine keys to open the impenetrable vault. If Kurt beat a key seeker to even one, he would have won not just that battle, but the entire war. If we assume he already had the key I’m after, why would he risk his life to snatch another one from Gigi and Henri? Again, all Kurt needs is to get to a single key before we do. If he’d managed that back in May, he’d be gloating and sending selfies with that key to the royal family.
Right? Is there a hole in my logic?
I don’t think so. To recap, the timing of the events doesn’t support the theory that Kurt was the buyer of the seventh key, although the possibility can’t be completely ruled out.
Laura touches my hand. “You’re quiet. Everything OK?”
“Just hypothesizing,” I say. “The auction house will hopefully have the answers.”
She studies me for a moment longer before turning to the window.
As the cab jostles through the relentless traffic, I finally regain my composure. One step at a time. First, we confirm the buyer’s details at the auction house. Then, we approach whoever that is.
Laura and I have been leafing through the catalogs for the last twenty minutes. The front desk lady has been smiling politely for just as long, watching us scan page after page.
“This is it!” Laura cries out, pointing at an entry.
I push my catalog aside. She slides hers closer to me. The first thing I focus on is a photograph of an antique music box that exactly matches the oracle’s description. Next, my eyes shift to the text. Thankfully, this catalog is bilingual, just like the one I was looking at. I read the English entry aloud:
Antique music box with an intricate rose and ribbon motif delicately etched on its surface. Estimated to have been crafted in France during the mid-eighteenth century, this piece exudes the elegance and refinement of the period. The mechanism is currently nonfunctional, but experts believe it can be restored to working condition by a skilled artisan specializing in historical music boxes.
“Sold for one hundred ten thousand yuan,” Laura picks up where I left off, then glances at me, her voice dropping. “That’s fifteen thousand euros. Wow.”
I skip to the most important bit of information. “The buyer is listed as anonymous.”
“That’s unhelpful.”
No shit, Sherlock.
I choke back the resentment. This debacle is unfolding through no fault of Laura’s. She’s been honest and cooperative from start to finish, and there’s no way in hell I’m giving her a hard time over my bad luck.
“It’s a standard practice for high-end auctions like this,” I say.
“But how do we figure out who bought it? Can’t we, I don’t know, ask someone? The manager, maybe?”
The employee behind the counter looks up, her smile sharper.
“No manager will disclose a buyer’s identity, Madame,” she says in an accented but correct French. “If the buyer has requested anonymity, then they will remain anonymous.”
I thank her for her assistance and grab Laura’s elbow. “Let’s go.”
We step out onto the sunlit sidewalk of Chengdu’s business district. Glass-fronted boutiques and luxury cars gleam in the midday sun. I pull Laura into the shade of an awning.
She stares at me. “Well? What now?”
“I need a moment,” I say, whipping my phone from my pocket. “Wait in the shop, OK?”
“Why?”
“It’s air-conditioned.”
I’m aware she’s asking why she can’t be present for my phone call, but I’m determined to play dumb. She doesn’t look happy about it. Still, she turns around and heads into the boutique. I step away, find a relatively quiet corner under a tree, and dial Adam on the secure line. The phone barely rings once.
“What’s the update?” Adam asks.
“It’s our music box. But the buyer’s listed as anonymous.”
There’s a brief silence on the other end, then Adam says in a heavy voice, “If it was Kurt Ozzi who bought the music box in May…”
“And if he found a key hidden inside it,” I jump in, “then he had no reason to chase after my brother and Princess Eugenie in June.”
“True,” Adam agrees. “But Kurt is unpredictable. He could’ve been securing spares, just in case, or?—”
“Or it wasn’t him who bought the music box,” I cut him off, needing to believe it. “It’s possible, right? Maybe this anonymous buyer is your average Joe with money and good taste.”
“I’ll have our best hackers dig into the auction house’s IT system.”
“Good idea,” I say.
“They’ll get it done.”
The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease. “How long?”
“Anywhere between one and twenty-four hours,” he estimates. “In the meantime, stay on alert.”
We hang up, and I take a moment to compose myself. The street is too bright and noisy. People with shopping bags stroll by, oblivious to my plight. It’s hard to reconcile their casual joie de vivre with the bleakness that my country is staring at. If Kurt had outwitted MESS before his heart attack forced him to take a break from corruption, then we’re truly and irreparably screwed.