Conrad.

“My mother didn’t misunderstand anything about watches.”

Something about the answer made Celeste stop smiling.

Conrad signaled to the security guard near the entrance.

“Escort her outside.”

The guard began walking toward them.

Lena’s stomach tightened.

She had imagined this moment many times.

In some versions, she gave up.

In others, she screamed.

Her mother had hated scenes, and Lena could almost hear her saying, Think before you move.

So Lena dropped her backpack onto the floor.

She pulled out the brass disk.

Conrad’s face changed instantly.

“Where did you get that?”

The guard stopped.

Lena knew then that the disk mattered.

“My mother left it for me.”

Conrad reached across the counter.

Lena pulled her hand away.

“Don’t touch it.”

Celeste stood.

“What is it?”

“Old inventory rubbish,” Conrad said.

“Then why do you look terrified?” Celeste asked.

Conrad’s jaw tightened.

Lena opened another pocket of the backpack and removed a photograph.

She had almost left it at home because she had not understood why it mattered.

Now she did.

The photograph showed Elise twelve years younger, standing inside the restoration room beside Charles Ashcroft, founder of the gallery.

Between them sat an open case containing the Marlowe watch.

Around Charles’s neck hung the brass disk marked 17.

Celeste took the photograph carefully.

“Charles,” she murmured.

Conrad spoke immediately.

“Mr.

Ashcroft took hundreds of photographs with staff.”

“Did he give hundreds of employees archive keys?”

Conrad said nothing.

Lena reached for the old voice recorder her mother had left beside the photograph.

She had listened to the recording so many times that she knew every burst of static.

Still, her finger trembled when she pressed play.

Charles Ashcroft’s voice filled the gallery.

“Elise, if Conrad ever tries to sell the Marlowe, use Seventeen.

The archive drawer will prove why.”

Conrad lunged.

The security guard grabbed his arm.

Celeste stepped backward.

The recording continued.

“I should have corrected this years ago.

The watch belongs to your family, not mine.”

Then came Elise’s voice.

“Charles, I don’t want charity.”

“It isn’t charity.

Ask your father what happened in 1968.”

The recording ended.

Lena stared at the little machine.

She had heard her mother’s voice hundreds of times in memories, but hearing it physically in the room always felt like a door opening and closing at the same time.

A new voice came from the staircase.

“There is more.”

Everyone turned.

Margaret Ashcroft, Charles’s widow, stood at the top of the steps.

She was seventy-eight, impeccably dressed, and rarely visited the gallery anymore.

Her appearance had an immediate effect on Conrad.

“Margaret,” he said carefully.

She ignored him.

Her eyes were fixed on Lena’s hand.

“You have the Seventeen key.”

“You knew about it?” Lena asked.

Margaret descended.

“I knew Charles gave it to your mother.

I did not know she still had it.”

“Why did he give it to her?”

Margaret looked toward the Marlowe watch.

“Because he discovered something about that watch that our family should have admitted a long time ago.”

Conrad stepped forward.

“This is not the place for family folklore.”

Margaret’s expression hardened.

“No.

This is exactly the place.”

She led Lena to the private archive corridor.

Celeste followed, partly out of curiosity and partly because the watch she had been preparing to purchase was now