“It ends tonight,” I said.

“No,” Marjorie said, taking a step toward me. “You don’t know what your grandfather did to get that diamond in the first place.”

I froze, the cold metal of the box heavy in my palm.

Pastor Whitcomb stepped forward, his face suddenly pale under the altar lights.

“Marjorie,” the pastor said, his voice warning. “Do not do this.”

“She wants the truth, Arthur,” Marjorie said, looking at the pastor. “Let her have all of it.”

My phone in my pocket began to vibrate against my leg.

I did not take my eyes off Marjorie as the phone continued to buzz, a persistent, dull hum in the sudden silence of the church.

“Answer it, Evelyn,” Marjorie whispered. “It is likely the bank in Geneva.”

I slowly pulled the phone from my pocket.

The screen lit up with an international number.

I pressed the button and held the receiver to my ear.

A voice I did not recognize spoke quickly on the other end.

“Mrs. Caldwell?” the voice said, sounding crisp and distant.

“Yes, this is Evelyn,” I said.