He was standing with a group of younger real estate developers, a glass of scotch in his hand.

Celeste stood next to him.

She was wearing a scarlet silk gown that fell low at the shoulder.

Around her neck was a diamond necklace I recognized instantly.

It belonged to my grandmother.

My hands tightened on my small black clutch bag, but my face remained still.

“Stay close,” Julian whispered.

“I am going to the eastern corner,” I said. “Arthur Vance always stands near the terrace.”

We moved through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances who looked surprised to see me.

Arthur Vance was eighty-two, but his posture was straight and his eyes were still sharp.

He was talking to Charles Sterling and two other men from the original investment syndicate that backed my father.

“Arthur,” I said, stepping into their circle.

He turned, his expression softening immediately.

“Evelyn, my dear,” he said, taking both of my hands in his. “I was hoping you would come tonight.”

“I would not miss it,” I said. “Especially not when the legacy of my parents’ work is being celebrated.”