A Thief in a White Jacket
Chapter 03 - A Thief in a White Jacket
By sunrise, Emily’s photograph was everywhere. Headlines called her “the locket waitress,” while strangers argued over whether she was a lost heiress or a clever fraud. When she arrived for work, her manager met her at the staff entrance and quietly took her employee badge.
“The hotel received complaints from donors,” he said. “You’re suspended until the ownership issue is resolved.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“I know. But I don’t make decisions above my pay grade.”
Outside, a reporter shouted questions as Emily hurried toward Anna’s old sedan. Anna Morales, the woman who had raised her since infancy, gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She was small, silver-haired, and usually unshakable. That morning, she looked frightened.
“I should have told you more,” Anna said.
At the Blackwood estate, Julian had arranged for a uniformed officer to be waiting. On the table lay an empty jewelry case from the family archive.
“This case once held Lydia’s locket,” Julian said. “It was reported missing three months ago.”
Emily’s stomach dropped. “Mine has been in my room for years.”
Anna opened her purse and produced photographs of Emily as a child wearing the same necklace at birthdays, school plays, and her adoption ceremony. The earliest image was dated nearly twenty years before the alleged theft.
Thomas studied the photographs. “That proves this is not the archive locket.”
Julian barely glanced at them. “Images can be altered.”
Eleanor entered carrying her own silver heart. She placed it beside Emily’s. The engraving formed a mirrored pattern when the two pieces touched. Inside Eleanor’s locket was the other half of the same photograph: Eleanor as a younger woman, holding Lydia’s hand.
“No copy could complete this image,” Eleanor said.
The officer closed his notebook. “There is no basis for an arrest.”
Julian’s jaw tightened. He suggested the lockets might have been acquired through someone close to the family, but Eleanor ordered him out of the room.
After he left, Anna began to cry. “The social worker who brought Emily to me said powerful people had asked about the baby. She warned me not to trust anyone who came with money.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Emily asked.
“Because no one came, and you were safe.”
Eleanor reached across the table. “You should have been safe with us.”
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A crash sounded from the hallway. A housekeeper had dropped a tray after finding Eleanor’s study ransacked. Desk drawers had been emptied, and the file labeled LYDIA was gone.
On the carpet lay one torn photograph—the same mountain road where Samuel Harper had died.
