Sienna Monroe woke to the faint click of the front door latch sliding into place. Her stomach tightened—she'd been expecting Grayson home around midnight, but that was hours ago. She pushed aside the comforter, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and peered through the slats of her bedroom door. The hallway was empty, dimly lit by the glow of a single recessed ceiling lamp.
She padded downstairs in bare feet, heart ticking faster with each step. In the foyer, she spotted it: a silver‐lined envelope propped against the door's lower edge, anchored by a small stone that looked as though it had been scavenged from one of Martha's Vineyard beaches. No handwriting on the front—just her name, "Sienna Monroe," printed in crisp, block letters on pearly paper.
Her pulse pounded as she scooped up the envelope. "Margot," she whispered, recalling the older woman's mysterious demeanor and the way she'd seemed to appear in Sienna's life at puzzling moments.
As she straightened, Grayson's footsteps echoed from the basement. He appeared at the bottom of the stairs, already dressed in a navy blazer and crisp white shirt, tie loosened around his neck. The accoutrem
"Late night?" Sienna asked, smoothing her hair back.
He met her gaze, eyes heavy but alert. "Corporate breakfast ran long. You okay?"
Sienna held up the envelope. "I found this at our door. Must've been slipped under by the cleaning service—or Margot's people." She wouldn't name the cleaning service—they had no reason to deliver mysterious letters.
Grayson's brows shot up. "Margot Sterling?"
Sienna let out a slow breath and placed the envelope on the console table. "She's sending me a clue—something about the old Delacroix ledger."
Grayson crossed the room and gathered her in a hug, careful with her coffee‐stained pajamas. "You don't know if it's safe."
She pressed her palms against his chest. "I know. But if she's gone to the trouble of delivering it personally—or via someone—I need to see what she wants me to find." She glanced down at the envelope's unbroken seal. "It's not just a prank."
He kissed her forehead. "All right. But I'm here. And I'll handle anything that tries to trap you."
She nodded, inhaling that reassurance, then peeled back the flap. Inside was a single black‐and‐white photograph, glossy but aged at the edges: a crowded workbench, battered stools, lantern light glinting off metal tools—Delacroix's old 1942 workshop on East 31st Street, before it was boarded up. On the back, in a trembling scrawl, was a message in dark ink:
Find the ledger. Lincoln Park. Midnight.
Sienna felt her pulse stutter. "Lincoln Park? That warehouse exploded in a fire years ago. How—" She set the photo on the table and met Grayson's gaze.
"He's right," Grayson said quietly. "It doesn't make sense. But Margot's never pointed me wrong before." He picked up the photo, inspecting it. "Let's call Lila—she should know where that building once stood."
Sienna pressed her lips together. "Yes. And we need to be discreet. If Tyler Brooks catches wind of this, he'll try to sabotage us again."
Grayson guided her to the kitchen. "Coffee first. I'll text Lila to meet us."
Twenty minutes later, Lila Benne breezed into the kitchen with two steaming lattes, one almond, one black. Her hair was in a ponytail—practical, ready for action. She slid into a stool beside Sienna, eyes instantly drawn to the photograph splayed on the countertop.
"This is it," Sienna said, handing over the worn print. "Margot wants me to find the Delacroix ledger—wherever it is."
Lila frowned. "That building was a workshop until the fire in '56. Then they turned it into a homeless shelter, and after that it sat vacant until they demolished it in 2010. Now it's a loft complex on Lansing Street." She tapped her nails against her latte cup. "You think Margot wants you to search the lofts?"
Sienna shook her head. "I doubt it. Remember the ledgers were moved when the workshop closed—someone must have stored them. The question is where."
Lila took a sip, letting the foam brush her lips. "Margot wouldn't tell you to come out here unless she knew the ledgers were still somewhere in Lincoln Park. Maybe in a storage unit?"
Grayson, who had returned from checking his phone, perched on a neighboring stool. "Levi Kessler's company handled the warehouse teardown. He might have loaded those crates into a storage facility. If they didn't throw everything away, some wood crates could have been stored for salvage."
Lila's eyes snapped to Grayson. "You know Levi?"
Grayson nodded. "He's a family friend—my father used his company to dismantle the old quarry back when I was a kid. If Levi's up for it, I can call him now."
Sienna drained her latte, leaving a tiny puddle at the bottom. "Do it."
Grayson tapped quickly on his phone. Within minutes, Levi Kessler's gruff voice confirmed he'd set aside any crates taped off as "Delacroix archival," and he was willing to meet them at ten a.m. in the old industrial lot on Roscoe Street.
Lila smirked. "You two sneak around in the dark, chasing ghost clues. I'm coming too—no way I let you two get into trouble without backup."
Grayson smiled and pulled Lila into a quick side‐hug. "Deal. Let's see what Margot has in store."
At ten a.m., the trio stepped into the industrial district, where aging brick factories lined wide lots. Underhanded graffiti sprawled across shuttered storefronts; a few early‐morning joggers wove between idling delivery trucks. They climbed into Levi's white pickup truck, which rattled as they bounced over cracks in the asphalt. Sienna gripped a small paper bag—Lila's insistence on bringing two granola bars, "in case of hunger emergencies."
Levi nodded as he neared the rear of a small warehouse turned loft. "Back there," he said, gesturing at the truck bed with a pitchfork handle. "I loaded the crates I thought you might need." He hopped out and popped the tailgate. Under a dusty tarp were three wooden crates marked in faded black stenciling:
"Delacroix Heritage – 1942 Workshop"
"Delacroix Heritage – Misc. Archives"
"Property of Delacroix Family – 1938"
Sienna exhaled. "That first one is the one I came for." She knelt and traced her fingers along the top.
Levi hoisted the crate down to the ground with a grunt. "This one's heavy. We found it in the old loft above the workshop after fire crews cleared the wreckage—no way they could tell what was inside. I figured anything Delacroix‐related was better off here, waiting for someone to claim it."
Lila crouched beside Sienna, inspecting the brass clasps. "These look like original customs from the '40s, not made in a big factory." She smiled at Sienna. "Your grandmother would be proud."
Grayson stayed close behind, scanning each passing car as though expecting trouble. "If Tyler's still breathing, he'll hear about this sooner or later. Let's be methodical."
Sienna nodded, heart pounding. She ran her knuckles along the stencils one more time, then squared her shoulders. "Open it."
Levi lifted a screwdriver from his coat pocket and started prying at the nails. With a final snap, the lid pinged open. A fine swirl of dust drifted up—particles that looked like captured starlight in the morning sun.
Inside were leather‐bound ledgers stacked side by side, their spines cracked with age. On top lay a small wooden box bound in tarnished brass, like a talisman. Lila reached in carefully, as though she were handling a newborn animal, and lifted the top ledger to reveal the lettering:
"Emeraudes et Saphirs, 1942"
Sienna's breath caught. She opened it and flipped to the first page—her grandmother's handwriting, elegant but slightly shaky: a meticulously detailed inventory of every gemstone cut that year, paired with client names, weights, and dates. The margins were scribbled with notes in French, perhaps personal moments or concerns:
"R. Ducharme—paid in full, daughter's wedding.""J. Lafleur—delay in payment—offer partial down.""Reminded to inspect second sappho mine—possible poor yield."
Lila leaned over, eyes shining. "These notes—Sophie [Sienna's grandmother's middle name], you can almost hear her voice."
Sienna felt tears prick at her eyes as she gently traced the words. "It's more than a ledger… it's a lifeline. A record of how Delacroix wasn't just a business—it was a family's lifeblood."
Levi handed down the small wooden box. Sienna lifted the lid. Inside were three items: a pressed violet petal, brittle with age; a folded piece of parchment bound in ribbon; and a tarnished silver locket engraved with the Delacroix crest.
Lila gingerly unfolded the parchment. The ink was faded, but the letterhead was unmistakable: "Madeleine Delacroix." Her voice shook as she began to read aloud, translating from French as best she could:
"To my beloved granddaughter, if you hold this, know that I entrusted our family's true treasures to these pages and this locket. Keep our story alive and protect every hand that helped shape our legacy—even if the world no longer values it."
Sienna's hands trembled as she took the locket and pressed it to her chest. Her grandmother's message filled her with both sorrow and resolve. She felt, more than ever, that the brand's essence lay not in profit margins but in every miner, every cutter, every woman who had worn these gems.
Levi cleared his throat. "You need to keep this safe. Tyler Brooks or someone could pay top dollar to get their hands on these."
Grayson nodded, placing a steadying hand on Sienna's shoulder. "We'll take it back and lock it down in the office safe. Then we'll decide how to proceed."
Lila looked at Sienna, determination shining in her eyes. "You okay?"
Sienna swallowed. "I am now. I finally understand why Margot wanted me to see this. She wanted me to remember that Delacroix's heart isn't a contract—it's the lives of everyone who believed in it."
Lila touched her friend's arm softly. "Exactly. Now, do you want to call Margot back? Or should we wait?"
Sienna paused, glancing down at the locket and ledger. "Let's go back to the car. I'll call her—now that I know I'm not walking into nothing."
Lila and Grayson flanked her as they headed back toward Levi's truck. The loose gravel crunched under tires as they loaded the crates. Grayson opened the passenger door for Sienna, and she slid in, clutching the ledger and locket. Lila climbed in behind her, gently closing the door.
Once they were on the road, Sienna pressed her phone to her ear, feeling her grandmother's watchful presence in the hum of that poem-like nostalgia. The line rang twice before Margot's low voice crackled through.
"Sophia's granddaughter," Margot said, each word deliberate. Sienna flinched at the familiarity—Margot had always called her by her grandmother's name when she was in one of her cryptic moods.
"Margot, I have it," Sienna whispered, glancing at Grayson in the rearview mirror. He nodded, lips a silent "go ahead."
Margot sighed, a hint of both relief and exhaustion. "Good. That ledger is our foundation. Now that you hold it, know this: the ledger alone won't save Delacroix. You have to breathe life into it—revive the values it represents, or it's just ink on paper."
Sienna's throat went dry. "I understand."
Margot's voice softened, as though from a great distance. "Meet me at noon, at the old Delacroix bell tower in Hyde Park. I will tell you everything." Then the line went dead—Margot had hung up.
Lila exhaled, looking at Sienna. "Bell tower," she said. "That's still standing, near the campus museum. You think it's safe?"
Sienna cradled the locket in one hand, fingers curling around its edges. "If Margot wouldn't lie to me now, I trust her. But we go with caution."
Grayson maneuvered the truck through morning traffic, the city's bustle buzzing around them like a pulse. "I'll come with you—to Hyde Park. And security will park ten feet away, just in case." He reached over and squeezed her hand.
Sienna rested her head against the window for a moment, gazing at the sunlit skyscrapers. The ledger and locket lay on her lap, tangible proof of everything she'd fought for—and everything yet to come. It was no longer just about merging two companies; it was about preserving a century of love and sacrifice, encoded in each number and each pressed flower.
When the truck turned onto Harper Avenue, heading toward South Hyde Park Boulevard, Sienna braced for the next step: meeting Margot in person and finally unraveling the final piece of the Delacroix puzzle. Whatever revelations lay ahead, she felt steadier—anchored by her grandmother's words, Grayson's unwavering support, and Lila's steadfast friendship.
Because now she held not merely a ledger, but her family's soul. And she was ready to defend it with every ounce of her being.