Rain followed me through London to the Caine-Bellini Global headquarters. The glass tower occupied a block and carried both their names above the entrance.
I carried a cheap cardboard box against my thin, worn coat. Inside were the restored diary, the useless black onyx ring, and a letter I had rewritten a hundred times until the pages were stained with ink.
In the marble lobby, people in tailored suits passed without recognizing me. My worn coat and wet shoes drew a few looks before I reached the white reception desk.
I set down the box. The receptionist's nameplate read ‘Eleanor’. She looked at the damp cardboard, then at me.
“A delivery for Evangeline Bellini.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“No. Please make sure she gets it.”
Eleanor made a quiet call while I waited for ten minutes. A
