“Ms. Nichols, these are fine pieces. Do you have anything else in that bag of yours?”

“I do.” Claire emptied the bag into the palm of her hand. She extended her open hand with her engagement and wedding ring glistening under the lights.

He glanced from her palm to her eyes. First, he picked up the platinum wedding band embedded with diamonds. After a few minutes he set it down and took the platinum engagement ring. Without speaking he turned the diamond ring every which way. He then used a few gauges to measure the face of the gem. Finally, he broke the silence, “Ms. Nichols, do you know from what merchant these rings were purchased?”

“I was told Tiffany’s in New York. I wasn’t there. So, I’m not sure.”

“I am assuming you have a receipt or insurance policy something indicating you are the owner of these pieces.”

“I do not. They were gifts.”

“Perhaps you could contact the giver of these gifts? You understand I must be sure these items truly belong to you.”

“Mr. Pulvara, these items were given to me by my ex-husband. I have no plans to contact him. If you are not interested in purchasing them, I will gladly look elsewhere. Thank you for your time.” Claire began to reach for her jewelry.

The broker gently touched the top of Claire’s hand, stopping her movement. She looked up to his face. He said, “I am very interested. It is just -- I believe this wedding set is of the highest quality and quite valuable. The cut alone is extremely rare. I must be sure…”

She cut him off, “I have no proof of my ownership. I will take them …”

“Ms. Nichols, may I ask Mr. Nichols’s first name?”

Claire hesitated. “Mr. Pulvara, am I certain of your confidentiality?”

“Of course, I would not have the customers and reputation I currently enjoy without complete confidentiality.”

“Forgive me, but I would like that in writing. I don’t want to see on tomorrow’s news that I sold my wedding rings.” She recognized such information could make headlines.

“That can certainly be arranged. Now Mr. Nichols?”

“Nichols is my maiden name. My married name was Rawlings, as in Mrs. Anthony Rawlings.”

The broker stood silently for a few seconds taking in her words and looking at her anew. Claire watched as the light of recognition filled his eyes. “Ms. Nichols, you’ve changed your hair since your wedding. I saw a picture today…”

“Yes, Mr. Pulvara, many things have changed since my wedding, including my desire to wear these rings. Are you interested in assessing their value and sharing that amount with me?”

“Please, Ms. Nichols, have a seat and allow me some time. May I remove the stones from the settings?”

“If I do not like your price, will you put them back?”

“Of course.”

Claire saw chairs against the wall. She nodded to the broker, sat, and watched as he weighed, measured, and performed other tests. Then he consulted his computer and made notes. Claire remembered Vanity Fair estimated the value of her engagement ring around $400,000. She honestly had no idea if that was accurate or sensationalism. If it were accurate, it would make one bit of information in that article factual.

Almost forty minutes later, Mr. Pulvara finally spoke, “Ms. Nichols, if you would please join me, I’ll explain my appraisal.”

Claire stepped from the bank onto the sunshine warmed afternoon sidewalk. The multitude of people filled her with exhilaration. She’d just met with the bank’s investment specialist and diversified her new found riches. Employment was still desired. However, the need was no longer dire. Tony’s desire for quality and appearance now allowed Claire time. It was the time she would use to complete her research.

Before entering the parking garage Claire removed her iPhone, checked the time, 4:32 PM and typed a text: IS ANYONE AVAILABLE TO CELEBRATE? DINNER IS ON ME! She entered Amber and Harry as recipients and hit: SEND.

A few hours later the three sat chatting at an authentic Brazilian steakhouse in the heart of downtown Palo Alto. Neither Amber nor Harry argued with Claire’s declaration to purchase dinner. They ordered wine, read the menu, and debated appetizers and entrees. Although they were surrounded by other patrons, the three talked and laughed about their day’s activities. Their goblets touched in a toast to Claire’s transaction.

Amber entertained them with multiple stories of SiJo focus groups. Apparently a recent group had extreme varied opinions on one of their newest games. It amused Claire how Amber could laugh about negative reviews and joke about comments. That wasn’t to say the creators didn’t consider the opinions of the focus groups. They did.

As their celebration concluded and Claire added cream to her coffee, her disposable cellphone buzzed. Pulling it from her purse, she apologized, “I’m so sorry, but this is probably Emily. She said she’s getting a new phone. I need to answer it.” Her chair scooted back as she hit the CALL button. She hadn’t noticed the number on the screen as she said, “Hi.”

Claire intended to move to a hall or outside to speak, but the voice in her ear caused her knees to buckle and her face to blanch. She recognized it immediately, “Good Evening, Claire.”

She collapsed into her chair. Both Amber and Harry watched in horror. “Are you all right?” They asked in unison.

Claire managed to shake her head. No, she wasn’t all right. She still hadn’t spoken.