The letterhead read “Porter, Housen & Smith. Attorneys at Law.” The envelope was off-white, embossed and delicately fragranced. Roger had left it this morning before leaving for the office. Ever the milksop, he put it on my desk and got out of the house before I had woken up. Evie said he was gone before six.

He told me that he’d do it after Francis, and again after George. But then there was Karl. He never saw that one coming. I didn’t see that one coming.

They had always been such close brothers.

I stretched out my arm and held up my hand. The diamond shone brighter in the cool December light than it had done in years. That rock was cursed. Mother did warn me. “Don’t let him buy it in Paris,” she said. “That city has never been good to us.” Grandmother’s diaries said otherwise, until 1944 at least.

Pulling back my sleeve, I noticed a small hole in the cashmere. I made a mental note to tell Evie that it needs stitching. But no, that wouldn’t be necessary.

I took off the ring and picked up the scissors.