Technically, it was Jax’s necklace, since he’d found it in her attic, so J.C. figured he’d have it reset for his sister as a wedding gift, and she could wear it when he walked her down the aisle this February. Since he’d heard Gard refer to Jax’s eyes as “emeralds” a time or two, it seemed especially fitting.
“You know a lot about emeralds?” asked the paunchy old gentleman behind a utilitarian counter in a nondescript jewelry store. He added a lens to his glasses to look more closely at the necklace.
J.C. shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Ah-ha.” The jeweler, Silas Greenbaum, an apt name for an emerald expert, checked out each gemstone carefully, holding the necklace up to the light before inspecting the stones again. “Yeah. It’s good quality.”
“How good?” asked J.C., resting his elbows on the scratched glass.
“Well, see…all emeralds have imperfections because they’re naturally occurring beryl minerals. In fact, no imperfections would tell me it’s a fake or synthetic.”
“But it’s not?”
“No. These are real. Filthy, but real.” Silas removed the loupe from his eyeglasses and placed the necklace carefully on a bed of black velvet, straightening it until it was a perfect oval. “Setting’s crap. Gold-painted sterling. You should have it reset.”
“That’s what I thought.” J.C. didn’t want to seem too eager, but he was curious as to its value. “How much do you think it’s worth?”
“Hmm. Well, the color’s good. You don’t want to see yellow or brown, and these have a nice blue glow. Deep. Rich. That’s a plus. See when I hold it up to the light? Look at this one in the middle. See how it sparkles like it’s alive? Changes like it’s still forming? Still growing? That’s what makes it valuable. That’s heirloom quality. This one emerald is over two carats for sure. All on its own, it’s worth about fourteen thousand dollars. Just the stone.”
“So…?”
“The diamonds are chips. They’re worth something, but they’re not special. The emeralds are special, and there are fourteen of them. I’d give you a hundred and seventy for it.”
“One hundred seventy thousand dollars?”
Silas nodded. “Yep. You could probably get a little more, but someone’s going to have to clean it, take it apart, and reset it. That’s work. That takes time.”
“I don’t want to sell it,” said J.C., leaning away from the counter. “I want you to reset it. I’m giving it to my sister as a wedding gift.”
“I guess you love your sister a lot,” said Silas, showcasing four gold teeth when he smiled.
J.C. nodded. “I do.”
“Well, you better. It’ll cost you about eight thousand to do it in gold. Simple design. Goes up from there.”
“I don’t really care what it costs,” said J.C., sliding his American Express card across the counter. “You’ll find I’m good for it.”
“My favorite kind of customer,” said Silas, running the card to ascertain J.C.’s credit limit.
“But one thing,” said J.C., unable to part with the entire necklace, even for Jax. “The emerald in the middle, the one you pointed out—”
“The anchor?”
He nodded. “The one that sparkles like it’s changing and still growing…I want it.”
“You want it?”
“Find one to replace it for the necklace and I’ll buy it from you, but that one…”
“Mister…Rousseau,” he said, staring down at the credit slip before handing J.C. his card back. “You want to spend fourteen thousand for another emerald when you’ve already got one?”
“Just do it,” he muttered.
“Well, credit isn’t a problem for you, but…” Silas shrugged. “Hey! You want me to make the solitaire into a ring?”
“No! Nothing like that!” J.C. scowled. “Can you just—just put it to the side, okay? I just want it, not a ring.”
Silas held up his hands and took a step back. “Whatever you say. Let me just go in the back and grab an order slip. Take a seat, Mr. Rousseau. It’ll take a little time to get everything in order, okay?”
J.C. nodded, stepping across a worn gray carpet to a small conference table that had seen better days. He sat down, frowning at the table as he traced a scratch with his finger. So far, nothing had spooked him where Libitz was concerned, but he couldn’t deny a slight feeling of unease now.
Hey! You want me to make the solitaire into a ring?
A ring. The mention of a ring had completely unnerved him.
He swallowed, sitting back in the stiff chair and wishing his heart would stop racing. No, he didn’t want a fucking ring. Frankly, he had no idea why he wanted the fucking emerald in the first place. But certainly not—not—for a ring.
Silas returned with the necklace and some triplicate forms. As he sat down across from J.C., he slid a small sealed Ziploc bag to him. Inside was the two-carat emerald, and J.C. stared at it like it might grow fangs and bite him any second.
“When you’re ready to do something with it,” said the jeweler, “give me a call.”
J.C. slid it off the table and into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, the weight of the rock unreasonably heavy in his palm. He was grateful when it was securely tucked away, and he looked up at Silas with a neutral expression that took some effort.
“Shall we get started?”