Chapter 251
Chapter 251:
She knew the building. It was a historic brownstone in Manhattan, near Museum Mile, shuttered for decades — a sleeping giant in the art world. The transfer came with an endowment, a vast archive of techniques, and a fully equipped laboratory.
This wasn’t just money. The ten million from Ferd was a safety net; this was a kingdom. This was a career. Jeannine was handing her the keys to a legitimacy Eliza had been fighting for her entire adult life. She traced the seal on the document, and a surge of excitement — pure and electric — shot through her veins. She could hire staff. She could take on projects that the Solomon name had been barred from. She could build something that was entirely hers.
Then she stopped.
She remembered Azalea’s face at the dining table the day before. The way the girl had looked at the diamonds, then at Jeannine, with that heartbreaking mixture of longing and resignation. See? She still hates me.
Azalea was the “stray” — the daughter of a soldier Jeannine considered beneath the family. Jeannine had never given Azalea anything but criticism and cold shoulders. If Azalea discovered that Jeannine had given Eliza — an outsider, a Solomon — an entire institute, while Azalea received nothing, it would confirm her worst fear: that she didn’t belong. That she was unlovable in the eyes of the Koch matriarchs.
The excitement curdled into guilt. Eliza couldn’t do that to her. Not now, when Azalea was finally opening up, finally beginning to trust her.
She made a decision.
She slid the documents back into the envelope, carried it to the living room, and found a drawer at the bottom of the built-in bookshelf — stuffed with old manuals and tangled cords — and pushed the envelope deep beneath them.
Her phone rang. The screen lit up with Dallas.
Eliza cleared her throat. “Hello p>
𝖩𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗇
“Did the package arrive?” His voice was low, ringed by the ambient hum of the office.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “It came just now p>
“What is it? Jewelry? More hideous antiques p>
“Just… some stocks,” Eliza said. The words tasted like ash. “And some old bonds. Financial stuff p>
“Boring,” Dallas laughed — a short, dismissive sound. “Jeannine lacks imagination. I expected something more dramatic p>
“Yeah,” Eliza breathed. “Just paper p>
“I’ll see you at dinner. I’m wrapping up the acquisition of the Hyde warehouses. It’s brutal p>
“Okay. Love you p>
“Love you,” he replied, and the line went dead.
Eliza stared at the phone. Lying to Dallas felt wrong. It felt dangerous. He had a way of sensing things, of detecting secrets beneath the surface. But this was for Azalea.
The front door flew open.
A whirlwind of wet raincoat and backpack burst into the foyer. Azalea was home early.
“Eliza! Eliza! Look what I found p>
She ran into the living room, her hair frizzy from the humidity, waving a crumpled flyer. Her face was flushed with excitement.
“The Lynn Institute! Someone posted a photo this morning of a locksmith’s van outside!” She thrust the paper forward. “There’s a rumor on the history blogs that it might be reopening p>
Eliza’s heart slammed against her ribs.