Even though I feel more comfortable around the quartet now, the exchange brings up a new concern.Why do we need protection?From whom? What kind of “something” could happen to a pair of reality show contestants that would require an armored and bulletproof vehicle?
Antoine leans forward. “Do we open it here?”
“No, at the hotel,” Elias says.
“Why wait?”
“Moving vehicle, busy road.” Elias shakes his head. “Too many variables. We can’t rush something so critical.”
“Understood.”
Really?
Nate, sensing my confusion, explains, “The music box could have an alarm. There could be a booby trap inside, or poison or some hidden mechanism to prevent breach. We need a more controlled environment to do this properly.”
“Understood,” I parrot Antoine. “Thank you for clarifying that.”
But why would Grandma Feng’s music box have an alarm? Or poison?
It doesn’t make any sense. This whole night has taken such a surreal turn that I can barely keep up.
As we drive through the humongous city, Antoine’s expression tightens again. His grip on the briefcase hasn’t loosened once. His other hand stays wrapped around mine.
We pull up in front of some expensive hotel. My head’s too foggy to register the name or process anything but the escalating sense of weirdness. Elias steps out first. Antoine follows, with the briefcase that’s become an extension of his arm. He holds his other hand out for me. I take it.
A valet approaches. The driver—was it Jeff?—tosses him the car keys. We file inside, my hand still in Antoine’s. The lobby is a blur of granite floors and ornate chandeliers. My high heels click much too loudly on the pristine tiles. When we reach the carpeted section, it’s a relief. Elias and his friends stay close to us, scanning the surroundings as we beeline to the elevators.
The ride to the fifth floor is suffocating, despite all the space enhanced by mirrors. But the tension is too high. Elias stands rigid, a human wall. Antoine is clutching the briefcase like it’s his Horcrux. Nate, Jeff, and Sam are silent shadows.Me?I’m wedged between Antoine and the elevator wall, my mind racing in hundreds of directions, all at once.
When we reach the room, Elias pulls a key card from his pocket and unlocks the door. The men flow in. One checks the windows, another the bathroom, and the last one unzips a bag of tech gadgets I can’t even name. Antoine, Elias and I hover in the entryway, by the wall.
Jeff and Sam post themselves outside the suite’s entrance and shut the door.
Elias nods to Antoine. “Now we open the box.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
LAURA
Jeff and Sam remain outside, guarding the suite’s entrance.
Meanwhile, Elias, Nate, and Antoine treat the music box like a fragile patient being prepped for surgery. Elias unlocks the briefcase. Antoine and Nate move the big desk to the center of the room, after which Antoine gently peels layer after layer of wrappers from the box. When he’s done, he carefully sets it on the desk. I take a closer look. Faint scratches and patina betray its advanced age, but it’s remarkably well-preserved.
And there’s the rose and the ribbons!
“Let’s get to it,” Elias says.
Nate retrieves a set of tools from a pouch, and the two hunks begin working on the box with unhurried precision. Antoine hovers, his fingers twitching as if he wants to help but knows better. I settle on the sofa, knees pulled up to my chest and eyes on the music box.
The lid opens with ease, revealing the miniature ensemble of musicians and dancers I saw during the auction. The tiny figures are super cute, each crafted with painstaking detail. Elias and Nate continue to work methodically, dismantling the music box piece by piece.
Minutes stretch like hours. Using delicate tools, the men carefully pry apart sections of the box’s ornate casing. Nate snaps a series of pics of the exposed mechanism. Piece by piece, they disassemble the music box, laying its parts in neat, organized rows on the wooden surface. Gears, springs, and intricately etched panels advance, like a miniature army, across the desk.
I edge closer, drawn by curiosity. Antoine moves to stand beside me, his eyes glued to the music box. He takes my hand in a grip that’s tight, almost painful. No matter how hard I look, I can’t see anything special in the exposed mechanism. It’s just a complex tangle of tiny gears and levers, if you ask me.
On the other hand, I don’t even know what we’re looking for.
Suddenly, Elias gasps and freezes mid-motion. With small pincers, he extracts something from deep within the mechanism and lifts it into the light.
