by Amy Meyerson
Jake stares vacantly in the direction of the approaching train. His brain has been numb since they watched Zita’s video. It’s difficult to remember why he felt so invigorated after his speech to the Winklers, the right he assumed he had to Flora’s story. And what now? It feels wrong that he knows more about Flora than Helen did.
“It’s not enough,” Jake says. This trip has changed him. He can feel his bones resetting, but the change is not enough to win Kristi back. Zita’s guilt is not enough to diminish the unjustness of Flora’s death.
The train pulls up. They step onto it, single file, and settle into two rows that face each other. It is not enough. Ashley feels it, too. No monetary value for the diamond will suffice, no court settlement will feel like a win. Even if Zita’s story persuades the judge, even if they’re awarded the diamond, even if she can use the money to save her house, it is not enough to redress what happened to Flora.
Only Beck feels satisfied. “You’re right,” she says to her siblings as she nuzzles into Christian. “It might not be enough to compel the court, but everything Zita said is true. Whatever the judge decides. Her story is still true. That’s enough for me.”
Seventeen
When the Millers return with their army of records and hours of interviews, the real battle begins. They have Zita’s tapes, detailing how the emperor gifted Flora the hatpin. They have an affidavit from Peter Winkler, stating that the taped interviews were his father’s, recorded to assist in writing the empress’s biography. They have Helen’s hollow doll, photographs of her carrying it on the SS President Harding, Deborah’s sworn testimony that she located three round diamonds inside. They have Viktor’s testimony, explaining how he sent the shield-shaped yellow diamond from Helen’s brooch to the International Gemology Society for grading that confirmed it was the Florentine and why he suspects the three round diamonds Deborah found came from the hatpin. They have additional testimony from another gemologist, confirming Viktor’s assessment that the diamond in Helen’s brooch is the Florentine and that the three round diamonds likely originated from the haptin. They have Joseph Spiegel’s ledgers and renderings, which Tom convinced Daniel Spiegel to provide to the Millers, proving the shield-shaped yellow diamond was removed from the hatpin and reset in the orchid brooch. They have Helen’s will, allocating the brooch to Beck, the Family Settlement Agreement where the Millers agreed to share the diamond evenly. Combined, it’s a plausible story, a convincing argument for why the court should let them keep the diamond.
Before Deborah’s deposition, Beck had warned Tom that he should stay clear of any questions about Joseph Spiegel’s relationship with Helen. It would only make her mother appear evasive and flighty before the other parties. Deborah had enough trouble sharing the story with her children. Besides, it wasn’t relevant to their case.
Plausible story or not, compelling argument notwithstanding, the other parties object. They focus on Zita’s tapes, the linchpin of the Millers’ argument. Zita was not under oath, they protest. The tapes were not recorded as testimony. She is not alive to stand for cross-examination. Plus, Zita was in her eighties at the time of the interview. Her memory cannot be trusted, and even if it can, how can they know whether the emperor was in his right mind when he gave Flora the Florentine? Few things are as stressful as the fall of an empire. The Italians even propose that Zita may have been demented at the end, to which the Austrians vehemently object. Zita may have been a deposed empress, but she was an Austrian treasure. Still, they concur with the Italians and the Habsburgs that interviews are hearsay, inadmissible as evidence.
Judge Ricci appears more convinced by these arguments than Tom and Beck would like. She agrees that the videotapes cannot be classified as recorded recollections under the exceptions to hearsay, as those pertain specifically to recorded recollections of witnesses who are alive and fit to be deposed. Many of Zita’s statements in the videos require clarification and would necessitate cross-examination. Tom argues that Zita’s recordings are ancient documents, thus admissible, but it depends on how one defines “documents,” whether “documents” should be interpreted broadly to include a video recording.
In the end, however, the judge reasons that Zita’s statements were against her own self-interest.
“Her interviews reveal that she knew her husband had willfully gifted Flora Tepper, later known as Flora Auerbach, the Florentine Diamond,” Judge Ricci reads to the four parties. “Although Emperor Karl von Habsburg may have been under exceeding pressure at the time, his wife, Empress Zita of Bourbon-Parma, admitted that he never regretted giving the Florentine Diamond to Flora Tepper, later known as Flora Auerbach, not even on his deathbed. As such an admission was against Zita’s own interest in the diamond, I find her statements credible and admissible as evidence.”
When the other parties begin to object to the judge’s finding, she continues. “This is my final decision. I will accept the video interviews into evidence. If you oppose, you can take it up upon appeal.”
The other parties race out of the courtroom, while Beck and Tom linger.
“Did that really just happen?” Beck asks.
“It really just did,” Tom responds, equally stupefied.
The next morning, the Habsburgs pull their claim. Their lawyers make a statement to the press: “While the Florentine Diamond will always be a Habsburg heirloom, the family has decided to focus on more pressing concerns. Whoever wins the claim, the family hopes that they will make the sensible decision to put it on display at a museum where the public can treasure the diamond as much as generations of the royal family did.”
Immediately, the Italians and the Austrians file procedural motions to try to slow down the discovery process, insisting that they need to call new expert witnesses to evaluate whether the emperor could legally gift Flora the diamond before the Habsburg Law was enacted. Even if he could, Flora had kept the diamond in Vienna for twenty years before Helen took it to America, twenty years where she may have been legally obligated to return the diamond to the Austrian government, twenty years where the Austrian government in turn may have been required to pay it in reparations to the Italians.
But good old Judge Ricci is steadfast. “Each party has conducted hours of deposition testimony from numerous experts regarding the Habsburg Law and the Treaties of Peace, 1920. Are you really trying to tell me that these experts’ opinions are insufficient?” Before the lawyers can respond, she answers her own question. “I see no need to call new witnesses only to ask them questions other experts have already answered. The discovery deadline remains set at the end of the month.” Then the parties will have thirty days to file their motions for summary judgment, so the judge can decide if any of them has a rightful claim to the Florentine.
Before the clock on the thirty days to draft their argument starts ticking, the Italians pull their claim. Their lawyers offer a cryptic statement to the press about prioritizing investigations into other cultural property.
It is a rare instance, Tom admits to Beck, where he doesn’t know why they’ve withdrawn. “Maybe they discovered something we didn’t? It was pretty obvious the judge wasn’t going to side with them over the Austrians. She’d have to be crazy to weigh in on European law. They must have realized that whatever dispute they have with Austria would have to play out in European court. But why they wouldn’t stick with it and appeal, you’ve got me.”
“Words everyone wants to hear from their lawyer,” Beck says to him over celebratory whiskeys at the Continental.
“Two down, one to go. Just us against the Austrian government now,” Tom says, lifting his tumbler toward Beck.
Beck rests the glass on her bottom lip. “What do you think it means, that the judge didn’t extend discovery? It’s good, right? She’s already decided how she’s going to rule?”
“Given she let us admit some pretty hefty evidence—I’m not a betting man, but let’s just say if I were repre
senting the Austrians, I’d be furious.”
“But you’re not. You’re representing me.” Beck doesn’t mean this flirtatiously, but her voice has its own agenda.
“And as your lawyer, it’s worth toasting with more whiskey.” Tom downs the remains of his glass and motions to the waitress for another round, even though Beck has barely touched her old-fashioned. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, which immediately ties Beck’s stomach in knots. “We should probably revisit the possibility of a settlement.”
“Would the Austrians even be interested?” Beck asks, relieved that they are still on the familiar footing of the law. “Can we settle? What about the pending claims?” The Department of Justice still has over sixty claims left to review and dismiss before the case can officially close.
“They’re baseless,” Tom says, taking their drinks from the waitress’s tray.
“How can we settle on a case that’s still open?”
Tom smiles approvingly at Beck. “Most lawyers don’t think to ask that. You have a good legal mind, Beck. I’ve always known this about you.”
Beck pats her hair self-consciously, simultaneously flattered by his recognition of her intellect and irked by his condescension. This is the mix of emotions Tom has always brought out in her, she realizes, even when she was falling in love with him.
“The deal would have to be provisional,” he continues. “But we could argue to the judge that having the diamond on display in Vienna wouldn’t negatively impact the DOJ’s evaluation of the other claims.”
“And we could still get the money now?” Beck imagines telling Ashley that she won’t have to sell her house.
“It would probably be kept in escrow until all the claims are settled, but we can try to convince the judge to release it now, if you really need it and can guarantee you’d pay it back if somehow one of the other claims is more convincing than yours or the Austrians. I think it’s best to keep it in escrow.”
As long as the money is waiting for them, Beck thinks, Ashley can get a bridge loan or borrow against the settlement. If they can reach an agreement with the Austrians, Ashley won’t have to sell her house.
“And my father, that’s taken care of?” she asks, and Tom nods. “All right, let’s reach out to the Austrians’ lawyers, then.”
Tom appears to have heard some other agreement in Beck’s words, and before she knows it, he’s finished his drink and inches his chair toward hers. Dread courses through her as he caresses her hair. “I’ve missed you.”
“You see me every day.” Beck shakes her hair free from his touch.
He strokes her cheek and she can tell from his unfocused eyes that alcohol has emboldened him. He runs his finger down her nose to her lips. “I miss this.”
It feels good to be touched. Almost good enough to let Tom continue. After she returned from Austria, she and Christian saw each other a few times. Something shifted almost immediately. Outside the City of Dreams, their encounters became part of that dream, infused with the romance of Vienna’s narrow streets. Quickly, she discovered that Christian liked to go out every night to dive bars where he would order watery beer and well shots, staying until he was either kicked out for falling asleep or sent home at closing. As she helped him home, he talked dirty to her in slurred German. Frankly, it bored Beck. The binge drinking, the putrid smell of bars that clung to her clothes, Christian’s vulgar requests. Spending time with Christian showed her that, somehow, without acquiring any of the things she’d expected from her thirties—a partner, a family, a home, even a career—somewhere along the way, she’d become an adult. And, as an adult, she doesn’t want the fraught embrace of her ex-boyfriend, either.
As Tom’s face approaches hers, she turns away. “Don’t. I told you, it was a mistake. I don’t want to repeat it again.” As Tom starts to apologize, she stops him. “Let’s be clear. Friends, okay?”
Tom’s face is red from embarrassment as much as from the alcohol but he agrees, “Friends,” and glances at his watch. “I didn’t realize how late it is.”
Beck remembers the last time he used his watch trick on her, at Helen’s shiva, when Tom told her family about the yellow diamond brooch. She’s calm now, more collected than he is, and Beck hasn’t become so much of an adult that she doesn’t get the tiniest pleasure in ultimately rejecting him.
* * *
When Jake returns to LA, he solicits Rico’s help in purchasing a ring. Together, they visit a jewelry store on Vermont Boulevard in Los Feliz.
“I don’t know,” Rico says as they survey a tray of turquoise rings. “These don’t look like engagement rings to me.”
“That’s the point.” Jake signals to the woman at the other end of the counter. She reluctantly puts down her phone and walks toward them. “Kris wouldn’t want anything that looks expensive. She’d want something sentimental.”
Jake asks the saleswoman if she has any topaz rings. She guides them toward a case farther into the store. “Topaz is the birthstone for November.” When Rico doesn’t understand, Jake adds, “Kristi’s due on November 2.”
“What if she’s early?”
As the saleswoman places a tray of silver rings with yellow faceted stones on the counter, Jake googles October birthstone. “Do you have tourmaline, too?”
The saleswoman rolls her eyes and retrieves another tray of multicolored stones. “Do you know her size?”
“Small? Maybe extra-small? She’s pregnant, so she might be wearing a bigger size?”
“Her ring size.” The saleswoman holds up her ring finger, and she may as well be giving Jake the middle finger. Rico stifles a laugh.
“Is there a common size? She’s petite.”
“Probably a five or six,” the saleswoman says. “But just because she’s small doesn’t mean her hands are small.”
Jake settles on four rings. Two size-five rings—one tourmaline, the other topaz—and two size-six, each under fifty dollars.
As they are walking onto Vermont, Rico asks, “Are you sure about this? It doesn’t seem totally thought out.”
“Trust me, I know Kristi. In fact, four rings are even better than one.”
When Jake arrives at her apartment with the four small boxes, Kristi answers the door, startled to see him.
“Jake?” Kristi leans back to bear the weight of her stomach. It’s significantly larger than a few weeks before, perfectly round, and Jake wants to spread his fingers across it, to feel their child inside. “What are you doing here?”
The unctuous smell of sesame, soy, and oyster sauces wafts out of the apartment, which can only mean one thing. Mrs. Zhang is here, cooking for her daughter. He wonders if Kristi told her mother about the script, about Jake being fired. The thought of Mrs. Zhang seeing him with the four ring boxes makes him want to retreat, but he keeps his feet planted firmly, waiting for Kristi to let him inside.
As Kristi looks between him and the ring boxes, terror consumes her pretty face.
“I know I’ve been a disappointment. I lied to you. And kept secrets. Made bad decisions that affected both of us. I have no excuse. I’m not here to make one. It was stupid of me. And weak. And immature.” Jake waits for her to counter any of his statements. When she doesn’t, he keeps listing his shortcomings. “Selfish. Reckless. I think I’ve been waiting, since we first started dating, to mess it all up. Then, when everything was falling into place with you and the baby—”
“So you’re saying it’s my fault?”
“No, Kris.” Jake tries to take her hand, but she pulls it away. “It’s my fault. All of it. Always. You were right when you said I was stuck. I was so stuck I couldn’t see it. I’m not stuck anymore. At least, I’m trying to get unstuck.” He begins to open one of the boxes.
“Jake.” She shakes her head. She doesn’t even ask him why he has four rings instead of one. “You’ll always be a part of our family, but we�
��re done. I’m sorry. I can’t get into this again with you.”
Kristi continues to block the door, looking tormented at having to ask him to leave. If it’s this difficult for her, she must still love him. Part of her must still want to work it out. He recalls what Beck said about the in-between, how he can’t force forgiveness. This is where they are, and he has to be okay with it, for now. But he’s not going to give up on her.
As he turns to leave, Mrs. Zhang walks into the living room. “Jake,” she calls, walking toward him with open arms. “I thought I heard you. Are you staying for dinner?”
“Jake was just leaving.”
“No,” Mrs. Zhang protests. “There’s plenty of food. Come.” She takes Jake by the arm and guides him into the kitchen where plates of noodles, dumplings, and stir-fry rest on the modest kitchen table. “She’s just scared,” Mrs. Zhang whispers to Jake, motioning for him to sit in one of the mismatched wooden chairs.
For most of dinner, they eat without speaking, delighting in Mrs. Zhang’s cooking. Jake piles enormous quantities onto his plate. He’s not particularly hungry, but Mrs. Zhang appreciates when he eats a lot, and he’s happy to be able to please someone in the room. Plus, as long as his mouth is stuffed with food, he doesn’t have to speak, doesn’t need to ask Kristi what happens now.
Finally, Mrs. Zhang asks, “So what’s this I read about your grandmother being a thief?”
Jake waits for Kristi to admonish her mother, to tell her she shouldn’t listen to gossip. She, too, stares intently at Jake.
“Well,” Jake begins. “My grandmother didn’t talk about it, but she came over from Austria during the Holocaust with forty-nine other children. She brought the Florentine Diamond with her. My sisters and I just got back from Vienna where we were investigating her past.”
“You were in Vienna?” Is that hurt he detects in Kristi’s voice? Or surprise?