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We followed Mrs. Feldman through a parquet-floor entryway into a neat sitting room decorated in powdery colors and she waved us onto the sofa while she took the armchair, sitting rigidly as she folded her hands together.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, unclasping her hands to point to the file that now lay in my lap.

“We’re investigating a robbery at Reynolds’ jewelry store here in town,” I said, figuring I should be upfront. There was no need to try and run rings around her, no pun intended. She knew why we were here and she had to know who also had this information. What I didn’t want her to do was become defensive. That wouldn’t help either of us.

She laced her fingers together, resting them in her lap. “I see.”

“These documents were given to us by the thief we believe was hired to commit the robbery.”

“Did you recover the items stolen?” she asked. Despite her efforts to remain impassive, strain glimmered in her eyes and in the tightness of her mouth. There was also a touch of eagerness that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“The only item stolen was a ring,” I said.

She held my gaze. “And where is it now?”

“In a safe place,” I said. It was a lie, and yet, it wasn’t. The ring almost certainly was in a safe place; I just didn’t know where it was. That she’d asked me where it was indicated she didn’t have it either.

That was good news for my plan.

“I’m not sure what that has to do with me,” Mrs. Feldman said at last. “I don’t know anything about your robbery.”

“I believe you, or a member of your family, hired the thief to steal the ring on your behalf,” I said, holding my hand up as she began to protest. “I can corroborate some of what’s in the file from my own research, and I’ve no doubt I can verify the rest. I also believe the ring was stolen from its original owners, your grandparents. My client wanted me to recover the ring but they were duped and didn’t know its provenance. Instead, they were given a history designed to prevent them from looking any further. They haven’t done anything wrong. They are also victims here, although of a far different magnitude than your family.”

“If you know so much, why haven’t you called the police?” she asked.

“We don’t see any need to involve them,” said Solomon, “and hopefully, you won’t either. Lexi has a proposition for you.”

“What makes you think I want to hear it?”

“Because it’s the best way for you to get your ring back and not face any charges. I think you’ll find what I have to say is fair,” I said.

“And your clients?”

“We’ll talk to them too,” said Solomon. “Lexi and I both think they’ll see the value in it.”

“And if I protest my innocence in this?” Mrs. Feldman looked between the two of us.

“We won’t believe you,” I said, “but before you do, hear me out anyway.”

Mrs. Feldman threw her hands up slightly, exasperated but willing. “Go ahead,” she said.

I laid out what I knew about the ring’s sale, the story Madame Michel had given me, and how the Reynolds’ purchase had brought it to America. Then I explained how I thought the problem could be solved. Mrs. Feldman listened quietly and when I finished, she remained silent.

“That’s a generous offer,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “Let’s say, hypothetically, if I agreed that I am the one in search of the ring, you’re sure your clients would agree to turning it over?”

“Yes, so long as you stick to your part of the bargain. You participate in the publicity and credit them for the repatriation.”

“And you?”

“No credit necessary. I just helped join the dots and make the introductions. I want to try and find a solution for everyone. I want you to have an important part of your family history returned that should never have been stolen from your family.”

Mrs. Feldman got up and walked to the window, crossing her arms as she stared out. After a minute, she turned her head and said, “My mother was their first child. She was born just after they escaped to England. Most of their family didn’t get that chance. I don’t need to tell you what happened to them in the Holocaust.

“When she was a child, my mom was told she would have been given that ring on her engagement. Her mother told her that’s what they decided on her engagement, that it would go to their first daughter one day, but of course, she never got the opportunity. My mother has only ever seen the ring in photos. My grandparents were together until they passed. They were a very loving family and my grandmother always missed that token of love from her husband.”

Mrs. Feldman walked past us and plucked two silver-framed photos from the mantel, passing them to us. The first was a portrait of a couple, standing stiffly in a suit and dress. The second, the same couple older now and far more relaxed, and three children in old-fashioned clothing sat in a garden around a picnic blanket. “This is my grandparents in the 1940s. My mom is the little girl with the ribbons in her hair. The other two children are her sister and brother. They were both born in America.”

“They’re cute,” I said and Mrs. Feldman smiled.

“My grandfather’s family had a furniture business and they were quite well to do. They had an affluent life in their home country, Poland. A nice house, good education, nice things. He spoke English fluently. My grandmother didn’t speak of her childhood much, but when she did, it was with deep love for her parents. She last saw them when she was twenty. My great-grandfather had negotiated their passage out. He had contacts in England who would sponsor them both. They just had to get there.”

She reached for another photo and passed it to me, a staged shot in a studio. The man with his arm draped around Mrs. Feldman was clearly her husband. The teenaged boy and girl, their children. “My daughter, Esther, is nearly twenty now. It made me think a lot about how my grandmother, at only a little older than Esther, newly married, pregnant, and running away from her home country, moving to England, then America with the knowledge that she survived, and her husband and baby survived, but their parents didn’t. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Friends. Can you imagine such pain?”

“I’m so sorry,” I said because I could not.

“Of course you are! Any normal person would be. You can see in the first photo that my grandmother is wearing the ring. It was their engagement picture.”

I angled the frame for the best light, focusing closely on the woman’s fingers. It wasn’t the clearest of shots, and grainy with age, but it did appear to be the same ring. I passed it to Solomon to peruse.

Mrs. Feldman continued, “When life became increasingly difficult in Poland, my grandparents and their families started making plans to leave. They began to sell their possessions so they had cash. They made arrangements for the younger children, my grandparents’ siblings, to go to a relative in England and paid a great deal of money for them to obtain passports and visas to travel. It wasn’t easy for them since they were Jewish. It became more imperative that they left when the Nazis came to their house and stole many valuable things but didn’t find the cash they’d hidden away. Anything they had left was being taxed until there was almost nothing that remained.

“My grandmother told me she and my grandfather traveled on documents belonging to children that had perished in a fire only a few years before. They were around the same age and could pose as brother and sister. The deaths of those poor children saved the lives of my grandparents. An older sibling and his family were already in the US. Another sibling managed to hide for the duration of the war. Their parents were due to join them as soon as they could. The others, an uncle, had already disappeared.

“When my grandparents left, they didn’t know if they would ever see their parents again.” Mrs. Feldman returned to sit on the armchair, crossing her ankles. “They each had a small suitcase. That was all their lives had been reduced to.

“Fortunately, my grandparents’ families had connections who had smuggled out various paperwork in anticipation that their things would be confiscated. They’d seen it happen to other people they knew. It was supposed to be a security so that they could retrieve things in the future. Quite forward thinking.

“My grandparents and their younger siblings stayed in England for a while and then they all left for the US. By then, two of their younger siblings became of adult age and wanted to emigrate to America. They hoped to start a new life here, far from the horrors of Europe. It was only after the war ended that they were able to find records that their parents had perished in concentration camps.

“It has taken us many years, but we’ve found several items that were stolen from our family. The houses in Poland were gone, somewhat unsurprisingly, bulldozed long ago. The furniture business ceased operating when my great-grandparents were taken away. Some employees of the business had hidden some things, and some loyal friends too. They got them to my grandparents after the war.” Mrs. Feldman paused, fixing her gaze on me again. “My grandmother didn’t discuss much about the past but she always talked about this ring, and how delighted she was that day my grandfather asked to marry her. She passed away without knowing what became of it.

“Then I saw it online and found it was here! Of all the places in the world it could end up, it was here ! It was like it had followed my grandparents. Like it wanted to be found.” Mrs. Feldman laughed, surprise and joy lighting her face.

“Why didn’t you contact the authorities or Reynolds’?” asked Solomon.

“Because there was no way I could afford the legal fight to have it returned, nor could I afford to purchase the ring. They wouldn’t just give it to me. Why would they?”

“So you commissioned its theft,” I said. It wasn’t a question but a statement.

“I prefer the term repatriation. But let’s say I did. What then?”

“How can you be sure it’s your ring?” I asked.

“I went to inspect it weeks ago. The band is inscribed with my grandparents’ initials, EM and CM. It’s fortunate it hasn’t been worn much over the decades as the markings are very clearly still there. There is no way it could have been made for anyone else but my great-grandmother.”

“How did you find someone to steal it?” I asked. I looked around, assessing her home. She claimed not to have the money for a legal fight but she still lived in a fancy part of town and the home was large and well-maintained. “You don’t look like you run with criminals.”

Mrs. Feldman smiled and suppressed a laugh. “No, I don’t suppose I do. I was recommended to the person we hired. Hypothetically , of course.”

“ Of course . By whom?” I pressed.

“By someone else whose family had things stolen during that terrible time in our world’s history. Before you ask, no, I’m not giving you their name.”

“I’d like to know how you made contact. Hypothetically .”

“Hypothetically… I sent an email with the particulars of the case. I was contacted at the end of that week with questions about establishing ownership. I sent everything I had, then I was contacted with the terms. A very small sum. Half the money up front, half the money when the job was completed and the ring had been returned to me.”

“So you never met?”

“No. I couldn’t tell you if the person was a man or a woman. Their age. Their nationality. Their skin color. Nothing.” She shrugged. “Hypothetically.”

“How did you convey the cash?”

“The email requested a bank transfer. I’m not giving you those details either.”

“That’s fine,” said Solomon, and I knew he’d have those details before the end of the day if he wanted them.

“How is the ring supposed to be delivered to you?”

“I was told to await instructions.” She paused. “You do have the ring, don’t you? Because, of course , I didn’t actually commission the repatriation. It was just an exchange of emails. The money was a charitable donation. There’s no crime there.”

Solomon and I exchanged a look. This was where it could all go horribly wrong. Yet, Mrs. Feldman had trusted us with information. Information we couldn’t use and couldn’t prove she’d said, all wrapped up in hypotheticals and of courses . It was only fair we asked her to trust us.

“No,” I admitted, “but I expect it will be returned to you very soon.”

Mrs. Feldman drew a deep breath. “And what happens then?”

“Then we make a deal with the Reynoldses, and everyone walks away. You will have the ring and you won’t risk prosecution. It will be legally yours.”

“What if I don’t comply? The ring belongs to my family. It never should have been stolen.”

“You don’t have to comply,” I said, “but I think you should. Cases like these are becoming fewer and fewer in terms of success. I think it would help everyone still affected if it’s publicized. I know it was a terrible wrong, but we can try to do something right to help you and maybe others too.”

“All right then,” she said. “I’ll agree but only once the ring is in my possession. Until then, all this is a crazy fantasy that no one can prove.”

“You’ll contact us when you receive the ring?” asked Solomon.

“I will.”

Solomon rose. I stood but he didn’t make a move for the door. “Thanks for hearing us out,” I said, shaking her hand. “And I’m really very sorry about what was done to your family. I hope you know we really do want to help.”

“Just help me right the wrong,” she said. “We’ve waited long enough.”