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“Detective! How lovely to see you,” Beagle says as Stark walks through the door and claims the greenroom while Angela and I stand in the threshold behind her.

“Bax and I are just finishing here. We’ll be at the Social in a moment. By the way, congratulations,” says Beagle. “The security today was flawless. Molly, Angela—I hope you kept some champagne chilled for us.”

Beagle invites us into the room.

“Mr.Brown, you’re free to leave,” says Stark to the tall blond man who looks entirely bereft despite his dapper scarlet jacket.

“Leave? Why would Bax leave?” Beagle asks. “Where he goes, I go.”

“Not this time,” says Stark. She walks over to the tiny, dark-haired man with bejeweled fingers and eagle eyes. “Thomas Beagle, you’re under arrest,” she says. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.”

“Arrest? Is this some kind of joke? Where’s the hidden camera?” Beagle says with a chuckle.

“They’re pretty much everywhere,” Angela replies.

“There must be some kind of mistake. I’ve done nothing wrong,” Beagle says.

“A Bee-liever convinced of his own lies,” I say.

“You hired a criminal gang to steal the Fabergé, and you threatened Molly, twice,” Stark says.

“But this is ridiculous. Bax, say something.”

“What am I supposed to say, Tom?” says Brown. “That I thought I knew you? Thought I could trust you? You’re a wolf in designer clothing.”

“Don’t say that,” says Beagle. “You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did. But I don’t. Not anymore.”

“That dog’s delulu,” I hear from somewhere behind me.

I turn to see Speedy standing in the doorway, pointing to Beagle. Two police officers behind him enter the greenroom and head straight for Thomas.

“Will you kindly translate Speedy into English?” I ask Angela.

“He says Beagle is delusional,” she explains.

“Scammed by tech, bruh,” says Speedy as he shakes his head.

“We heard every word you said to Brown a few minutes ago,” says Stark. “You admitted to stealing the egg. And to returning it for your own gain, so, Thomas Beagle, grandson of a baron, you’re under arrest.”

Stark’s two officers take Beagle by the arms, putting him in handcuffs.

“Do you know who I am? And do you have any idea who I know?” Beagle says, raising his voice.

“One more word and I’ll raise your threat charges to three,” says Stark.

The detective and the officers lead Beagle out of the room as Speedy follows close behind.

Once they’re gone, Brown approaches me, his face a mask of shock. “Molly,” he says. “I didn’t know any of this. I had no idea my own husband could be capable of such a thing. All I wanted was for you to sell the egg so it would change your life for the better.”

“And for your commission,” says Angela.

“Yes, for that, too,” admits Brown. “Is that a crime?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not,” I say, “but do you realize our families are connected?”

His eyebrows scrunch. “What do you mean exactly?”

“Your father, Algernon Braun, was once my gran’s fiancé, but the wedding was called off. And I can tell you that as far as eggs go, your father was a particularly rotten varietal.”

Brown looks down at his feet. “I suspected as much,” he says. “I don’t know much about my father because he died so young. My mother avoids talking about him. And my grandfather, well, let’s just say I never trusted his accounts of his own son. There are questions he would never answer about his biggest art acquisitions. He even made us change our family name from Braun to Brown after someone accused him of falsifying a certificate of authenticity to make a big sale. He was never charged, but those accusations made me wonder.”

“Your grandfather, Magnus, and your father, Algernon, stole the Fabergé from Baron Beagle. I have proof.”

“Proof?” Brown repeats, incredulous.

“Her gran’s diary. Written testimony,” says Stark.

“Where’s your grandfather now?” I ask.

“Six feet under,” Brown says. “I’ll admit I never looked into the allegations against him for fear of what I’d uncover. When Magnus died, the accusations died with him. Since the day I took over the firm, my dealings have been squeaky clean. Whatever my father and his father did, I was never a part of it.”

“So we have something in common,” I say, “besides the Fabergé.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“We both come from a bad lot, and we want to do better.”

“Regrettably, it seems that way,” says Brown.

Just then, Juan rushes into the greenroom, breathless and shaky.

“Speedy told me what happened. Molly, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “We’re all fine.”

“Thank goodness,” he replies as he hugs me tight. For once, I don’t care if we’re in the workplace and if we’re breaking a contact rule.

“Where’s Beagle?” Juan asks.

“In handcuffs, off to the precinct,” says Angela.

“We caught him in flagrante,” I say. “Where’s the egg?”

“In the safe. Mr.Snow and two officers are keeping a close watch.”

I turn to Baxley Brown, who looks dejected. He’s the only one who can answer my burning question. “Mr.Brown,” I say, “what happens now, with the egg, I mean?”

“By rights, it belongs to my husband,” he says. “The bill of sale proves his grandfather was the last legal owner, so whoever Madame Orange’s wealthy buyer is, the egg won’t be theirs for long.”

“Drat,” says Angela with a shrug. “I guess I’m no gatrillionaire.”

“Wait, you’re the wealthy buyer?” says Brown.

“Busted,” Angela replies. “The sale was a fake-out.”

“I can’t believe it,” I say. “After all he’s done, Beagle is still the legitimate owner of the egg.”

Brown gives me a look that doesn’t fit any I’ve ever come across in my catalogue of human expressions. “Never count your chickens before they hatch,” he says.