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That evening, when Anyu arrived home, she was engulfed again by the wave of euphoria.

Everyone was elated; the small kitchen was crammed—Esther hugging her, Uncle David grinning, agog at the phoenix’s sale for one thousand dollars, Isaac beaming, and the two aunts clapping their hands like children.

Even Samuel, in a magnanimous way, smiled at her warmly and patted her on the back.

The entire family celebrated, sharing a lavish meal of roasted chicken, garlic bread, and borscht with heaps of cabbage. Uncle David produced a bottle of whiskey, poured it into the bowls since they didn’t have glasses, and shouted, “ L’chayim ! ”

Anyu finished the alcohol in three gulps; it rushed down her throat and made her giddy.

She began to cough, but she liked it, all of it, the taste of alcohol, the chicken, the toast, and the Mandelburgs, their eyes brimming with joy.

She had brought this to them, this happiness, this turn of fortune, and she was glad and proud.

And she realized this was what she had wished for all along: to be accepted, to make them happy, and to genuinely be a part of their lives.

When she came to this apartment at sixteen, lost, drifting like snow, she had wondered if she could ever find a place to stay. And now she knew where she belonged.

The next day, more good news arrived. Esther woke Anyu and showed her a stack of newspapers printed with huge photos of her and Mrs. Brown.

Still half-asleep, Anyu read the headlines announcing her as the winner of the prestigious jewelry competition.

The articles lauded her talent, awed at her young age—eighteen—empathetic that she was an orphan, and predicted, without reservation, that as the youngest jeweler, a girl who had won a major award, a Chinese jeweler who had designed the brooch for the generalissimo and his fiancée, she would have the Midas touch and everything she designed would sell.

She laughed. Fame—to be known, to be praised and worshipped. It was such a wonderful feeling. She was no longer a nameless orphan.

And then the newspaper’s prediction came true—for the next five days, the showroom was packed with customers looking for the jewelry she designed and customers eager to place commissions: a commission from Liza Hardoon to make twenty-two Buddha pendant necklaces for her twenty-two adopted children, a commission from a Chinese diplomat’s wife, a movie star, a British consul, an Italian naval officer, and even the head of the French Concession, who Isaac said had been Bellefeuille’s client.

All the jewelry pieces Isaac designed were sold, too. The orders were accepted with a completion date six months out.

Then the payment of the brooch arrived. One thousand dollars!

The profit lifted everyone’s spirits. Isaac bought her a new workbench, believing that as a master jeweler, she should have her own workstation, and placed it right next to his.

Uncle David said she was no longer required to work at the counter and promptly paid her a wage as a jeweler—ten dollars.

Ten dollars a month! How would she be able to spend it all! She sat at her workbench that was the right height for her. She could work and sleep here and never leave the workshop again.

With a whopping nineteen dollars in her pocket, Anyu took Esther to a tailor’s shop in the Settlement and asked her to pick out any dress she liked.

Esther’s face lit up. They spent four hours in that shop, and afterward Anyu stopped at a bookstore, where she bought a Webster’s dictionary and put it in Esther’s hands.

Then, one afternoon, Anyu was crafting one of the Buddha pendants when Isaac asked her to accompany him.

“Where are we going?”

His voice was low. “The Vault of Gems and Treasures.”

Her heart stopped for a few beats at the thought of what he would show her.

They took a taxi to the riverfront of the Huangpu River, passed a checkpoint, and got out at a wharf across from the nearly completed, towering Sassoon House, an immense nine-story Art Deco complex, its unique emerald-green rooftop glowing in the fading afternoon sunlight.

Walking along the Huangpu River, they went down to an underpass and climbed a flight of stone steps to ground level.

The sun had gone down; darkness was descending rapidly. The towering elms and oaks swayed in the wind.

“This way.” Isaac directed her to a pebble path lined with red brick buildings—a shopping center, it seemed—and then they arrived at a two-story shop selling cutlery with a “Closed” sign.

Isaac knocked; an Indian man wearing a brown turban opened the door just a crack.

“Which type of quartz is most valuable, rose quartz or smoky quartz?” he asked.

“Neither. Amethyst is known to be the most valuable and most popular quartz,” Isaac replied.

The man glanced at her, hesitated, and opened the door to let them in.

The shop was faintly lit by a lamp on the counter; there were rows of knives with curved edges like daggers lined on the wall, and silverware, serving trays, and candleholders displayed on the shelves.

No chopsticks. This shop only served foreign customers, it appeared, but Anyu had a hunch it didn’t serve anyone at all.

“Would you prefer knives of gold, platinum, sterling silver, or stainless steel, sir?” the man asked, his hands folded behind his back. He was armed with a pistol.

“Platinum.”

The man stepped aside, and Isaac walked toward the wall with knives.

He took hold of a knife’s ivory hilt and turned.

The wall swung to the side, revealing a hidden space behind it.

Surprised, Anyu looked at Isaac, who smiled and gestured for her to enter.

The moment she walked in, the wall slid shut behind them.

She was standing in a garden encircled by four walls draped with vines. In the fading light, she could see a bronze statue standing on an ivory pedestal in the center.

“The Goddess of Peace, designed by a well-known architect,” Isaac said.

The Goddess had a long, slender body, a double-headed eagle perched on her right arm. “It’s beautiful. But where’s the vault?”

“Just a minute.” Isaac raised his right hand with his moonstone cabochon ring and pressed the side of the ring with his other hand, and to Anyu’s amazement, the cabochon lifted to reveal an image of a double-headed eagle, similar to the one on the Goddess’s arm.

He placed the eagle against the hollow of the Goddess’s hand, fitting it like a key in a lock, and the hand lifted.

The ivory pedestal glided to the side, showing a flight of dark stairs underneath.

Anyu gasped.

“Come in.” Isaac waved and went down the stairs.

Anyu followed inside. She could see a long, dark passage in front of her, with two electric lamps flickering at the other end. “Where are we?”

“You’ll see.” Isaac’s voice echoed.

Eventually, she arrived at a tall atrium illuminated by some electric sconces on the wall. Isaac came to a door and placed his ring on a brass plaque on the doorpost. The door slid open.

A secret room.

“Welcome to the Vault of Gems and Treasures,” Isaac said.

Anyu blinked and entered the room, which was shaped like a narrow train, with sculptures in four corners and hexagon-shaped crystal boxes on shelves built into the walls. Bathed in the sconces’ light, they glowed like a golden beehive. Awed by the sight, she stared at the boxes as if in a trance.

The crystal box near her held an enormous diamond rondelle, which must have weighed two hundred carats, multifaceted, with flawless clarity, dazzling with a bluish-greenish hue.

A placard under the rondelle said that this diamond bore a striking resemblance to the Orlov Diamond, the diamond the Russian count Grigory Orlov gave to his lover, Empress Catherine the Great.

Next to it was a lavish filigree gold crown worn by Mumtaz Mahal, a Persian princess, the beloved wife of Mughal emperor Shah Jahān, who built one of the wonders of the world to honor her after her death, the white marble Taj Mahal.

Then an Edwardian necklace with a huge rose-cut diamond that was said to have belonged to Queen Elizabeth I.

And a platinum necklace with the Maximilian Diamond, a thirty-three-carat lime-yellow cushion cut with astounding fluorescence, one of the two diamonds owned by Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph.

And more: an antique Tiffany necklace made in 1870, featuring intricate filigree work and granulation; a diamond canopy that was said to be part of the Peacock Throne created for the Mughal court in India; a Māori jadeite amulet from the seventeenth century; a seahorse in precious yellow jade hand-carved by a sixteen-year-old girl in Thailand.

And there, the splendid Alexander III Commemorative Egg, encrusted with rows of rose-cut diamonds strung together like beads.

Anyu had a hard time believing her eyes. “Are these treasures real?”

“Yes.”

“What is this place?”

“I told you, the Vault of Gems and Treasures.”

“I can’t believe such a vault exists. Who owns it?”

“The one and only Workmasters Guild.”

“The Guild?”

“When Fabergé hired the workmasters to create the eggs in the late nineteenth century, they faced fierce competition among themselves. Some were accused of greed, and some plots were carried out to harm our families. To avoid more loss and to protect their craft and gemstones, they founded a guild. They forged a strong bond over the years and built a vast influential network in Russia and Europe. With their access to diamonds and gold deposits, they developed ties with diamond cutters, gemologists, collectors, and even royalty from various countries.”

The Workmasters Guild.

“How did they have access to the diamonds in Russia?”