Emily finally spoke, her voice steady as a rock. "Tony, please, handle that with care. It was my mother's."
Tony didn't even look at her. His thumb traced the ornate carving on the lid as a line of suspicion formed over his forehead. "You seem too anxious for just a cheap jewelry box."
"Because it was mothers," she insisted, her voice 'filled with a desperate kind of pleading. "It's the only thing I have left of her, and I don't want it ruined."
"Is that so?"
He turned to one of the staff. "Empty this. Every tray, every lining. If there's a secret latch, tear it apart to find it. I want to be certain she isn't hiding anything that will complicate her recovery."
Emily's breath seized in her throat. Her eyes darted to the false bottom where the key was hidden.
"Mr. Torredo, sir?"
