But Diana could still picture Clara opening the case.
The missing maker's mark.
And the fear that her mother's final masterpiece might be gone forever.
She took a slow breath.
Then asked Reina how the latest staff training had gone.
The manager explained the results.
There were still improvements to make.
Some employees wanted more time for technical education.
Others had suggestions about scheduling and customer-service procedures.
Diana listened.
Then asked whether the feedback had been documented for review.
Reina nodded.
"Yes."
The CEO smiled.
"Good."
For a moment, she felt a quiet satisfaction.
Not because she'd fired a manager.
That decision had been necessary, but it was hardly a reason to celebrate.
The real achievement was seeing a company begin operating in a way that made fewer people afraid to speak.
As Diana prepared to leave, a woman entered the boutique carrying an old jewelry box.
She was in her late sixties, wearing comfortable clothes and a faded cardigan.
She looked uncertain.
A sales associate approached.
"Good afternoon. How can I help you?"
The woman opened the box.
Inside was a small gold necklace with a broken clasp.
It wasn't an expensive piece by the boutique's standards.
The chain was worn.
The pendant contained a modest gemstone.
And the setting had clearly been repaired before.
The woman glanced toward the glittering display cases.
"I'm sorry. I don't know if this is the kind of thing you work on."
The associate smiled.
"Would you like us to examine it and discuss whether a repair is possible?"
The woman looked relieved.
"It belonged to my mother."
Diana stopped walking.
For a moment, she watched.
The associate carefully explained the next steps and made no promise about the repair before a qualified person could assess the necklace.
The woman nodded.
Then smiled.
"Thank you. I was afraid you'd think it wasn't worth bothering with."
The associate shook her head gently.
"If it matters to you, it's worth examining properly."
Diana felt tears rising.
She looked toward the old necklace.
Then toward the woman holding it.
For a moment, she remembered Evelyn standing behind her wooden workbench, repairing inexpensive jewelry because the people who owned it wanted to keep something precious.
Her mother's workshop had never been only about diamonds.
It was about memories.
Skill.
And the belief that craftsmanship could preserve something meaningful.
Diana looked toward Reina.
The manager smiled.
Neither needed to say anything.
Outside, the Beverly Hills afternoon was warm.
Luxury cars moved slowly along the street.
Shoppers carried designer bags.
And sunlight reflected from the enormous glass windows of Aurelle Fine Jewelry.