Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

that harkened back to slower, kinder times. Inside, it was modern hustle and security. Contrary to the usual practice of outsourcing everything to Asia or India, it was a point of pride with the company that some of Hall’s gemstones were cut and polished in the barnlike basement with open plumbing overhead and coded locks on the doors. The first floor was the flagship jewelry store. The second floor was taken up by offices and visiting salesmen hawking everything from synthetic turquoise to the latest patterns in ten-carat gold chains. The rest of the floors were given over to assembling jewelry from various internationalpieces—chains from Italy, gems from Thailand and Brazil, catches and pins from Mexico. The result was inexpensive jewelry for America’s endless malls, nearly all of which had a Hall Jewelry store somewhere in their air-conditioned expanse.
    Peyton Hall, the heir apparent to the whole operation, was doing an unannounced check of the cleanliness and appeal of the flagship store’s displays when the manager spotted him and rushed over.
    “Mr. Hall, how nice to see you,” she said. “If we’d expected you, I would have had coffee and pastries brought in.”
    “No need,” he said, shaking her hand. “I have to catch a plane soon. I just wanted a final look at our summer and fall offerings before I go to Scottsdale. Has my uncle arrived?”
    “Not yet. He—”
    “I’m right behind you,” a male voice cut in. Geraldo de Selva shared his sister’s dark coloring and confidence. “I was just going over the books with your mother.”
    The dark hair and confidence of the Selva family had been passed on to Peyton, with the addition of his father’s hazel eyes and relentless sex drive. The result was a shrewd businessman and married womanizer with two children. Though Peyton was impatient to run the family business, he was smart enough not to piss off his mother’s younger brother, who was in charge until his mother said otherwise.
    And that was the problem. Geraldo was only eight years older than Peyton. By the time his uncle was ready to retire as CEO, Peyton would be lucky to be alive. The Selva clan members routinely lived to be a hundred.
    Peyton’s daddy had checked out at fifty-three. Peyton didn’t figure he’d see seventy. As he was forty-nine now, that didn’t leave a whole lot of time to make his own personal fortune so that he could spend his last decadent decades chasing young foreign women and drinking expensive old booze.
    Geraldo gave his nephew a hard hug. “We’re proud of you, chico . You’re one shrewd buyer. Since you’ve taken over the estate gems and import end of the business, profits are up forty-seven percent.”
    Peyton grinned. He got half of all increased profits in the portions of the business he ran, which meant a nice bonus by the end of the year. About a million dollars, as a matter of fact.
    “Thanks,” Peyton said, returning the hug. He stepped back and smiled at the manager, who was still hovering. “I know how busy you are with the Mother’s Day promotions. Don’t waste time with us.”
    The woman smiled a bit uncertainly and withdrew.
    The two men began walking down a side aisle of the jewelry store. Geraldo glanced down at the “school sweethearts” display—delicate silver or ten-carat gold chains with two paper-thin hearts joined at the point and two tiny faceted stones, one for each heart. All for under twenty-five dollars.
    “We sell a buttload of that junk,” Geraldo said.
    “Sometimes I think every girl over five owns one or two of them,” Peyton agreed. “The real money is in replacing them,” he added. “Wear one a few times and wear it out. Costs more to repair than it’s worth, so you whine and pine until the parental units buy more jewelry for their precious kids.”
    “Cheaper to buy a good one in the first place.”
    “If you had the money, sure. They don’t. That’s why they buy cheap first, second, and third.”
    “At least we can offer pretty good value in the estate jewelry boutiques,” Geraldo said. “That was a great idea.”
    Peyton smiled. The best idea of all had been pulling out the real stones and putting in something less valuable. Zircon for diamond, spinel for ruby, synthetic for real, bad quality for good. No one noticed except the accountants, who approved of the fattened bottom line.
    Sometimes he wondered if his mother suspected, or if she really believed her son was a frigging business