“Branded” diamonds are labelled and advertised as such in order to guarantee a specified proportional cut, insuring that the diamond you buy is of the highest quality. This was new to Jake. As Tom, the buyer at Pacific Gems, analyzed the four-carat diamond ring Jake had brought in, drawing a diagram that showed the Eppler proportions of a 56% table width, a 57.7% crown height, and the bezel area at 14.4%, Jake realized that he hadn’t been keeping up with new developments in diamonds. He asked, “So is this a Class One?”
“It falls within Class One specs, but it’s also ‘branded’ as an Eppler cut, and is worth even more.”
“When did people start doing this branding business?”
“A few years now.”
“The body color looks great,” Jake said. “Is it ‘E’ or ‘F’?”
“I’d say maybe even ‘D’. The clarity is VVS2. I can have another guy confirm all this, but this is a really good diamond. I’m not even talking about the baguette diamonds on the sides.”
“How much?”
“You want to sell it?”
Jake shook his head. “Not now.”
“We can do a professional appraisal, have it documented. You should get this insured.”
“Give me a ballpark figure.”
“The entire ring? At least thirty-five thousand.”
Jake let out a slow breath. “You’d give me thirty-five grand for that?”
“No. I’d give you twenty-five maybe, but I’d want to see proof of ownership, documentation, everything.”
Taking the ring and staring at it, Jake shook his head. “I don’t want to sell it. It was my mother’s favorite ring, but now I know why.”
“It looks new.”
“She had it redone, added the baguettes. The big one came from another ring.”
“What about these?” Tom said, waving to the other rings Jake had shown him.
“Which do you want to buy, which would do better consigned?”
“Sell me the tiffany and the eternity. Consign those cheap ones.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand for the tiffany, fifteen hundred for the eternity.”
“What would you price the others?”
“Those two,” he said, pointing to the gold engagement rings with quarter carat diamonds, “might go for a couple hundred each. The others are lousy. I couldn’t charge more than sixty or seventy for them.”
“All right. I’ll sell you the eternity, consign the cheap ones, but hold onto the tiffany and my mom’s favorite ring.”
“You sure? I like the tiffany. I might offer you more if I can get a second opinion on the diamond.”
Jake shook his head. “Not yet. I’m in no hurry.”
“Let me draw up the paperwork. Be right back.” He went into the back room, and Jake pocketed the two rings he wanted to save. Thirty-five thousand dollars for one ring. His take for this job just doubled with this one ring.
He examined again the security: infrared motion detectors, two small video cameras, a wireless link with a private patrol company, but this time he moved behind the counter and saw what looked like a huge one-ton safe with an escutcheon plate as large as the door itself in the back. There was also security grilling along the back room, probably pulled down at closing.
After signing the paperwork and receiving two checks, one for the previously consigned jewelry and one for the eternity ring, he headed to a check-cashing store, where he would use one of his fake driver’s licenses and social security card. The jewelers knew him as a “William Han,” his ID courtesy of Chih. He was making good progress and wondered why he had never done this before. Time had been a factor. It was also easy with Chih offering to buy everything. The low-balling and the 10% cut must have made Chih’s percentage more than Jake’s each time. No wonder Chih was always eager to get Jake involved.
Then it happened again: the feeling of being noticed. He stopped and turned around: a man in a business suit hurrying across the street; a teenaged couple holding hands; an elderly Asian woman with a shopping bag; another man in a jacket and tie; cars driving by. Jake sat down on the steps of an apartment building and waited. More pedestrians walked up and down the street. Jake didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. No one stopped or dawdled. Jake remained sitting for another fifteen minutes. He decided not to return to this store for a while.
He stepped into a doorway, took out the branded diamond ring, and held it close to his eye, letting the sparkles fleck his vision. Rainbow colors flashed around him, then disappeared. This was life viewed through thirty-five grand, through his “mother’s” ring.
His mother had only one diamond ring that Jake knew of. It had been stolen off her finger when she had been rushed to the hospital. Before that, though, he remembered feeling the cool metal on his cheek once, when she told him to sleep. He had been very young. She touched his cheek with her palm, and said, Please sleep. He hadn’t thought of that in over twenty years. He pocketed his ring and wandered down the street.
After a half hour of walking, he stopped, confused. He was standing in front of Franklin & Sons Jewelry. He had intended to return the two rings to his safe deposit box, but instead found himself in a different neighborhood, walking into this store, doing a quick scan of the interior. There were wall displays, glass cases with angled felt mountings, small lamps shining down onto the gleaming gems. One long display counter in a U shape filled the room, and Jake saw the alarm control unit, an old one, that was deactivited with a key. This wasn’t a combination coded alarm, and he traced the wires to the door—a simple magnetic break sensor—and the windows.
“Can I help you?” a large, beefy man asked as he entered from the back room. His puffy cheeks were ruddy, his forehead shiny.
“Just looking around,” Jake said.
“For anything in particular?” The man folded his arms and stood in the doorway. He looked Jake up and down. “We have some nice men’s rings that came in last week.”
“Oh, yeah? Let’s see them.”
The man pointed to the end of the counter, and began taking out two displays. Jake saw immediately that they were cheap machine-manufactured rings, the gems glued on without any prongs, tiny burrs on the one he examined. The price, $85.00, was about triple what it was actually worth. Jake smiled.
“What’s the matter?” the man asked. “A little overpriced, don’t you think?”
“No. That’s fourteen k gold and a good sapphire.”
“Man-made sapphire?”
“No,” he answered quickly.
Jake suspected he was lying. He said, “The gold spot price is pretty low these days.”
The man frowned. “This isn’t a negotiation. That’s the price. Take it or leave it.”
“Then I’ll leave it. Let’s see your diamond engagement rings.” The man put away the displays and said, “You going to buy something?”
“Depends.”
“You’re going to waste my time?”
“Depends on the rings.”
The man looked him over again, and said, “They’ll probably be out of your range. I mean, if that sapphire was too much for you—”
“Are you joking?” Jake looked down at his jeans, his scuffed shoes. He was wearing an Oxford shirt, and thought he looked fine. “I want to see the engagement rings. Are you going to show them to me or not?”
“They’re right there,” the man said, pointing to the other end of the counter.
“Look for yourself.”
“What’s your name,” Jake asked.
“Why?”
“Are you Franklin or one of the sons?”
“Neither. There is no Franklin and sons.”
“Are you the owner?”
“I am.”
“Are you an asshole to all your customers?”
“Just the cheap ones.”
Jake smiled, shook his head, and walked out the door. He heard the man mutter, “Cheap bastard.”
Jake stopped. He was tempted to go back in, and almost turned around. But instead, he swallowed this and continued. Jake patted the rings in his pocket and told himself to keep cool.