The Final Blueprint

«Maybe the frog was only working part-time,» Kenan joked.

The work took several hours. By evening, they had finally finished compiling the list. They had several pages of detailed description of the jewelry, each of which had its own value and its own story.

«Well,» Kenan said, putting down the pen and stretching. «It seems we’re ready for tomorrow. I hope the antiquarian appreciates all this. And, most importantly, let him not start haggling like in a Turkish bazaar. I won’t survive that.»

Aurora nodded, feeling excitement and hope. Tomorrow could change her life forever. «I hope he’s in a good mood,» she said. «Otherwise, he might decide it’s all fake, and we’ll be left with nothing.»

Kenan put his arm around Aurora’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. «Everything will be fine, darling. I’m sure we’ll succeed. We’re together, and that means we can handle any difficulties.»

Aurora smiled and pressed against Kenan. She felt good and calm next to him. She knew he would always be there, supporting and helping her in difficult moments. Together they could overcome any obstacles and realize all their dreams.

The morning in Lisbon greeted Aurora with gloomy, inclement weather. Heavy, leaden clouds hung over the city, as if foretelling prolonged melancholy. «This doesn’t bode well,» Aurora thought, remembering a Portuguese omen, and her heart constricted with a premonition. It was as if she was waiting for the rainy weather to be reflected in her soul, reminding her of the events she still had to experience.

The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Kenan, always gallant, opened the door, letting into the apartment a short but stately man wrapped in a crumpled raincoat, as if he had just jumped out of a noir film. On the man’s head was a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, hiding his gaze. In his hand, he held not an ordinary magnifying glass, but rather a magnifying glass the size of a soup plate. It was Ahmed, an expert on jewelry and an old friend of Kenan’s.

«Ahmed,» the guest introduced himself with a barely perceptible Eastern accent, shaking Kenan’s hand. «Good to see you, old friend! Heard you’ve got something interesting going on? I hope my knowledge can help you.»

Kenan greeted Ahmed warmly and introduced him to Aurora. Ahmed, bowing slightly, glanced around the room, his gaze lingering for a moment on the neatly arranged jewelry.

«So, let’s get down to business,» Ahmed said, taking glasses out of his pocket and putting them on over those already on his face. He resembled a mad scientist from an old film, ready to plunge into his research. «Show me your treasures! Ready to immerse myself in a world of glitter and mysteries!»

Ahmed seemed to turn into a real detective embarking on an exciting investigation. He began to carefully study each piece of jewelry, as if artifacts holding ancient secrets were before him. Using his giant magnifying glass, he examined them from all sides, holding them up to the light to catch the play of reflections, as if trying to read a message encrypted in the precious stones. Ahmed even slightly opened his mouth, as if tasting them – he admitted it was an old jeweler’s trick to determine the authenticity of stones.

Aurora and Kenan froze, watching this performance, holding their breath, afraid to interrupt such concentrated work. Ahmed, immersed in his research, muttered under his breath: «Interesting… Very interesting… There are real masterpieces here! But, alas, there are fakes too. Well executed, but still…»

Ahmed continued his work for several hours, asking Aurora questions about the history of each piece. Where did they come from? What secrets do they hold? How did they end up in her family? Aurora tried to answer honestly and in detail, hoping it would help the expert determine the true value of each item. She felt a mixture of excitement and hope, understanding that her dream of building affordable housing depended on this analysis.

Finally, Ahmed finished the inspection. He took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and looked at Aurora and Kenan with a tired expression. He reminded them of an investigator who had finally finished a long and difficult case and was ready to announce the verdict.

«Well, I have two pieces of news for you: good and bad. I’ll start with the bad: a third of the jewelry are fakes. Not the most expensive, but… Fakes,» Ahmed said with sadness. «Now for the good: the remaining jewelry represent significant value. Especially this Art Deco necklace and this bracelet with filigree carving. They might be worth a fortune!»

Ahmed announced the total value of the jewelry, stating a sum that was still less than Aurora and Kenan had calculated, but still sufficient to start construction.

«Thank you, Ahmed, you’ve been a great help,» Kenan said, shaking his friend’s hand. «We really appreciate your expertise.»

«Don’t mention it! I’m always happy to help old friends. But remember, money isn’t the main thing. The main thing is what you do with it. I hope you use it for good deeds,» Ahmed said with a smile, hinting at Aurora’s noble plans.

Ahmed said goodbye, leaving Aurora and Kenan alone. Aurora, looking at Kenan, smiled, her eyes shining.

«Well, it seems we’re on the right track,» she said optimistically. «Now we need to find a buyer who will pay a decent price, and most importantly, one who isn’t as eccentric as our friend Ahmed.»

Kenan laughed. «Don’t worry, darling. I know a few collectors who would be happy to acquire these treasures. And I assure you, they don’t carry magnifying glasses the size of saucers, although they might have their own quirks.» Kenan hugged Aurora, letting her know they would manage.

Chapter 7A Deal with a Shadow

The search for a buyer was dragging on like a Portuguese saga of seafarers, Aurora thought, nervously fiddling with a keychain shaped like a miniature «Elétrico 28» tram. Only instead of the treasures of India, they were hunting for a buyer of family jewels. Kenan, as promised, had leveraged all his connections, calling collectors, antique dealers, and even a couple of auction houses, but no worthy offers had materialized. It seemed the Lisbon antiques market had frozen, bracing for a crisis or, more likely, the end of the world.

«Everyone’s holding back, hoping to drive the price down, like seagulls swarming a tourist’s forgotten baguette,» Kenan said irritably, putting his phone down. They were sitting in «Pastéis de Belém,» a restaurant Kenan loved not only for its seclusion but also, let’s be honest, for its incredible pastéis de nata. For Aurora, despite her sweet tooth, even her favorite treat today tasted as bland as a life without inspiration.

«Maybe we should try a foreign auction house? Sotheby’s, for example?» Aurora suggested, mechanically tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

«That’s a long and expensive process, like building the Vasco da Gama Bridge. Commission, transportation… And no guarantee they’ll offer more. You know, they have their own quirks, like Salvador Dalí,» Kenan frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. «There is one option, but I don’t like it. Let me be clear – I really don’t like it.»

«What is it?» Aurora looked at Kenan intently, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten inside her.

«There’s a collector, or rather, a dealer named Ruben. They say he has connections… with people who aren’t always diligent about taxes or showing respect for the law. He pays quickly and generously, as if he has his own printing press. Where he gets his money and how he earns it – it’s better not to know. Rumors say he’s not above dealing in smuggled goods or tax evasion. In short, a man with a dark past and shady schemes.»

Aurora fell silent. She understood it was a risky move, but time was pressing in on her like Queen Maria I’s corset. She wanted to start construction as soon as possible, to see her dream rise from the ashes like a phoenix.

«Let’s at least hear his offer,» she said, meeting Kenan’s gaze with determination. «We’re not obligated to accept.»

Kenan sighed, as if bidding farewell to the last remnants of common sense. «Alright. But I’ll be right there with you, like a bodyguard for a pop star. And no deals without my knowledge. Remember: I am your shield and your sword. And if it comes to it, I know a few self-defense moves my grandfather taught me in Istanbul.»

The meeting was set in Lisbon’s old Alfama district. The wind from the Tagus River cut to the bone like the needles of a skilled tattoo artist, and the dilapidated buildings and narrow streets created an oppressive, film-noir atmosphere.

Ruben, the dealer whom people called «The Bloodsucker» behind his back (rumoredly for his appetite for others’ possessions), met them in the semi-darkness of a abandoned warehouse that had probably once stored sardines. He was a large man, who looked more like a nightclub bouncer than an art connoisseur. His heavy-lidded gaze and the tattoos on his hands – snakes or perhaps dragons – did nothing to inspire trust. His face seemed carved from stone, devoid of any emotion, like a cemetery statue.

Ruben silently took the jewelry box, pulled out a loupe (much more modest and dustier than Ahmed’s), and meticulously examined each piece. His movements lacked a collector’s passion, only the cold calculation of an appraiser.

«Art Deco, filigree… Good pieces. Antiques. I’ll give you for everything…» He named a sum significantly higher than other collectors had offered. Almost obscenely high.

Aurora and Kenan exchanged glances. The amount was tempting, like a devilish whisper, but the atmosphere of the deal was frightening, like an encounter with a ghost in the Jerónimos Monastery cemetery at night.

«Where does that kind of money come from, if it’s not a secret?» Aurora asked directly, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

Ruben smirked, revealing large, slightly yellowed teeth. «That’s none of your business, senhora. You need money? I’m ready to pay. Quickly and without unnecessary questions. Business is business, you understand?»

Kenan frowned, clenching his fists. «We want to know these jewels won’t be used for criminal purposes. That they won’t be melted down into bullion to fund some dirty deal.»

Ruben shrugged, as if swatting away a bothersome fly. «I’m a collector, not a criminal, though I admit I sometimes have to deal with… various people. I simply appreciate beautiful things. And I’m willing to pay for them.»

Aurora felt the lie hiding behind his words. She hesitated, as if standing on the edge of an abyss. Risk it and get the money now, turning a blind eye to her suspicions, or continue the search for a more reliable buyer, risking time and her chance to start construction?

Suddenly, like lightning in the night, she noticed a ring on Ruben’s finger. An antique, massive piece with a large ruby in the center, cut in the shape of a teardrop. It looked vaguely familiar, like the melody of an old song. She looked closer and froze, as if filled with ice. It was her grandmother’s ring, the one that had gone missing years ago, along with other family heirlooms.

«Where did you get that ring?» Aurora asked, her voice trembling as she felt the blood drain from her face.

Ruben was taken aback for a moment, as if caught red-handed, but quickly regained his composure, like an experienced card sharp. «I bought it at an auction a few years back. So what? A pretty trinket, isn’t it?»

«That’s my grandmother’s ring! It was stolen! Along with other family jewels!»

Ruben smirked, adjusting the ring on his finger. «Prove it, senhora. Words are cheap. Where are your witnesses? Your documents? You have nothing. So, save your fairy tales.»

Aurora was at a loss. She had no proof, only a burning sense of recognition that seared her from within like a brand. But she was sure it was her ring. She felt it in every fiber of her being.

«We will not be making a deal,» Aurora said decisively, looking Ruben straight in the eye. «You are a thief! And I’m sure you’ve stolen more than just my grandmother’s ring.»

Ruben’s face darkened, like the sky before a storm. «You will regret this, senhora. Deeply.»

Kenan, sensing danger, took Aurora by the hand and pulled her toward the exit. They ran through the narrow streets of Alfama as if pursued by the devil himself, feeling Ruben’s heavy gaze burning into their backs.

«What now?» Aurora asked, breathless from running, as they emerged onto the embankment.

«Now we’re in serious trouble, like Don Quixote tilting at windmills,» Kenan replied, catching his breath. «But I won’t let that thief profit from your family. And we will get your grandmother’s ring back, whatever it takes. I promise.»

Aurora leaned against the flaking stonework of an old building, taking deep breaths of the tangy, salty air from the waterfront. Her heart, like a trapped bird, fluttered wildly in her chest. Fear, cold and clammy, iced her veins, but it was mixed with a boiling rage – rage against Ruben, the vile vulture who had violated something sacred; against the system that allowed his kind to profit from others’ grief with impunity; against her own helplessness, which made her grind her teeth in frustration.

Kenan, like an experienced tamer, gently put his arm around her shoulders, trying to calm the storm of emotions. He was always there for her, a reliable anchor in a storm. «It will be alright, my Aurora. We’ll manage. The main thing is to breathe deeply, and let’s think of a way out of this mess.»

«What can we do? We have no proof! He’ll just brush us off like annoying gnats. And if he really is connected to the mob, we’re in for hell.» Aurora ran her hand over a scar on her arm – a reminder of another, much older, hellish experience.

«Calm down, Aurora. I promise, we’ll get the ring back. It’s a memory of your grandmother, and we’ll do everything to get it back.» He saw how important this relic was to her, how her eyes had shone when she spoke of her grandmother, of her care and love. Kenan knew he was ready to do a lot for Aurora.

And then, like a bright flash of lightning in a dark sky, a thought struck her. «I have old photographs! Grandmother was wearing that ring. They’re in the old house in Porto!»

«Then we pack up and go to Porto, amor. The sooner, the better. We can’t let that… Bloodsucker revel in his impunity.» Kenan, as always, was resolute. A fire burned in his eyes, ready to consume anyone who dared hurt his beloved.

They caught a taxi heading to the Santa Apolónia station. Three hours to Porto – three hours during which Aurora sank into her thoughts as if into a bottomless well. She remembered her grandmother, the woman dear to her heart, with incredibly kind, gentle eyes and a voice that sounded like a tender melody. Her grandmother knew how to tell stories, immersing her granddaughter in a world of fairy tales and secrets. Aurora remembered her stories about the family jewels, carefully passed down from generation to generation, like pieces of a soul. The ruby ring – the most precious of them all – was for her a symbol of family history, of love and devotion.

«What are you thinking about so deeply?» Kenan, noticing her pensive state, gently stroked her hand.

«About Grandmother. She treasured that ring so much. It wasn’t just jewelry to her; it was a part of her life, a memory of her ancestors, of family. I have to get it back, Kenan. I have to do it for her, for her memory.» Tears welled up in Aurora’s eyes. Kenan held her close, trying to comfort her. He knew that for her, this was not just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of her soul.

In Porto, they were met by a sharp, cool wind from the Douro, saturated with the damp smell of port wine – the city’s signature scent. This aroma, simultaneously intoxicating and tart, mixed with the smell of fish and salt from the Ribeira waterfront, creating the unique fragrance of Porto. Aurora shivered. The wind cut right through her, despite her warm jacket, reminding her of the cold that had always permeated her childhood.

They got into an old Mercedes taxi that reeked of cigarettes and cheap cologne. The driver, a sullen man with a thick gray mustache, silently nodded at the address and jerked away from the curb. The taxi sped across the Dom Luís I Bridge, a masterpiece of engineering connecting Porto with Vila Nova de Gaia, home to the famous port wine cellars. Aurora automatically looked up at the majestic arches of the bridge and remembered how, as a little girl, she had been afraid of heights and would always close her eyes when the bus crossed it.

The city changed outside the window. From the gleaming shop windows of modern stores, they entered the narrow, winding streets of the old town, paved with cobblestones. The houses here were shabby and dilapidated, with peeling paint and sagging balconies. Laundry dried on clotheslines strung between buildings, creating a sense of chaos and clutter. But within this chaos, one could feel a special, unique life.

«Nothing has changed here,» Aurora whispered, looking at the familiar streets.

«You remember this neighborhood?» Kenan asked.

«I remember,» Aurora replied. «Every stone.»

Finally, the taxi stopped in front of an old, dilapidated house with crooked windows and peeling plaster. Silence reigned around the house, broken only by the cries of seagulls from the river. This was the very house where Aurora had spent her childhood years. The house she had tried to forget.

The house greeted them with the empty, broken eye-sockets of its windows and flaking paint, like a starving ghost from the past. The paint on the walls was peeling like an old man’s skin, revealing layers of faded, patterned wallpaper beneath. The house itself seemed to breathe its last, exhaling scents of decay and damp leaves – smells Aurora remembered from childhood. The smell of abandonment. Aurora, taking out the key, fumbled for a long time, trying to remember where it was hidden. Under which stone? All the stones by the porch looked equally gray and rough. She remembered how, as a child, she had thought this key was a passport to another world, a world of adventure and fantasy. Now it just felt like a heavy burden, a reminder of the past.

Finally, her fingers found a familiar ledge. There it is. Click… The door creaked open, letting them inside. The creak was so loud it echoed through the entire house, like a greeting from an old friend (or foe?). Stagnant air hit them with the smell of dampness, dust, mold, and years of sorrow. This smell, ingrained in the walls and furniture, felt tangible, like a heavy blanket thrown over their shoulders. Aurora felt nausea rising in her throat.

Inside, it was dim. Sunlight barely penetrated the dirty glass, creating bizarre shadows on the walls. Aurora turned on her phone’s flashlight, dispersing the darkness in the rooms. The beam of light picked out shabby furniture covered in a thick layer of dust, old photographs in faded frames, and broken toys lying in a corner. Everything here was marked by the seal of time, as if preserved in the past.

«Everything is still here… as if time has stopped,» she whispered, her voice trembling. Room by room, she recognized every corner of this house. The worn-out sofa in the living room where she and her mother had watched old movies on TV. The kitchen with its peeling tiles where they had cooked simple, tasty meals. The bedroom where she had fallen asleep to the quiet sound of her mother’s voice telling stories. It was as if she had left this house only yesterday, not many years ago, running from her past. And that past seemed to be waiting for her here, ready to pounce and swallow her whole.

They went into the living room. The old, dusty furniture, like forgotten relics in a forgotten room, was shrouded in a pall of dust. It seemed that if someone sneezed, the dust would rise and choke them both. I wonder if anyone has cleaned here since my «evacuation»? Aurora thought with irony. Kenan winced in disgust and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose.

On the walls, like ghosts, hung faded photographs. Mostly portraits of relatives whom Aurora barely remembered, or didn’t remember at all. Stern faces looking at the camera with silent reproach. Seems I have a very «cheerful» family, Aurora thought, looking at another uncle with a severe gaze.

Aurora began methodically examining the photographs, hoping to find the cherished image of her grandmother with the ring. It was the only thing connecting her to the past, the only thread she could grasp. She went through the photos one by one, as if turning the pages of an old, forgotten album. Here was her mother, young and beautiful, with a naive smile on her face. I wonder what she was dreaming of then? Did she know what awaited her? Here she was herself, a little girl with big, sad eyes, looking at the world with distrust and fear. I wonder when I forgot how to smile?

Suddenly Kenan sneezed, breaking the silence. «Sorry,» he said, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. «I’m allergic to dust. Maybe we should wear masks?»

Aurora gave a wry smile. «I’m afraid masks won’t help here,» she said. «We need a team of exterminators.»

Kenan sighed. «Alright, let’s finish with the photos and go to the hotel. I think I’m starting to suffocate.»

She looked through dozens of photographs, but – alas! – nowhere was the one picture that could prove her right. Despair, like poisonous ivy, began to entwine her soul. She could already feel its roots digging into her heart, sapping her will to fight. Perfect. It seems my family tree has decided to play hide-and-seek with me.

«Maybe the photos are in another room? Don’t give up, amor! We’ll find them!» Kenan tried to encourage her, but his voice also sounded tired. Apparently, his dust allergy was acting up.

They searched the entire house, looking in every corner, every crevice. It seemed the photographs were deliberately hiding from them, playing some cruel game. Aurora, having lost all hope, sat down on the old sofa and buried her face in her hands. Imagine, this sofa has survived three generations of cockroaches and two world wars, and it’s still here… Just like my problems.

«I don’t know what to do… It seems I’ve hopelessly lost everything.» Her voice sounded hollow and desperate.

Kenan sat down beside her, carefully putting his arm around her, trying to warm her with his presence. He felt her despair, her pain. «Don’t you dare say that. We’ll think of something. Maybe you just forgot where you put them? Don’t be upset, Aurora, everything will be alright now. Come on, focus, remember everything you know… You’re an architect, not some random person. Remember where your grandmother kept her treasures! Surely not in a Swiss bank?» He tried to joke to lighten the mood.

And suddenly, like lightning piercing the darkness, it hit her. «Wait! Grandmother always kept her most valuable things in an old chest, in the storage room. The photos must be there! That’s it!»

They found the chest in the storage room. Heavy, covered in dust, it seemed to have been waiting for its moment for centuries. It seemed even the spiders were afraid to approach it. Kenan, grunting, helped Aurora open it.

Inside the chest lay old letters, yellowed documents, lace doilies smelling of mothballs, jewelry, and stacks of photographs, as if history itself was guarding its treasures. Aurora began to sort through them, like an archaeologist hoping to unearth something important. I wonder how much dust one has to inhale to find the truth?

And then, at one of the most unexpected moments, her gaze fell on an old leather-bound photo album. Her heart began to beat like a trapped bird in anticipation. She opened the album, turning its pages, trying not to breathe so as not to scatter the fragile memories.

And there it was! On one of the old, yellowed photographs was her grandmother, dressed in a beautiful dress, smiling elegantly at the camera. And on her finger – the very ruby ring they were looking for! Aurora took out the photograph, holding it up to the light as if it were a holy relic. Finally! At least someone in this family decided to help me!

«Here it is! Proof! Now we can prove that this ring belonged to my grandmother!» She rejoiced like a child who had found a long-awaited toy.

Kenan, beaming with joy, hugged and kissed her. «I knew you could do it, my dear! You are the best woman in the world! And the most stubborn.»

But their triumph was short-lived. Suddenly, like a harbinger of trouble, the sound of breaking glass echoed through the house. What the hell? Someone was in the house…