Carmela Clutch | Case [exclusive]

She’d been tracking the Carmela Clutch for six years. It had surfaced in the estate sale of a deceased arms dealer, then vanished into the private collection of a Monaco socialite, only to reappear as a prop in a true-crime documentary about the very murder it was tied to. Now, here it was, lot 404 in the “Vintage Handbags and Heirlooms” catalog of Debrett’s Auction House, described simply as: “Mid-century clutch, unknown maker, minor wear.”

The Carmela Clutch didn’t look like much at first glance. Tucked between a sequined evening bag and a crocodile leather tote in the back row of the auction house’s display case, it seemed almost shy—a small, unassuming rectangle of scuffed navy velvet, its brass frame tarnished, its kiss clasp slightly askew. carmela clutch case

She looked up. Julian Cross had stopped fidgeting. He was staring at the clutch with an expression that wasn’t greed or admiration—it was fear. Pure, cold fear. She’d been tracking the Carmela Clutch for six years

And Lena had a feeling that, tonight, the bidding was only beginning. Tucked between a sequined evening bag and a

“Lot 404,” the auctioneer’s voice echoed from the practice podium. “Shall we start the bidding?”