“Here’s $100—Can you be my mom today?” a billionaire boss’s son asked—until a shy woman replied, “Keep it. Billionaires pay in secrets.”

Blue enamel, no larger than my palm, with a silver bird painted on the lid. When I wound it, a thin version of “Blackbird” moved through the apartment, delicate and trembling.

Julian sat down as though his knees had given up on him.

“Maya had one like this,” he said.

“There’s a seam.”

He took it with unsteady hands and pressed a hidden continue reading …