Chapter 3 - THE ARCHITECTURE OF A FALL
Monday came with a grey sky and a sense of impending doom.
Sloane arrived alone this time,
looking less like a mogul and more like a woman who hadn't slept.
Her beauty brand had taken a hit over the weekend.
A popular influencer had posted a video about a rash caused by her "magic" serum.
"We need to hurry,"
she said,
stepping onto the pedestal.
"The press is being difficult."
I held up the sketch.
It was a masterpiece of deception.
A gown of midnight blue,
structured with internal boning that would force her into a perfect posture.
"It's stunning,"
she whispered,
her vanity overriding her stress.
"It looks powerful."
"It is,"
I said,
pinning the first layer of muslin to her frame.
"It’s designed to command the room."
As I worked,
I talked.
I talked about the history of the Maison.
I talked about the loyalty of our clients.
"People come to me because they know I don't hide the truth,"
I said,
placing a pin near her ribs.
"They know that if a seam is weak,"
"I will be the first to rip it open."
Sloane looked at me through the mirror.
"Is that a threat, Vivian?"
I smiled,
adjusting the fabric.
"It's a business philosophy."
"By the way,"
"I saw the news about your serum."
"Graham must be worried."
"He put a lot of our capital into that launch."
Her face paled.
"He didn't tell you that."
"I know everything that happens in my company, Sloane."
"I know he bypassed the board to give you that loan."
"I know the interest is tied to our private equity."
I leaned in closer,
my voice a whisper near her ear.
"If your brand fails,"
"Maison Hart goes under with it."
"And if Maison Hart goes under,"
"Graham goes to prison for embezzlement."
The silence in the room was suffocating.
Sloane’s breath hitched.
"He said it was handled."
"He said you were too distracted by your 'art' to notice."
"Graham has always underestimated women,"
I said,
stepping back.
"Especially the ones he thinks he owns."
I finished the muslin fitting in total silence.
She left without saying a word.
An hour later,
my private investigator called.
"He's moving the last of the offshore accounts tonight,"
the voice said.
"He's planning to leave the country after the gala."
"He's not taking her, is he?"
I asked.
"No,"
the investigator replied.
"He's leaving her to face the lawsuits alone."
I hung up the phone.
I felt no pity.
I went to the sewing room.
May you like
I picked up the midnight blue silk.
It was time to finish the dress.
