Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind the Name
At 5:42 a.m., I was still awake.
I had not slept.
I sat at the kitchen island with Eli’s untouched cereal bowl in front of me, watching rain streak down the Manhattan windows.
The apartment had always looked beautiful at dawn.
Too beautiful.
Neutral walls. Imported stone. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Furniture chosen by Dominic’s interior designer.
Even the photographs felt curated.
Our wedding picture stood on the shelf above the fireplace.
I walked over and turned it face down.
Then I heard Eli’s feet.
“Mom?”
I turned.
He stood in the hallway rubbing his eyes.
“Why are you awake?”
“I heard the door.”
“Dad came home?”
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
He looked disappointed.
“He said we were getting pancakes.”
I knelt.
“I’ll make pancakes.”
“With chocolate chips?”
“Obviously.”
He smiled.
For a few minutes, I let myself pretend my life was normal.
Then my phone vibrated.
Daniel Reed.
I stepped into the pantry before answering.
“Hello?”
“You received my email.”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t told Dominic?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Who are you?”
“I represent a private investor who has been investigating Caruso Design Group for eighteen months.”
“Why contact me?”
“Because your name is on documents Dominic never expected you to keep.”
My pulse quickened.
“What documents?”
“Patent applications. Preliminary sketches. Manufacturing agreements. Internal correspondence.”
“How much of my work did he use?”
There was a pause.
“We don’t know yet.”
“You do know something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Vanessa Moretti is not the original owner of the designs being marketed under her name.”
I closed my eyes.
“I knew it.”
Daniel continued.
“Those designs originated from a notebook that belonged to a junior designer four years ago.”
“That was me.”
“Yes.”
“Why would my husband do this?”
“Your husband may not be the architect.”
I opened my eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“Meet me at nine.”
“Where?”
“Gramercy.”
“What if Dominic finds out?”
“He won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he thinks I’m still dead.”
The line went silent.
I stared at my phone.
“What?”
He called back immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was the wrong way to phrase it.”
“No. You said he thinks you’re dead.”
Daniel exhaled.
“I’ll explain in person.”
At 8:47, I left Eli with Mrs. Alvarez and drove to Gramercy.
Daniel Reed was younger than I expected, perhaps thirty-five, wearing a navy suit without a tie.
He stood beneath an awning with a folder.
“You came alone.”
“Yes.”
He looked at my cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I sat across from him.
“Tell me.”
He opened the folder.
“Caruso Design Group has been experiencing financial problems for nearly two years.”
I frowned.
“Dominic told me the company was expanding.”
“That’s the public story.”
He slid a document toward me.
Debt obligations.
Several million dollars.
Then another.
A list of insurance-backed loans.
Then one more.
A shell company connected to Bellmont Atelier.
“This company received payments from Caruso Design Group.”
I looked closer.
“What does it do?”
“On paper? Textile development.”
“And in reality?”
“It moved ownership of original designs through licensing contracts.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“So Caruso could eventually claim that the designs originated independently from your work.”
I stared at him.
“Who created the contracts?”
“Arthur Caruso.”
My voice dropped.
“But Arthur is dead.”
“Yes.”
I remembered the photograph.
“The picture I received last night.”
Daniel nodded.
“We sent that to you.”
“Arthur is alive?”
“Arthur died.”
I stared at him.
“Then who is the man in the picture?”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Dominic’s uncle, Marco.”
I knew the name.
Marco Caruso was rarely mentioned.
He had supposedly disappeared to Europe decades ago after a family dispute.
“Why is he helping Dominic?”
“He isn’t.”
Daniel opened another folder.
Inside was a letter.
From Marco.
Dated six months earlier.
Nora,
If you are reading this, Dominic has gone too far.
My hands trembled.
“What did he do?”
Daniel pointed to the next page.
“He transferred the intellectual property rights of twelve designs into a corporation controlled by Vanessa’s father.”
I read the document again.
“My designs.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough to establish a paper trail.”
“Why would Dominic bother?”
Daniel looked at me carefully.
“Because he never intended you to remain a designer.”
The words hit harder than the slap.
“What?”
“He wanted your work. Not your career.”
A thousand moments rearranged themselves.
Dominic asking me not to submit sketches.
Dominic insisting he would “introduce me to the right people.”
Dominic discouraging meetings.
Dominic saying motherhood was temporary.
Dominic telling me that Caruso Design Group didn’t need another designer.
He had been telling me I had no place in his company while secretly building the company on my ideas.
I swallowed.
“There’s more.”
Daniel pulled out an old photograph.
It showed me at a design school graduation.
Dominic stood beside me.
Behind us was my mentor, Evelyn Hart.
I had not seen Evelyn in three years.
“What happened to her?”
Daniel said, “She tried to expose the theft.”
My throat tightened.
“She disappeared from the industry.”
“She was forced out.”
“By Dominic?”
“By Arthur.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Arthur knew what your talent could become.”
“Then why didn’t he support me?”
“He did.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Arthur was secretly funding a design studio for you.”
My mouth opened.
“Then why did it never happen?”
“Because Dominic stopped the deal.”
I felt as if the floor had moved.
“Why?”
Daniel handed me another document.
A bank transfer.
The recipient was a holding company.
Its listed beneficiary was Dominic’s mother.
“This is where your design investment went.”
My stomach turned.
“He stole the money.”
“He redirected it.”
I stood.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I need someone who can authenticate the designs.”
“I can.”
“Then we need to move quickly.”
“Why?”
“Vanessa is planning to launch a larger collection in six weeks.”
“That gives me time.”
“No.”
Daniel looked at his watch.
“You have forty-eight hours.”
“What happens then?”
“Caruso Design Group will file a merger agreement that will make your legal fight considerably harder.”
I sat again.
“How do I stop it?”
“Don’t try to stop the merger.”
I frowned.
“Then what?”
“Let it happen.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if we collect everything first.”
He slid a small envelope across the table.
Inside was a key.
“To what?”
“A storage unit in Queens.”
“What’s inside?”
“The original paper drawings.”
My heart began pounding.
“My notebooks?”
“Yes.”
“I thought Dominic threw them away.”
“So did everyone else.”
Daniel stood.
“There is one more thing you need to understand.”
“What?”
He looked straight at me.
“Dominic didn’t meet Vanessa because he fell in love with her.”
I stared.
“Then why?”
“To make you jealous?”
“No.”
“To replace me?”
“No.”
Daniel shook his head.
“He needed someone the public would accept as the face of the collection.”
I whispered, “Vanessa.”
“Yes.”
“She knew.”
“She knew enough.”
I thought of her grip on my wrist.
Her smile.
Her fear when I touched the flash drive.
I suddenly remembered something from the gala.
Vanessa had whispered, “You should have stayed home.”
Not “You should leave.”
Not “This isn’t your place.”
Stay home.
As if she knew exactly what was happening.
I drove home with the key hidden beneath the seat.
When I entered the apartment, Dominic was standing in the living room.
He looked exhausted.
His jacket was gone.
His tie was loose.
For one second, he looked like the man who had once stayed up all night beside me when Eli had a fever.
Then I remembered the blood.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I said nothing.
“I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“No.”
“I was protecting Vanessa.”
“I know.”
His expression changed.
“You know?”
“I know you chose her.”
He stepped closer.
“Nora, nothing happened between us.”
I almost laughed.
“You think that is what I’m asking?”
“What are you asking?”
I looked at him.
“When did you start stealing from me?”
His face went blank.
Not confused.
Blank.
That told me everything.
He knew exactly what I meant.
He just didn’t know how much I knew.
“You’re upset.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You don’t understand the fashion business.”
“I understand my own handwriting.”
He stared at me.
I reached into my purse and placed a printed copy of one of my sketches on the table.
His face drained.
“Where did you get that?”
I smiled without warmth.
“That’s what you should be asking yourself.”
He stepped toward the paper.
I stepped back.
“Do not touch it.”
“Nora—”
“You forgot our anniversary.”
He looked away.
“You hit your wife to protect a woman wearing your wife’s stolen design.”
His eyes hardened.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
I nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
I turned toward Eli’s room.
“Nora.”
I stopped.
“I love you.”
I looked back.
“Do you know what the saddest part is?”
He waited.
“I believed you.”
Then I walked away.
That afternoon, I took Eli to the storage unit.
I told him we were looking for old art supplies.
He was delighted.
The unit smelled like dust and cardboard.
At the very back stood a wooden trunk.
My name was written on it in blue ink.
I opened it.
Inside were thirty-two sketchbooks.
Fabric samples.
Original illustrations.
Photographs.
Letters.
And on top was a note.
In Evelyn Hart’s handwriting.
You were never meant to disappear.
I sat on the floor.
Eli climbed beside me.
“Mom, what’s that?”
I smiled through tears.
“It’s my old work.”
“It’s pretty.”
I touched the first sketch.
A wedding dress.
Then another.
And another.
By sunset, I understood something.
Dominic had not stolen one dress.
May you like
He had stolen years.
And now I was going to take them back.
