Chapter 2 - The Name Buried In The Archives
Michael spent the entire morning pretending he hadn't been disturbed.
He sat through a financial review.
He dismissed two executives.
He approved the acquisition of a smaller European label.
He signed twelve documents.
He did all the things a billionaire CEO was supposed to do.
Yet every hour, his mind returned to the same name.
Clara Carter.
His grandmother's private archives had contained hundreds of documents.
Michael had never read most of them.
He had been twenty-two when his grandmother died, and at the time he'd been too busy rebuilding the company after his father's disastrous final year as chairman.
But years later, while looking for an old property deed, he'd found a photograph.
It showed his grandmother standing beside a younger woman in a sewing studio.
The woman's name had been written on the back.
Clara Carter.
Michael had asked his grandmother who she was.
The answer had been simple.
"A seamstress who thought she was more important than she was."
Michael remembered the way his grandmother had said it.
Cold.
Dismissive.
Absolute.
At the time he'd accepted it.
Now he couldn't.
"Claire."
His assistant looked up.
"Yes?"
"I need the Carter archive."
Claire paused.
"What archive?"
"Anything with Clara Carter's name."
"You've never requested that before."
"I'm requesting it now."
Within an hour, the company archivist placed three boxes in Michael's office.
The first contained invoices.
The second held old legal correspondence.
The third contained sketches.
Michael opened the box.
The first sketch made his chest tighten.
Silver vines.
Exactly like the dress in the window.
He turned the page.
Another.
Then another.
Dozens.
At the bottom of one sheet was a handwritten note.
"Midnight Garden. Clara Carter. Prototype complete."
Michael stared at it.
The dress in his store wasn't just inspired by Sarah's mother.
It had been built from her original work.
He called the head designer.
"Who owns the rights to Midnight Garden?"
"Mr. Brooks? Vivian Cross's company does."
"Who signed the transfer?"
"I'll have legal pull it."
Michael hung up.
At the Bellhaven Grand, Sarah was carrying a tray of champagne when she nearly collided with a guest.
"I'm sorry."
The man looked at her uniform and frowned.
"Be careful."
Sarah apologized again.
She didn't have time to react because the event manager was calling her from across the ballroom.
Saturday's charity gala had turned the hotel into chaos.
Brooks Foundation.
Luxury donors.
Fashion executives.
Journalists.
Politicians.
And Sarah had been assigned to the VIP section.
She hated it.
VIP guests complained louder than everyone else.
One woman had already demanded a different brand of sparkling water.
At noon, Sarah noticed the woman.
Vanessa Reed.
Thirty.
Beautiful.
Immaculately dressed.
And sitting beside her was Vivian Cross, the designer whose name appeared on the blue dress.
Sarah had seen Vivian's name in magazines for years.
But seeing her in person made something about Sarah's stomach twist.
There was something familiar about the line of her jewelry.
The bracelet.
Silver vines.
Sarah had seen that pattern before.
In her mother's sketchbook.
She couldn't stop looking.
Vanessa noticed.
"Do you have a problem?"
Sarah blinked.
"No."
"You've been staring."
"I'm sorry."
Vivian glanced at Sarah.
Then at her name tag.
"Sarah Carter."
Sarah froze.
Vivian's expression changed for the briefest moment.
Then she smiled.
"Pretty name."
"Thank you."
"Have we met?"
"I don't think so."
Vivian's eyes lingered on her.
"No. I suppose not."
Sarah left.
That night, after the event, Michael arrived at the hotel.
He wasn't supposed to be there.
Claire had told him the gala was running smoothly.
But he had come anyway.
He found Sarah stacking empty glasses in a service corridor.
She turned and nearly dropped the tray.
"You."
Michael smiled.
"Me."
"You were at the boutique."
"I was."
"You own it?"
"Part of it."
She looked embarrassed.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to..."
"Stare at an expensive dress?"
She laughed awkwardly.
"Something like that."
Michael leaned against the wall.
"What did you like about it?"
Sarah looked surprised.
"The dress?"
"Yes."
She thought about it.
"The embroidery."
He glanced at her.
"Why?"
"Because it doesn't look decorative."
Michael waited.
Sarah continued.
"It looks like the designer wanted the silver to move when the person moves. Most people would put details there because they wanted the dress to look expensive. Whoever designed that wanted it to feel alive."
Michael stared at her.
"That's a very specific observation."
Sarah shrugged.
"I used to draw."
"Used to?"
"My mother was a seamstress."
Michael knew.
He wanted to tell her.
Instead he asked, "Did she teach you?"
"Everything."
"What's her name?"
Sarah looked at him suspiciously.
"Why?"
"Just curious."
"Clara."
Michael nodded.
Sarah noticed.
"Do you know her?"
He could have told the truth.
He didn't.
"Not personally."
It was the first lie he told her.
It would not be the last.
But the second came from Sarah.
"She died when I was twenty-four."
Michael lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
Sarah smiled faintly.
"So am I."
She picked up the tray.
Michael reached for it.
"I'll carry this."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
She let him.
As they walked through the corridor, Michael noticed a folded napkin on the service cart.
On it was a quick sketch.
A gown.
Drawn in five minutes.
Perfect proportions.
Elegant movement.
He picked it up.
"You drew this?"
Sarah looked ashamed.
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing."
"It's just something I do when I'm nervous."
Michael looked at the design.
"Come work for my atelier."
She laughed.
He didn't.
"I'm serious."
Sarah stopped walking.
"You don't know me."
"I know enough."
"No. You know what I look like standing outside a store window."
Michael's eyes met hers.
"And you think that's all I noticed?"
Her breath caught.
He handed the napkin back.
"No. It's not."
Sarah didn't know what to say.
Michael stepped away.
"Think about it."
She watched him disappear down the corridor.
The next morning, an envelope arrived at Sarah's apartment.
Inside was an interview invitation from Brooks Atelier.
She stared at the letter for nearly ten minutes.
Ethan leaned over her shoulder.
"Is that a real invitation?"
"Apparently."
"Then go."
"I have bills."
"That's exactly why you should go."
Sarah folded the letter.
"What if I embarrass myself?"
Ethan smiled.
"Then embarrass yourself somewhere with better lighting."
She laughed.
Two days later, Sarah walked into Brooks Atelier wearing the same coat she'd worn outside the boutique.
She didn't know that Michael had been waiting.
She didn't know Vivian Cross had already been informed.
And she didn't know that her interview wasn't about getting a job.
May you like
It was about discovering whether the daughter of Clara Carter had inherited the one thing her mother had died protecting.
Talent.
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