Chapter 3 - The Dress That Should Have Had Her Mother’s Name
Sarah expected an interview.
Instead, Michael put a blank sheet of paper in front of her.
"Draw."
She looked at him.
"Now?"
"Now."
"What should I draw?"
"Something you'd wear if money didn't matter."
Sarah stared at the paper.
Then she smiled.
"That's cruel."
Michael smiled back.
"Probably."
She picked up the pencil.
For the next forty minutes, she forgot everything.
The rent.
The bills.
The hotel.
The rain.
Ethan.
Her mother's death.
She drew.
Not the blue gown.
Something different.
A long black dress with a dramatic asymmetrical neckline, soft fabric around the waist, and embroidered stars disappearing into the hem.
When she finished, Michael said nothing.
Sarah pushed the paper toward him.
"That's it."
He looked at the drawing.
"What do you call it?"
"Constellation."
"Why?"
"Because sometimes you can't see the whole picture until you stop looking at one star."
Michael looked up.
"You're hired."
Sarah blinked.
"What?"
"You start Monday."
She laughed.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"I have no formal degree."
"I know."
"I haven't worked professionally as a designer."
"I know."
"You barely know me."
"That's true."
"So why?"
Michael leaned back.
"Because I can teach technique."
He tapped the sketch.
"I can't teach instinct."
Sarah accepted.
Her first week was difficult.
The atelier was beautiful, precise, intimidating.
Everyone moved quickly.
Everyone spoke in fabric codes.
Everyone knew what they were doing.
Sarah didn't.
She made mistakes.
Then she stopped making them.
Her eye adapted.
Her hands remembered things she'd forgotten she knew.
She adjusted seams without measuring.
She recognized expensive silk by sound.
She knew when a fabric would collapse under beading.
She could look at a model walking and know exactly where a hem needed to move.
Soon the senior seamstresses started asking for her opinions.
Michael noticed.
Vivian noticed too.
And she hated it.
One afternoon Sarah was asked to review a prototype of Midnight Garden.
She froze.
The dress was on a fitting mannequin.
Up close, the embroidery was even more familiar.
Sarah touched one silver vine.
"Who designed this?"
The room went silent.
A senior designer answered.
"Vivian."
Sarah looked at the sleeve.
"No."
Everyone stared.
She realized what she'd said.
"I'm sorry."
Vivian entered the room.
"Something wrong?"
Sarah stepped back.
"Nothing."
Vivian walked toward the dress.
"Careful with the embroidery."
Sarah looked at her.
"My mother used this pattern."
Vivian's face changed.
Barely.
But Sarah saw it.
"You must be mistaken."
"I have her sketches."
Vivian smiled.
"Many seamstresses use vines."
"This isn't just a vine."
Sarah's voice was firmer now.
"It curls twice before the split leaf."
Vivian said nothing.
Michael arrived.
"What happened?"
Vivian immediately smiled.
"Sarah thinks she recognizes the embroidery."
Michael looked at Sarah.
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Vivian laughed lightly.
"How interesting."
Sarah looked at Michael.
He already knew.
And that hurt.
"You knew."
The room went silent.
Michael didn't lie.
"Yes."
Sarah stared at him.
"You knew before you hired me."
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Michael stepped closer.
"Because I wanted to know whether you'd recognize it without being told."
Sarah looked stunned.
"That is not your decision to make."
"You're right."
"Did you hire me because of my mother?"
"Partly."
Sarah swallowed.
"So this was a test."
"It became something else."
"That's not an answer."
"No."
He lowered his voice.
"I hired you because you're talented."
Sarah walked away.
For three days she barely spoke to him.
Then the anonymous email arrived.
Sarah found it in her inbox late one night.
Attached were scanned documents.
A contract.
A handwritten design submission.
And a photograph.
Her mother stood beside a young woman.
Vivian Cross.
Sarah stared.
The email contained one sentence.
"They stole it from her."
Sarah's hands began to shake.
She forwarded it to herself.
Then she noticed the date.
The documents were from twenty-five years ago.
Her mother had been thirty.
Vivian had been twenty-one.
And at the bottom of the contract was another name.
Richard Brooks.
Michael's uncle.
Sarah's pulse quickened.
She searched old company records.
Richard Brooks had once been vice chairman.
He had retired suddenly after Michael's father took control.
Why?
The next morning, Sarah went straight to Michael.
"You knew about Richard."
Michael looked up.
"How do you know his name?"
"I received documents."
She put the copies on his desk.
Michael read them.
His face hardened.
"Where did you get these?"
"Email."
"From whom?"
"I don't know."
He looked at her.
"Don't open anything else they send you."
"You knew my mother worked with Richard."
"I suspected."
"You suspected?"
Michael rose.
"Sarah, listen to me."
"No."
Her voice shook.
"Twenty-four hours ago, I thought my mother died with nothing but a sewing machine and a box of unfinished sketches."
Michael said nothing.
"Now I find out the company that made millions from her work may have stolen it."
"That is what I'm trying to determine."
"And you knew."
"I knew there was a story."
"You should have told me."
"Yes."
The honesty stopped her.
Michael's voice softened.
"I was wrong."
Sarah looked at him.
"I don't know if I can trust you."
"I understand."
She took a breath.
"Neither do I."
She walked away.
That evening, Michael opened the oldest locked drawer in his office.
Inside was his grandmother's photograph.
He turned it over.
For the first time he noticed something he'd missed years ago.
There was writing beneath the old ink.
A second note.
In faded pencil.
"Clara was promised credit. Richard took everything."
Michael stared at it.
Then his phone rang.
Claire.
"There was a break-in."
"Where?"
"The Carter house."
Michael stood.
"Is Sarah safe?"
"No."
Michael's stomach dropped.
"She's with Ethan."
He grabbed his coat.
"Where are they?"
Claire hesitated.
"At the old Carter property."
Michael was already moving.
May you like
Because the past had stopped whispering.
Now it was coming for Sarah.
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