Chapter 3: My Mother's Last Warning
I couldn't hear the runway music anymore.
All I could see was my signature.
Or what someone had made to look like my signature.
The document authorized the transfer of certain intellectual property rights from Eleanor Bennett's trust to a newly registered company.
The proposed company had one director.
Adrian Vale.
And one secondary beneficiary.
Vanessa Hart.
"That's not my signature," I said.
Celeste nodded.
"I know.""
Adrian moved toward us.
"Claire, listen to me. This is a misunderstanding.""
I held up the document.
"Did you submit this?""
He hesitated.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
"Adrian?""
He glanced toward the photographers.
"Not here.""
I laughed bitterly.
"You had no problem humiliating me here. Why are you suddenly concerned about privacy?""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Maybe because you're making accusations you can't prove.""
I turned toward her.
"You witnessed a signature I never made.""
She lifted her chin.
"Adrian told me you approved the transfer.""
"And you believed him?""
"He said you didn't want to be involved in the business anymore.""
I stared at her.
"I spent eleven years helping build his business.""
Vanessa shrugged.
"People change.""
Celeste closed the folder.
"Enough. The trust's legal department has already suspended the proposed transaction. No protected assets can be transferred without independent confirmation from Claire.""
Adrian's expression became desperate.
"Celeste, please. We have a partnership agreement. You know how much Vale Atelier contributes to the European market.""
"Your contribution is not the subject of this conversation.""
"We've invested millions!""
"Then perhaps you should have invested in original designs instead of attempting to acquire another woman's legacy through deception.""
The surrounding executives began whispering.
Adrian looked at me.
"Claire, come with me. We need to talk.""
I remained seated.
"No.""
His eyes narrowed.
"Don't do this.""
"Do what?""
"Destroy eleven years of marriage because of a misunderstanding.""
I looked at the emerald necklace.
Then at the man wearing the wedding ring I had given him eleven years earlier.
"You destroyed it when you gave my mother's necklace to another woman.""
For the first time, Adrian had no immediate answer.
Celeste touched my shoulder.
"Come with me, darling. There's something I need to show you.""
She led me through a private corridor behind the stage.
The walls were covered with photographs of legendary fashion collections. Some were decades old.
At the end of the corridor was a small office overlooking the Seine.
A framed photograph sat on the desk.
My mother.
She was younger than I remembered her, wearing a white silk dress and the emerald necklace.
Beside her stood Celeste.
Both women were laughing.
I touched the frame.
"She never told me any of this.""
Celeste removed her sunglasses.
"She wanted you to have a normal childhood. She knew what the industry could do to people. Eleanor had watched talented designers lose their businesses, their names, and sometimes their lives to men who understood contracts better than creativity.""
I sat down.
"Was Adrian involved in her business?""
Celeste was quiet for several seconds.
Then she opened a cabinet and removed a thick envelope.
"Your mother met Adrian six years before she died.""
I looked up sharply.
"What?""
"At a private design exhibition in Milan. He was working for a small production company. Eleanor admired his ambition. She introduced him to several suppliers and helped him secure his first manufacturing contracts.""
I felt sick.
"She helped him?""
"More than you know.""
Celeste placed several old letters on the desk.
My mother's handwriting was unmistakable.
One letter was dated eight months before her death.
I began reading.
Celeste,
Adrian is becoming increasingly interested in the Bennett archive. He claims he wants to preserve my work, but I have discovered that several of my original sketches have appeared in collections under his company's name.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
Another paragraph followed.
I fear he believes Claire's future marriage will give him access to everything I have protected. I have therefore instructed our attorneys to create an independent trust. Claire must never be pressured into signing away her inheritance.
I stopped reading.
"She knew?""
Celeste nodded sadly.
"She suspected he was taking her designs.""
"Why didn't she tell me?""
"She was ill. And she wanted evidence before making accusations that could destroy several careers.""
I looked at the remaining letters.
There were dates, names, and descriptions of missing designs.
Some of the sketches were familiar.
I had seen them in Adrian's earliest collections.
The same dresses he had once told me he designed himself.
My mother's work.
My mother's ideas.
Her legacy had been building his career while he convinced the world he was a self-made genius.
I felt tears gathering in my eyes.
Celeste handed me a tissue.
"Your mother loved you very much.""
I wiped my face.
"What happens now?""
"First, we secure your inheritance. Then we investigate every unauthorized use of Eleanor's work.""
"And Adrian?""
"That depends on what the investigation discovers.""
I stared out the window.
For eleven years, I had believed my marriage was built on love and shared ambition.
Now I wondered whether Adrian had chosen me because of who I was—or because of what my mother had left behind.
A knock interrupted us.
Celeste's assistant entered carrying a small velvet box.
"Madame Moreau, security recovered this from Miss Hart's dressing room.""
Celeste opened it.
Inside lay a tiny silver key.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the key to the hidden compartment in my mother's emerald necklace.
But that wasn't the strangest thing.
A folded piece of paper was tucked beneath the velvet lining.
Celeste carefully unfolded it.
The handwriting was my mother's.
There were only two sentences.
If Adrian Vale ever attempts to claim my daughter's inheritance, do not trust the first person who offers to help her.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Celeste.
"Who is the first person?""
Her face became strangely pale.
Before she could answer, my phone rang.
It was my younger brother, Daniel.
I hadn't spoken to him in nearly three months because Adrian had convinced me that Daniel was trying to exploit our family financially.
I answered.
"Daniel?""
His voice sounded frantic.
"Claire, thank God. I've been trying to reach you all evening.""
"What happened?""
"Listen carefully. Don't sign anything. Don't trust Adrian. And whatever Celeste Moreau tells you, don't assume she's telling you everything.""
I looked at Celeste.
She had stopped moving.
"Daniel, what are you talking about?""
My brother took a shaky breath.
"Mom didn't leave you forty-two percent of Moreau International because she wanted you to become rich.""
"Then why?""
"Because she discovered someone inside the company had been stealing her designs for years. And the person who helped her investigate was...""
He stopped.
A loud noise sounded on his end of the call.
"Daniel?""
"Claire, you need to get away from Celeste. She's not the person you think she is.""
Then the call disconnected.
I stared at my phone.
Celeste slowly closed the velvet box.
For the first time since she had entered the auditorium, the legendary designer looked afraid.
And when she finally spoke, her words turned my entire understanding of my mother's death upside down.
"Claire, there is something your brother doesn't know.""
She placed another photograph on the desk.
It showed my mother, Adrian, and Celeste standing together outside a Paris hotel.
The date was printed on the back.
Three days before my mother's fatal car accident.
But it was the handwritten note beneath the photograph that made my blood run cold.
May you like
The three people who knew the truth.
And someone had crossed out my mother's name.
