Chapter 13: The Night the Studio Almost Burned
“Call the fire department,” Arthur ordered.
“And get the police involved immediately.””
He was already moving toward the bank's exit.
I grabbed the original will and slipped it into my handbag.
Maya followed, holding the two cassette tapes.
“Olivia, what if Richard actually burns everything?””
“Then we make sure he doesn't.””
My mother called again.
I answered while Arthur drove.
“Where are you?”” I demanded.
“I'm at home.””
“Stay there. Don't go anywhere.””
“Olivia, please listen. Richard called me twenty minutes ago. He said he was going to finish what he started twenty-two years ago.””
“What exactly did he tell you?””
“He said the butterfly collection belonged to him. He said if he couldn't own it, nobody would.””
I closed my eyes.
“Mom, did you know he stole Grandma's original gown?””
She started crying.
“Yes.””
“Since when?””
“Since the night your father died.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“You knew for fourteen years?””
“He told me he had taken it as insurance. He said if Eleanor ever tried to expose him, he would destroy the original.””
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“And you let him keep it?””
“I was afraid.””
“You let him threaten Grandma's legacy, Dad's work, and my future because you were afraid?””
“I thought I could get it back.””
I stared through the windshield.
“You've had twenty-two years to do the right thing.””
Then I ended the call.
Arthur drove straight to the studio.
By the time we arrived, the sky had darkened.
A cold wind swept through the parking lot.
The building looked almost exactly as it had that morning, except for a dark vehicle parked beside the rear entrance.
Arthur recognized it.
“That's Richard's car.””
He called the police again.
Maya and I stayed near the front entrance while Arthur checked the side door.
It was unlocked.
Inside, the studio was dark.
Then we smelled it.
Gasoline.
“Arthur!”” I shouted.
He turned immediately.
A faint orange light flickered beneath the door of the old storage room.
Richard stepped into the hallway.
He held a metal container in one hand and a lighter in the other.
“Right on time,” he said.
Arthur moved toward him.
“Put that down.””
Richard laughed.
“You always were Eleanor's favorite.””
“I'm not interested in your jealousy.””
Richard looked at me.
“Neither should you be, Olivia. Your grandmother spent her entire life convincing everyone that she was the genius.””
“She was.””
His expression hardened.
“Daniel created the butterfly pattern. I created the original collection. Eleanor simply had the money and the name.””
“That's not what the documents say.””
“Documents can be changed.””
He lifted the lighter.
Maya stepped forward.
“Mr. Bennett, stop!””
Richard glanced at her.
“Go home, girl. This has nothing to do with you.””
“It has everything to do with me. You used me.””
He smiled.
“Your mother used you. I simply gave her an opportunity.””
Maya shook her head.
“You told her I could become a famous designer if I helped sell the archive.””
“You could have.””
“By stealing my sister's dress?””
Richard shrugged.
“Fashion has always been about opportunity.””
I looked toward the storage room.
A mannequin stood behind the glass.
An ivory gown hung from its shoulders.
Even in the dim light, I recognized the silhouette.
Grandma's original butterfly gown.
The one my father had helped design.
Richard noticed my gaze.
“Beautiful, isn't it?””
I swallowed.
“That's my father's work.””
“It's my work, too.””
“No. You stole it.””
Richard stepped closer.
“You have no idea what I sacrificed for this collection.””
Arthur raised his voice.
“Richard, the police are on their way.””
Richard's face twisted.
“Then I suppose we have very little time.””
He flicked the lighter.
I moved without thinking.
Arthur grabbed his arm.
The container hit the floor, spilling liquid across the concrete.
The lighter bounced beneath a cutting table.
Maya screamed.
Richard shoved Arthur into a garment rack.
I rushed toward the storage room.
“Olivia, get back!”” Arthur shouted.
I reached the mannequin and grabbed the garment cover.
The gown was heavier than I expected.
Its silk skirt had yellowed with age, but the embroidery remained beautiful.
I lifted it from the stand.
Then I noticed something beneath the lining.
A small handwritten label.
*Daniel Parker — Original Pattern, 1999.*
My father's name.
Not just initials.
His full name.
I had found the proof.
Behind me, Richard appeared in the doorway.
“Put that down!””
I clutched the gown.
“No.””
He grabbed the fabric.
The old silk tore slightly.
I heard a sharp ripping sound.
“Stop!”” I cried.
Arthur rushed in and pulled Richard away.
Maya grabbed the fallen garment cover and helped me protect the dress.
Then we heard sirens.
Red and blue lights flashed through the windows.
Richard looked toward the entrance.
For the first time, he appeared frightened.
He tried to run through the rear door, but two officers entered from the opposite side.
“Drop your hands! Now!””
Richard froze.
The officers secured him and called for the fire department to inspect the building.
Arthur sat down against the wall, breathing heavily.
Maya wrapped the gown in a clean sheet.
I knelt beside it.
My hands were shaking.
But the dress was safe.
The original butterfly gown had survived.
So had my father's name.
One officer approached Richard.
“Mr. Bennett, you're being detained pending investigation into attempted arson, theft of protected property, and suspected financial fraud.””
Richard glared at me.
“You think this is over?””
I stood.
“No. I think it's finally beginning.””
As the officers led him away, my mother appeared at the entrance.
She was crying.
She looked at the damaged gown in my arms.
Then she looked at me.
“Olivia, I can explain everything.””
I stared at her.
“You knew he was going to destroy it.””
She nodded.
“I tried to stop him.””
“When?””
She lowered her eyes.
“Tonight.””
I shook my head.
“You could have stopped him twenty-two years ago.””
She reached toward the dress.
I stepped back.
“Don't touch it.””
My mother froze.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “I'm sorry.””
I looked at the gown.
For the first time, I understood what Grandma had meant when she said the butterfly was more than decoration.
It was a record of everyone who had contributed to the collection.
And someone had spent twenty-two years trying to erase my father's name.
But Richard had made one mistake.
May you like
He'd kept the original gown.
And the truth was stitched into its lining.
