Chapter 4: The Contract That Could Destroy Us Both
Theodore's office occupied the top floor of a historic building in downtown Atlanta.
The walls were lined with fashion sketches, framed photographs, and awards from decades of international exhibitions.
I arrived carrying the blue portfolio in a protective case.
Theodore was waiting beside a conference table.
A woman in her early forties stood beside him.
“This is Olivia Grant,” he said.
“She's our independent legal investigator.””
Olivia extended her hand.
“Miss Brooks. I've reviewed the initial materials from last night.””
“Then you know Vanessa stole my design.””
“I know there is a serious ownership dispute. My job is to establish what the documents actually prove.””
I appreciated her honesty.
Theodore opened the protective case.
I laid out the contract, the photographs, and the original sketches.
Olivia put on white gloves.
“Where did you find these?””
“In my grandmother's trunk.””
“Has anyone else handled them?””
“My mother and I.””
“Good. Don't clean, repair, or alter anything.””
She examined the contract.
Then the amendment.
Her expression grew serious.
“This is interesting.””
“What?””
“The original agreement clearly distinguishes ownership from manufacturing rights.””
“So my grandmother owned the designs?””
“According to this document, yes. But we need to verify the amendment.””
I pointed to the second signature.
“I believe it's forged.””
Olivia studied it.
“We'll need a handwriting expert. But I can already see differences between the two signatures.””
Theodore walked toward the window.
“Richard Cole was a very ambitious man.””
“Did you know he was doing this?”” I asked.
Theodore turned.
“I suspected something was wrong. But I never had enough evidence.””
“Why didn't anyone help my grandmother?””
His expression fell.
“Because the industry was different then. A young Black woman with no powerful backing had very little protection. Richard had money, lawyers, and influential friends.””
I looked down.
The same story.
Different decade.
Olivia placed the contract into a document sleeve.
“There's another problem.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“The current Cole Atelier may have acquired the rights through several corporate transfers. If the original ownership dispute was never resolved, the legal chain could be complicated.””
“Can they still claim my designs?””
“Not automatically. But we need to establish whether your new gown was derived from your grandmother's earlier collection, whether you created original modifications, and whether Vanessa had access to your work.””
I nodded.
“I can prove she visited my studio.””
“Do you have evidence of that?””
“Security footage.””
“Excellent. Anything else?””
I thought about it.
“She took photographs of my sketches.””
“Do you have the photographs?””
“No. But my studio camera might.””
Olivia wrote something down.
“Preserve the original recording immediately.””
Theodore sat opposite me.
“Simone, I need to tell you something about the competition.””
“What?””
“The committee's plagiarism decision was based on documents submitted by Cole Atelier.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What documents?””
“A design registration, an internal production memo, and a statement from a pattern maker.””
“Can I see them?””
He nodded.
Olivia opened her laptop.
A PDF appeared.
The first page showed Vanessa's design registration.
The date was six weeks before my own.
My heart sank.
Then I noticed the design reference number.
I leaned closer.
“Wait.””
Olivia looked at me.
“What?””
“That number.””
I pointed.
“It's almost identical to the number on my original submission.””
She enlarged the image.
The final four digits were different.
But the first eight matched.
I shook my head.
“That can't be right.””
Theodore frowned.
“Why?””
“Because that's my design registration series. I submitted the entire collection under one account.””
Olivia opened another file.
She compared the two records.
Then she stopped.
“Mr. Whitmore?””
“What?””
“I think we have a problem.””
She turned her laptop toward us.
The metadata on Vanessa's document showed that it had been created on a computer registered to Cole Atelier.
But the file contained an embedded reference to an earlier version.
That earlier version had been modified using my original design file.
Theodore leaned closer.
“Can you identify the date?””
Olivia nodded.
“March 17.””
I remembered that day.
Vanessa had visited my studio on March 16.
The next morning, my computer had crashed.
I had assumed it was a software problem.
Now I wondered whether she had copied something directly from my machine.
“Can you prove who accessed it?”” I asked.
“Not from this document alone. But it gives us a direction.””
Theodore stood.
“Then we investigate.””
Olivia closed the laptop.
“There's one more thing you should know, Simone.””
She opened another file.
It was a statement from a former Cole Atelier pattern maker named Marcus Bell.
According to the statement, Vanessa had ordered the production team to recreate a gown using reference photographs supplied by an outside source.
The pattern maker claimed he had questioned the originality of the design.
Vanessa's response was documented.
I read the sentence twice.
Miss Cole stated that the design had been purchased through a private arrangement and that the original designer had already been compensated.
I looked up.
“Purchased?””
Olivia nodded.
“That's what she told him.””
“She never paid me.””
“I know.””
Theodore frowned.
“Who was the outside source?””
Olivia scrolled.
“The statement identifies a person named Claire Donovan.””
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who is she?””
Olivia hesitated.
“Former executive assistant to Richard Cole.””
I looked at the photograph of my grandmother and Vanessa's father.
“Can we contact her?””
“We're trying.””
Theodore checked his watch.
“There's another issue. Vanessa has requested an emergency meeting with the awards committee.””
“Why?””
“She wants your disqualification made permanent.””
I laughed without humor.
“She knows we're getting close.””
“Possibly.””
Olivia gathered the documents.
“There's something else. The anonymous complaint about Evelyn Brooks was submitted last night at 11:42 p.m.””
I looked at her.
“Who submitted it?””
“The account is registered to an attorney representing Cole Atelier.””
My hands curled into fists.
“They're attacking my grandmother because they can't defend themselves.””
Theodore nodded slowly.
“Which means they're worried.””
I stood.
“Then let them worry.””
I had spent three weeks begging people to listen.
I wasn't going to beg anymore.
But as I reached for the portfolio, Olivia's phone rang.
She listened for several seconds.
Then her face changed.
“Are you certain?””
She ended the call.
“What happened?”” Theodore asked.
Olivia looked directly at me.
“Someone broke into your studio last night.””
My blood turned cold.
“Was anything stolen?””
“Your sewing machine is still there. Your fabric is still there.””
“Then what?””
Olivia hesitated.
“Your computer is gone.””
I felt my stomach drop.
And then she delivered the worst part.
“The police found a note on your worktable.””
“What did it say?””
May you like
Olivia looked at Theodore before answering.
“Stop digging into the past, or you'll lose more than your designs.””
