Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO SIGNED MY NAME
“Nina, tell me you didn't betray me.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
I stood inside Bellweather Design Group, staring at the woman who had spent eleven years helping me build everything Adrian was trying to destroy.
Nina Morales sat behind her desk.
Her face was pale.
A framed photograph of her husband, Roberto, stood beside her keyboard.
She looked at me, then at Mara.
“Claire, I need to explain something.”
My heart sank.
Those were the words people used when the truth was worse than a lie.
“Did you witness my signature on an agreement with Westbridge Capital?”
“No.”
“Then why is your name on it?”
“I don't know.”
Mara placed a printed copy in front of her.
Nina examined it.
Her hands began shaking.
“That's my signature.”
I felt the room tilt.
“But I didn't sign this document.”
I stared at her.
She swallowed.
“Adrian came here three weeks ago. He said you were arranging emergency financing and needed the original design archives for an investor presentation.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
“I did.”
I shook my head.
“No, Nina. You didn't.”
She opened her desk drawer and removed a folded note.
On it was my number, written in her familiar blue ink.
Beside it were three dates.
“I called your company extension twice. Adrian told me you had changed your number while you were recovering.”
I remembered those weeks.
Adrian had told everyone I was unstable.
He had persuaded me to take a short vacation alone after an argument that left me exhausted.
And he had taken control of the house phones and several business accounts while I was gone.
“Why would you believe him?”
Nina's eyes filled.
“Because he showed me an email from your account. It said you wanted him to handle things until you came back.”
Mara looked up.
“Do you still have that email?”
“Yes.”
“Don't delete anything.”
I pulled out the chair opposite Nina.
“Tell me what happened next.”
She pressed her palms together.
“He asked to see the Hearth archives. I told him those files weren't available without your approval.”
“And?”
“He said Bellweather was having trouble paying its insurance premiums.”
My stomach tightened.
“He said if the company lost coverage, the employees' health plan could be affected. He knew about Roberto's rehabilitation.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Adrian had found the one fear Nina couldn't afford to ignore.
“He promised it was only temporary,” she whispered. “He said you would explain everything when you returned.”
“What did you sign?”
“A visitor authorization. Nothing else.”
She opened a locked drawer and produced a carbon copy.
The original form authorized Adrian to enter the archive room for two hours.
It did not authorize removal.
It did not mention financing.
And it certainly did not transfer ownership of my designs.
Mara studied the paper.
“This explains where someone obtained your signature.”
Nina nodded miserably.
“I should have asked more questions.”
“Yes,” I said.
She flinched.
I hated that she flinched.
But I couldn't pretend the decision hadn't endangered everything.
Then she said something that changed the conversation.
“Claire, he didn't come alone.”
“Who was with him?”
“A man from Westbridge. Graham Sloane.”
I recognized the name.
Graham was the senior lending executive whose name appeared on the fraudulent mortgage documents.
Nina continued.
“They spent almost three hours in the archive room. When they left, Adrian carried a blue portfolio.”
My grandmother's portfolio.
It was made of blue leather, cracked along the edges, with a brass clasp she had repaired herself.
Inside were the first drawings for the Hearth Collection.
Original sketches.
Dates.
Notes in her handwriting.
Evidence of who had created the designs and when.
I hurried toward the archive room.
The door stood open.
Three shelves that should have held prototypes, drawings, and notebooks were empty.
An inventory label hung crookedly from the nearest shelf.
My grandmother's brass drafting compass was gone too.
I remembered her placing it in my hand years earlier.
Good design begins by asking who needs help, sweetheart.
I had kept it beside her portfolio.
Now both had vanished.
“Why didn't you tell me?” I asked Nina.
“Adrian said the materials had been moved for professional scanning.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
Then she pulled another document from the drawer.
“A logistics company collected several boxes the following morning. I kept the receipt because the driver wouldn't give me a complete inventory.”
Mara examined the receipt.
A warehouse address appeared beneath the shipping company's name.
The recipient was Northline Living.
And under the words Released by was another familiar signature.
Mine.
I hadn't signed it.
I hadn't even been in the state that day.
But there was something else.
A handwritten notation appeared beside the shipment description.
ORIGINALS REQUIRED FOR AUTHENTICATION. DO NOT RETURN TO BELLWEATHER.
Mara's expression darkened.
“Claire, whoever arranged this wasn't merely copying your designs.”
I looked at the empty shelves.
“What were they doing?”
She held the receipt up to the light.
“Preparing to prove that the originals belonged to somebody else.”
May you like
And that was when I noticed the shipping date.
The collection had been removed six days before Adrian first asked me for a divorce.
