Chapter 4 - THE MISTRESS WHO DIDN'T KNOW SHE WAS THE BAIT
“Those designs belong to me.”
I said the words to the Northline Living representative while standing inside a private showroom filled with furniture I recognized.
My furniture.
My grandmother's ideas.
My life's work.
Only the labels had changed.
Where the prototypes once carried Bellweather inventory numbers, polished plaques now identified them as part of the Northline Signature Living Collection.
I approached an adjustable kitchen cabinet.
I knew the precise curve of its handle.
I had drawn it at my grandmother's dining table.
The representative, a young man named Peter Lawson, frowned.
“Ma'am, I'm not authorized to discuss ownership disputes.”
“Then find someone who is.”
Mara stood beside me.
“We've already served notice that the transfer is contested. Nothing here should be sold, altered, or destroyed while the court reviews it.”
Peter looked toward the back office.
“I'll get our director.”
When he disappeared, I noticed something beneath the display cabinet.
A small brass plate.
Most people wouldn't have looked twice.
But I remembered fastening that plate myself.
It carried an engraved phrase.
MAKE ROOM.
My grandmother's words.
I touched the letters.
For the first time that morning, tears burned behind my eyes.
“They even left her words on it,” I whispered.
Mara rested a hand on my shoulder.
“We'll get it back.”
“I don't know if we can.”
“Then we'll find out exactly what happened.”
The showroom director arrived ten minutes later.
His name was Evan Mercer.
Unlike Peter, he recognized me immediately.
“Mrs. Vale,” he said carefully. “I understand there's a disagreement concerning the acquisition.”
“A disagreement?”
I looked around the showroom.
“You have my company's prototypes displayed under another company's name.”
Evan's jaw tightened.
“Northline received representations that the transaction was properly authorized.”
“From Adrian Vale?”
“From Vale Development and Westbridge Capital.”
“Did anyone contact me?”
He didn't answer.
That told me enough.
Mara requested the original purchase records and preservation of the inventory.
Evan agreed to secure the materials pending legal review, but refused to acknowledge that Northline had obtained anything improperly.
As we turned to leave, I noticed a display case near the conference room.
Inside was a photograph of a house interior.
My grandmother's kitchen.
Except someone had cropped her out of the picture.
Only the beautiful cabinets remained.
I stopped.
That photograph had never been published.
It had been stored inside the blue portfolio.
So the portfolio was here.
Somewhere.
Before I could question Evan again, Vanessa appeared at the showroom entrance.
She wore dark trousers and a plain sweater.
Without her diamonds and perfect makeup, she looked younger.
And frightened.
“Claire,” she said.
Mara stepped between us.
“Why are you here?”
Vanessa held up a folder.
“Because Adrian lied to me.”
I almost laughed.
“That makes two of us.”
“He told me you were selling Bellweather voluntarily. He said you wanted to retire.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
Her answer was so unexpected that I stared at her.
She lowered her eyes.
“He told me he was going to make me president of a new design consulting company. I had done branding work for him before. He said this was my chance to build something real.”
“With money stolen from me?”
“I didn't know where the money came from.”
“You knew he was married.”
“Yes.”
She looked directly at me.
“I knew that. I'm not asking you to pretend otherwise.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she opened the folder.
“My company is called V Shore Advisory. Adrian had me open the business account and sign the operating documents.”
“Did you invoice Vale Development?”
“Yes. For consulting work. But the amounts were much larger than anything I actually earned.”
“How much did you keep?”
Vanessa looked ashamed.
“Sixty thousand dollars.”
Mara immediately began examining the statements.
“Where did the rest go?”
Vanessa pointed to two transfers.
Five hundred and ten thousand dollars had gone to Vale Development.
Another hundred and seventy thousand had gone to a company called Sloane Project Strategies.
I looked at Mara.
“Sloane?”
She nodded slowly.
“Possibly connected to Graham Sloane.”
The same Westbridge executive who had entered my archive room.
The same man connected to the forged property loan.
Vanessa spoke again.
“Adrian told me the payments were standard transaction expenses.”
“And now?”
“Now I think he used my company to move money without putting his own name on the transfers.”
Mara photographed each page.
“You need independent counsel, Vanessa. These records may expose you to serious liability.”
“I know.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“There's something else.”
She handed me a Northline promotional invitation.
A luxury presentation was scheduled for Friday evening.
The headline read:
THE HEARTH COLLECTION: A NEW ERA OF LIVING.
Beneath it was a photograph of Adrian.
And a statement attributed to me.
After years of creative leadership, Claire Vale has chosen to step aside and entrust her vision to the next generation.
I stared at the words.
Vanessa spoke quietly.
“Adrian plans to announce that you approved everything.”
I looked toward the showroom windows.
There, behind the glass, stood a prototype my grandmother had designed when she could no longer reach the upper cupboards in her kitchen.
They were preparing to celebrate stealing it.
May you like
Then Vanessa said something that made my blood run cold.
“He also has a recording of you agreeing to give it away.”
