Chapter 4 - THE DRESS THAT WAS DESIGNED TO FAIL
“Three weeks before you hired me?”
Vincent stared at the forged alteration authorization.
I nodded.
“Someone created a fitting problem before I was even assigned to the job.”
Daniel leaned across the desk.
“The document number might identify who submitted it.”
He photographed the authorization while I examined the gown.
Under the lining, I found something else.
A narrow strip of silver fabric had been stitched over the original manufacturer's mark.
I carefully loosened it.
A small crescent-shaped emblem appeared.
I recognized that emblem.
I'd seen it on an old photograph of Anna Donovan displayed in the hotel lobby.
The Anna Donovan Foundation used a silver crescent as its symbol.
“Why would a charity for children pay to manufacture an evening gown?” I asked.
Vincent took the fabric from me.
His expression darkened.
“That's a very good question.”
Grace came closer.
“My mom liked sewing.”
I looked up.
“She did?”
Grace nodded.
“She wasn't very good at it. But she tried.”
Vincent smiled sadly.
“She once spent four hours making Grace a Halloween cape. It came out so crooked that she insisted the crookedness was part of the design.”
Grace laughed softly.
For a moment, the room felt different.
Warmer.
Then she asked, “Can I have Mom's sewing box?”
Vincent glanced at her.
“Of course.”
“Celeste put it in storage. She said it didn't match the new furniture.”
His smile disappeared.
I watched something painful cross his face.
He had allowed Celeste to change more than the decorations in his home.
He had allowed her to rearrange his daughter's memories.
“Tomorrow,” Vincent said, “we're bringing everything back.”
Grace nodded.
But I noticed she didn't look entirely reassured.
Promises were easy.
Children remembered whether adults kept them.
Daniel interrupted.
“I found the garment authorization.”
He placed his tablet between us.
“The request came through an account registered to Warren House Atelier.”
Celeste's fashion company.
“Who submitted it?” Vincent asked.
“The employee credentials belong to her executive assistant. However, payment approval came from a different account.”
He enlarged the transaction.
ANNA DONOVAN FOUNDATION — SPECIAL PROJECTS.
Vincent went silent.
“That foundation exists to help sick and disabled children,” he said. “Not finance Celeste's business.”
Daniel scrolled farther.
“There are eighteen similar transactions.”
“Eighteen?”
“Different vendors. Different descriptions. All connected to the fashion show.”
I felt sick.
This wasn't simply about humiliating Grace.
Someone had used a charity established in her mother's memory to pay for the entire production.
Including the scheme against her.
Vincent reached for his phone.
Then stopped.
“Peter controls those accounts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Peter approved the production company?”
“Yes.”
“Get the foundation's full financial records. Preserve everything. Do not let anyone alter the originals.”
Daniel nodded.
I began gathering my sewing tools.
Vincent noticed.
“Lauren, what are you doing?”
“Going home.”
He looked surprised.
“There's still work to do.”
“I understand. But my son is waiting for me.”
He studied my face.
Then nodded.
“You're right.”
I hesitated.
“Mr. Donovan, there's something else.”
“What?”
“I don't want money to keep quiet.”
His expression changed.
“Did someone offer you money?”
“Celeste did. Before you came into the dressing room.”
I hadn't mentioned it earlier because everything had happened so quickly.
“She offered me twenty thousand dollars to say Grace's measurements were wrong. She said I'd never have to worry about another bill.”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“Did you accept?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because my son has to look at me across the dinner table tomorrow.”
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he said, “I'd like to pay you for the work you've actually done. And for the additional time you've given us.”
“That would be fair.”
A small smile appeared.
“Then that's what we'll do.”
Before leaving, I walked to the sofa.
Grace was looking at the pale-blue gown.
“Will you be able to fix it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Can it still be blue?”
“Whatever shade you like.”
She looked toward her father.
“Mom's favorite color was blue.”
Vincent swallowed.
“I remember.”
I promised Grace I'd bring some fabric samples the next day.
Then Daniel accompanied me to the waiting car.
We had almost reached the elevator when his radio crackled.
He stopped walking.
“Repeat that.”
A pause.
“What do you mean the accounts are frozen?”
He listened.
Then slowly turned toward me.
“Miss Mitchell, I need you to come back upstairs.”
My stomach tightened.
“What's happened?”
“Mr. Bell has just issued an emergency financial restriction against Vincent.”
“Why?”
Daniel's expression was grim.
“Because Peter claims Vincent authorized the documentary, approved every payment, and personally instructed the staff to remove Grace's brace.”
I stared at him.
Daniel continued.
“And he's submitted a formal complaint accusing you of secretly recording Grace and attempting to extort her family.”
Then his radio sounded again.
This time, the voice on the other end was shaking.
“Daniel, there's more. Peter has called an emergency foundation board meeting for eight tomorrow morning.”
May you like
“And?”
“He's requesting Vincent Donovan's immediate removal as chairman.”
