Chapter 2 - The Woman Erased From the House
Lucas took the notebook upstairs.
Not home.
Not to Bianca’s office.
To Moretti Atelier’s executive conference room.
He locked the doors.
Elena sat at one end of the table.
Bianca sat opposite her.
Evelyn Shaw had called Vallon’s attorneys and informed them the investment signing would be postponed.
Bianca nearly exploded.
“You had no authority to do that.”
Evelyn remained calm.
“I have complete authority over whether my firm wires $240 million.”
Lucas rubbed his forehead.
The show continued without the finale gown.
It was a public embarrassment.
Fashion reporters were already asking why Bianca had vanished before the final bow.
Lucas did not care.
He placed the notebook between himself and Elena.
“Start from the beginning.”
Bianca laughed.
“You’re actually entertaining this?”
Lucas turned.
“You screamed when she opened the notebook.”
“I was shocked.”
“You knew it existed.”
“Everyone knew Mom had notebooks.”
“This notebook disappeared the night she died.”
Bianca looked away.
Lucas noticed.
Then he faced Elena.
“How did you meet my mother?”
Elena touched the old leather cover.
“Parsons.”
Lucas frowned.
“My mother didn’t attend Parsons.”
“She didn’t graduate.”
Elena almost smiled.
“She lasted eleven weeks.”
Bianca rolled her eyes.
“Mom went to Florence.”
“After her father pulled her out.”
Lucas leaned forward.
“Why?”
“Because she was spending every night in the garment lab with me.”
Elena had been twenty-one.
Daughter of a tailor from Queens.
She could drape fabric directly on a body without drawing first.
Isabella Moretti was twenty-two.
Daughter of Carlo Moretti, who owned textile-import businesses and expected his daughter to become something glamorous but controlled.
Isabella had imagination.
Elena had construction.
They became inseparable.
“Your mother could draw a dress that shouldn’t have been physically possible,” Elena said. “Then she would hand me the sketch and say, ‘Make gravity cooperate.’”
Lucas smiled despite himself.
That sounded like Isabella.
Bianca did not smile.
Elena continued.
The first collection was made in the basement of Elena’s parents’ house.
Fourteen garments.
No investors.
No employees.
Carlo Moretti supplied imported silk after Isabella lied and said it was for school.
The ivory gown Sophie had been wearing was garment number seven.
“That’s why the label says seven,” Lucas whispered.
Elena nodded.
Each garment contained the same woven label.
A stylized M for Moretti.
And underneath, E.R.
“My initials.”
Bianca folded her arms.
“Why put Mom’s surname and your initials?”
“Because she said Moretti sounded expensive.”
Elena’s mouth tightened.
“And Rossi sounded like somebody who hemmed pants.”
Bianca looked almost satisfied.
“Exactly.”
Elena stared at her.
“That sentence came from your grandfather.”
Bianca’s expression changed.
Lucas leaned forward.
“What happened after the first collection?”
A small boutique buyer saw the pieces.
Then a magazine editor.
Then a department-store buyer.
Carlo suddenly realized his daughter’s hobby might become a business.
He formed Moretti Atelier, Inc.
Elena was supposed to receive thirty-five percent of the corporation.
Isabella sixty-five.
“Why not fifty-fifty?”
“Your grandfather said his money was financing production.”
Lucas nodded slowly.
“That sounds plausible.”
“It was.”
Elena did not pretend otherwise.
“I agreed.”
Bianca interrupted.
“Do you have proof?”
Elena turned several pages.
A handwritten capitalization table appeared.
Carlo’s lawyer had written notes beside it.
IM — 650 shares
ER — 350 shares
Lucas stared.
“Handwritten notes aren’t stock certificates.”
“No.”
“Did you ever receive shares?”
“I received a certificate.”
Bianca laughed.
“Where?”
“It disappeared.”
“How convenient.”
Elena did not react.
“Three years later, your grandfather told me the company needed outside financing. He said the investor wouldn’t accept my ownership because I had no money to contribute.”
“That makes no sense,” Lucas said.
“I know that now.”
“What happened?”
“They brought me a redemption agreement.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
Bianca said, “Then there’s no problem.”
Elena looked directly at her.
“Someone signed for me.”
Silence.
Lucas’s expression hardened.
“That’s an accusation of forgery.”
“Yes.”
“Against my grandfather?”
“Yes.”
Bianca stood.
“This is insane.”
Evelyn Shaw finally spoke.
“Sit down, Ms. Moretti.”
Bianca stared.
Evelyn did not blink.
Bianca sat.
Elena continued.
Her name disappeared from the stock ledger.
Her employee status changed.
She became head sample maker.
Then senior atelier manager.
The public story gradually became simpler.
Isabella Moretti: visionary founder.
Elena Rossi: talented seamstress.
“I let it happen,” Elena said.
Lucas frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I was twenty-four and your grandfather had three lawyers.”
She looked at the table.
“My father had medical bills. My family’s apartment was mortgaged. Carlo said if I fought him, Moretti Atelier would sue me for stealing designs.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“But he had the designs registered under the company.”
“Yes.”
Lucas leaned back.
“You stayed.”
“For almost fifteen years.”
“Why?”
Elena looked at the photograph.
“Because your mother never treated me as a servant.”
Bianca laughed bitterly.
“She let you lose your company.”
“She fought her father for years.”
“Not publicly.”
“No.”
Elena’s honesty disrupted Bianca’s attack.
She did not turn Isabella into a saint.
“She was afraid too.”
Lucas asked, “When did she discover the forged redemption?”
“Four months before she died.”
Bianca’s fingers tightened beneath the table.
Elena saw.
“So did Bianca.”
Lucas turned sharply.
“What?”
Bianca stood.
“No.”
Elena continued.
“Your mother found an original stock ledger in Carlo’s old storage files. My certificate number had been canceled using a redemption agreement. The signature wasn’t mine.”
Lucas stared at Bianca.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
Elena opened the notebook farther.
A loose sheet appeared.
An email printout.
From Isabella.
To Bianca.
Dated twelve days before Isabella’s death.
You knew about Elena’s shares and said nothing. We will discuss this tonight. Do not involve Lucas until I correct the record.
Lucas read it twice.
Then looked at his sister.
Bianca’s face hardened.
“You don’t understand the context.”
“Then explain it.”
Bianca’s eyes shifted toward Evelyn.
“Not with investors present.”
Evelyn closed her folder.
“Fine.”
She stood.
“But understand this. Vallon’s proposed investment requires Moretti Atelier to represent that its capitalization table and ownership history are accurate.”
Bianca said nothing.
“If there is a credible thirty-five-year ownership dispute, my firm will not close until independent counsel resolves it.”
She left.
The door closed.
Lucas looked at Bianca.
“How long have you known?”
Bianca stared at Elena instead.
“Ask her why Mom died the same night she gave her that notebook.”
Elena’s face went white.
Lucas slowly turned.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
Bianca’s voice dropped.
“It means Elena was the last person outside the family to see our mother alive.”
