Chapter 6 - The Blue Folder
The code led to a warehouse in Long Island City.
Moretti Atelier had rented storage there until 2013.
Lucas had never visited.
Bianca claimed she barely remembered it.
The facility manager remembered Moretti.
Luxury brands did not usually store filing cabinets beside obsolete mannequins.
The old lease listed unit MC-14-6.
Lucas obtained access through company counsel.
Elena came with Priya.
Bianca arrived with her attorney, David Kessler.
“You are not opening anything without us.”
Priya replied, “Nobody asked you to leave.”
The unit smelled of dust and cedar.
Old garment trunks lined one wall.
Metal filing cabinets lined another.
Shelf B contained six archive boxes.
The fourth was empty.
Elena touched the label.
BLUE CORPORATE — I.M. PRIVATE
Lucas looked at Bianca.
She shrugged.
“Empty box. Congratulations.”
The facility manager checked old access records.
Digital logs only went back ten years.
Paper logs existed earlier.
He disappeared for twenty minutes.
When he returned, he carried a binder.
Unit MC-14-6 had been accessed three times during the week after Isabella’s death.
First:
Elena Rossi.
Lucas looked at her.
Elena nodded.
“I came for fabric Isabella said I could keep.”
Second:
Bianca Moretti.
Third:
David Kessler.
Everyone turned toward Bianca’s attorney.
Kessler stiffened.
“That proves nothing.”
Lucas looked at him.
“Why were you in my mother’s storage unit two days after her funeral?”
“I represented Bianca.”
“For what?”
Kessler glanced toward Bianca.
She answered.
“Estate organization.”
Lucas’s voice became colder.
“Our estate lawyer was Miriam Shaw.”
“David helped me personally.”
Priya asked, “Did you remove the blue folder?”
Kessler said, “No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Elena opened another box.
Inside were old payroll books.
Vendor invoices.
Fabric swatches.
Then she found a photograph.
Isabella sitting on the atelier floor beside Elena.
Both women laughing.
Behind them stood a chalkboard.
MORETTI + ROSSI — FALL 1991
Lucas looked at it for a long time.
Bianca did not.
Priya searched the files.
One ledger showed quarterly payments to Elena labeled:
Founder participation — 8.75% net creative profits.
Payments stopped in 1993.
“Why 8.75?” Lucas asked.
Elena answered.
“My thirty-five-percent ownership received twenty-five percent of distributable creative profits under the early agreement.”
Lucas looked at her.
“You remember every number.”
“I remember the numbers that disappeared.”
Another page contained a copy of a 1993 board resolution authorizing redemption of Elena’s shares.
Signature:
Elena Rossi.
Elena stared.
“That isn’t mine.”
Document examiners would decide later.
But Lucas could see one obvious problem.
The witness signature belonged to Carlo Moretti.
Carlo was both the person pushing the transaction and the only witness.
Priya photographed everything.
Bianca leaned toward Kessler.
Lucas noticed them whispering.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Lucas walked closer.
“Then speak louder.”
Bianca stared at him.
“You are destroying Mom’s legacy because a seamstress showed you old paperwork.”
Elena flinched.
Lucas heard it.
“Stop calling her that like it means less.”
Bianca’s face hardened.
“She sews.”
“So did Mom.”
“No. Mom designed.”
Elena slowly turned.
“Your mother could sew a sleeve before you were born.”
Bianca’s eyes flashed.
“You really want my life, don’t you?”
The accusation startled Elena.
“What?”
“You want people saying Isabella Moretti was nothing without Elena Rossi.”
“No.”
“You want the press. The shares. The apology.”
“I wanted my work acknowledged.”
“You had thirty-five years.”
Elena’s voice became quiet.
“I had thirty-five years of watching you sell my work with your mother’s name stitched over mine.”
Silence.
Bianca looked away first.
Then Lucas’s phone rang.
Miriam Shaw.
His mother’s retired estate attorney.
Lucas had left three messages.
She finally returned one.
“Lucas?”
“Miriam.”
“I heard about the notebook.”
His eyes moved toward Bianca.
“How?”
A pause.
“Bianca called me.”
Lucas’s expression darkened.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“What did she want?”
“To remind me about attorney-client privilege.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
Lucas put the call on speaker.
“Miriam, did my mother prepare documents restoring shares to Elena Rossi?”
Long silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
Elena gripped the table.
Lucas looked at Bianca.
“What documents?”
“A settlement agreement, stock assignment, amended shareholder consent, and revised estate schedule.”
“Were they signed?”
“Most were.”
“By my mother?”
“Yes.”
“By Elena?”
“No. Isabella intended to meet Elena the next morning.”
Elena whispered, “She died first.”
Miriam continued.
“There were three sets.”
Lucas asked, “Where are they?”
“One remained with Isabella.”
“The blue folder?”
“Yes.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Second?”
“My firm.”
Lucas exhaled.
“Then you have it.”
“No.”
His relief vanished.
“My office copy disappeared during relocation two months after Isabella died.”
“Third?”
Miriam’s voice changed.
“It was mailed by certified courier to the Moretti residence the afternoon before Isabella died.”
Lucas stared at Bianca.
“Who signed for it?”
May you like
Miriam said:
“Bianca.”
