Chapter 7: The Forgery That Could Destroy Me
I stared at the document on my phone until the letters began to blur.
My name was printed beneath the signature.
Maya Bennett.
The date was six weeks earlier.
The same week Vanessa had first contacted me about the wedding gown.
According to the document, I had voluntarily transferred all rights to my mother's designs, patterns, trademarks, and historical archive to Hawthorne Bridal Holdings.
There was even a paragraph stating that I acknowledged my mother's previous ownership claims had been resolved before her death.
It was a complete fabrication.
"Laura, I never signed that.""
"I believe you," she replied.
"But believing you and proving it are two different things.""
"How could they possibly have a document with my signature?""
"Someone may have copied it from another source. Have you ever signed a delivery receipt, invoice, or business registration for Vanessa?""
I thought back.
I had signed several delivery receipts. I had also sent Vanessa a photograph of my business license when she requested my studio details.
"She has copies of my signature.""
"That gives us a possible explanation. Don't contact her. I want you to come to my office immediately.""
I looked at Helen.
She was sitting motionless, her hands folded in her lap.
"Patricia is trying to make it look like I betrayed my own mother," I whispered.
Helen reached for my hand.
"Your mother would never believe that.""
"But everyone else might.""
Laura interrupted.
"Listen to me. We are not going to panic. Bring the original documents, the messages, and the photograph of the alleged agreement. We need to establish a timeline.""
I gathered everything.
Before leaving, I turned toward Helen.
"There's something I need to ask you.""
She looked up.
"Did Patricia know where my mother kept the original patterns?""
Helen nodded.
"She visited the studio several times.""
"Did she ever see the wooden box?""
"I don't think so.""
I glanced at the box.
"Then why is she so desperate to get it?""
Helen hesitated.
"Because your mother once told me that the box contained something even more important than the original agreement.""
"What?""
Helen shook her head.
"She never told me.""
I left with more questions than answers.
At Laura's office, a forensic document examiner named Samuel Price was waiting.
He examined the alleged agreement on a large monitor.
He enlarged my signature.
Then he looked at my driver's license, an old business invoice, and the handwritten notes I had provided.
"This signature appears to have been digitally reproduced," he said.
My shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Can you prove that?""
"I can identify irregularities. But I'll need the original document or the electronic file to determine how it was created.""
Laura leaned forward.
"Can we request the original through formal legal channels?""
"Yes. And we should preserve every version of the document circulated by the Hawthorne company.""
Samuel turned toward me.
"One more question. Did you ever sign an agreement with an electronic signature platform?""
"No.""
"Did you authorize anyone to sign on your behalf?""
"Absolutely not.""
He nodded.
"Good. We have a starting point.""
Laura placed the original partnership documents beside the alleged transfer.
"The timing is important. This document claims Maya transferred her rights before Vanessa commissioned the gown. But the email correspondence shows Vanessa negotiating the design and price afterward.""
Samuel examined the dates.
"That's useful.""
He pointed to a paragraph.
"And this language is unusual. It refers to a transfer of rights that may not have existed in the form described.""
Laura smiled faintly.
"Exactly.""
For the first time in two days, I felt a little hope.
Then Laura's assistant entered the room.
"There's a reporter downstairs asking to speak with Maya.""
"Who?"" Laura asked.
"Her name is Rebecca Shaw. She works for a national fashion publication.""
Laura looked at me.
"Do you know her?""
I shook my head.
"Not personally.""
A moment later, Rebecca entered.
She was in her thirties, carrying a tablet and a leather notebook.
"Miss Bennett, I hope I'm not interrupting.""
"What do you want?""
She placed her tablet on the desk.
"I've been investigating the Hawthorne Bridal Collection for almost a year. I believe your mother's work is at the center of it.""
Laura straightened.
"How did you find out about our case?""
"Someone sent me the original partnership agreement.""
Rebecca displayed a scanned page.
It was identical to the one Martin had shown us.
"There's something strange about the Hawthorne company's historical records," she continued.
"Their public archive claims the collection began in 1948. But several documents indicate the designs were created independently by Eleanor Bennett.""
I stared at the screen.
"How long have you known?""
"Three months. I couldn't publish anything because I didn't have a living heir willing to confirm the ownership claim.""
"Well, now you have one.""
Rebecca nodded.
"Then there's something you should see.""
She opened another photograph.
It showed Patricia standing outside a bank, carrying a thick folder.
The date was two weeks before Vanessa contacted me.
"What am I looking at?"" I asked.
"Patricia meeting with representatives from a private investment company. They're preparing to acquire the Hawthorne bridal business.""
Laura frowned.
"Is that transaction public?""
"Not yet. But I've obtained a draft investment memorandum.""
Rebecca enlarged the document.
A number appeared.
$48,000,000.
I stared.
"Forty-eight million?""
"That's the estimated value of the collection and its associated licensing rights.""
Laura's expression hardened.
"If the company doesn't own the designs, the valuation could be materially misleading.""
"That's what I believe.""
Rebecca looked directly at me.
"Your mother's work may be worth more than the entire amount they've offered you to walk away.""
I thought about Patricia's fifteen-thousand-dollar check.
Suddenly, it seemed almost insulting.
Then Rebecca opened another file.
It contained a list of people scheduled to attend the private preview.
Investors.
Fashion executives.
Journalists.
And one unexpected name.
Claire Price.
Jonathan Price's daughter.
I pointed to the screen.
"That's the woman who inherited her father's legal office.""
Rebecca nodded.
"She's attending as the family's estate solicitor.""
Laura immediately picked up her phone.
"Then we need to speak with her.""
But before she could dial, Rebecca's phone rang.
She answered.
"Hello?""
Her expression changed.
"What do you mean the archive has been moved?""
She listened.
Then slowly lowered the phone.
"Patricia has announced that the historical documents will be displayed at tomorrow night's preview.""
"Which documents?"" I asked.
Rebecca turned her screen toward me.
A photograph showed a glass display case containing several old papers.
Among them was a blue leather ledger.
My breath caught.
The blue ledger.
The very one Richard had mentioned.
But there was something else.
A second photograph showed Patricia standing beside the display case.
She was holding a small pair of scissors.
And on the table in front of her was a piece of white-and-blue floral fabric.
I looked at Rebecca.
"Why is she holding scissors?""
Rebecca enlarged the photograph.
A label beneath the display case read:
*THE ORIGINAL BENNETT-HAYWORTH PARTNERSHIP ARCHIVE.*
I felt a chill.
Patricia wasn't merely displaying the documents.
She was preparing to alter something.
Laura stood.
"We're going tomorrow.""
I nodded.
"Then I'm going to need an invitation.""
Rebecca smiled.
"I can get you one.""
She paused.
"But I should warn you. Patricia has planned a very specific announcement.""
"What announcement?""
Rebecca looked at me.
"She's going to introduce Vanessa as the sole legal successor to the Hawthorne bridal collection.""
I looked again at the blue ledger.
Then at my mother's name.
May you like
If Patricia succeeded, she would erase Eleanor Bennett from the history of the collection one final time.
And I wasn't going to let her.
