Chapter 10 - AFTER THE GUNSHOTThe bullet did not hit me.
That surprised me.
The door opened slowly.
A figure stepped inside.
Then Nora’s voice whispered, “Vivian?”
I nearly collapsed.
“What are you doing here?”
“The whole building lost power.”
I showed her the phone.
Adrian was still connected.
“You’re not alone,” he said.
Then the call ended.
Police arrived within minutes.
No sign of Adrian.
The outage came from someone physically accessing a utility room.
Security footage showed a man in maintenance clothing entering thirty minutes earlier.
His face was hidden.
Agent Monroe ordered me into protective custody.
I refused to disappear completely.
“You’re a target.”
“I understand.”
“Then act like it.”
“I have eight hundred employees watching whether I run.”
“Your employees would rather have a living CEO.”
She had a point.
I moved temporarily into a secure apartment.
My schedule became controlled.
Drivers changed daily.
Security accompanied me everywhere.
I hated every second.
Then Emily arrived carrying wine and two pizzas.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s a sister’s responsibility.”
For the first time in days, I laughed.
We sat on the floor.
At midnight, Emily asked, “Do you still want children?”
The question struck me unexpectedly.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re forty.”
“I know my age.”
“You also froze embryos before the last treatment.”
I looked at her.
“I can’t think about that.”
“You don’t have to.”
She squeezed my hand.
“I just don’t want Adrian to have stolen your future along with your past.”
I cried then.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just years of grief finally leaving.
The next morning brought unexpected news.
Police arrested Mara Bennett.
Not for betraying me.
For attempting to deliver evidence.
Adrian’s people had intercepted her, and during the confrontation Mara broke a man’s nose with a flashlight.
I visited her after questioning.
She immediately said, “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
She looked shocked.
“For doubting you.”
“You had reasons.”
“Come back when this is over.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“You still want me?”
“I want someone capable of breaking noses.”
She laughed.
Then she gave me the final piece of the puzzle.
Adrian kept a private studio nobody knew about.
An old industrial loft in Queens.
“It’s where he stored things he didn’t want at headquarters.”
“What things?”
“Original documents.”
Agent Monroe obtained a warrant.
Inside the loft, authorities discovered forged signatures, burner phones, financial ledgers, and copies of Harrow’s payments.
Enough.
Finally enough.
A federal arrest warrant was issued.
But Adrian remained missing.
Until our exhibition opened.
The Hands Behind the House drew thousands.
Former employees flew in.
Designers stood beside garments they had helped create.
My grandmother’s restored sewing table occupied the center of the gallery.
I gave no grand speech.
I simply said:
“Fashion remembers faces. Tonight, we remember hands.”
The crowd applauded.
Near the end, a security guard approached me.
“There’s a man asking to speak with you.”
“Who?”
“He says his name is Adrian Vale.”
My blood turned cold.
“He’s here?”
“In the building.”
Security locked entrances.
Federal agents moved.
Then the lights dimmed.
A projector turned on by itself.
Adrian appeared on-screen.
Live.
“Vivian.”
Guests gasped.
I looked around.
“Where are you?”
He smiled.
“Do you like what you’ve done to my legacy?”
“Your legacy seems to involve federal indictments.”
His smile vanished.
“You stole my company.”
“I funded it.”
“I built it.”
“Then why did you need my designs?”
Silence.
People were filming.
Exactly what Adrian wanted.
But also exactly what I needed.
“You think they love you now?” he asked.
“No.”
That answer surprised him.
“I don’t need them to love me.”
I looked toward the employees around me.
“I need to deserve their trust.”
Adrian’s face hardened.
“You were nothing before me.”
“No, Adrian.”
I smiled sadly.
“I was simply invisible.”
The screen went black.
Then Agent Monroe shouted.
“Roof!”
Adrian had broadcast from inside the building.
Agents raced upstairs.
I followed despite everyone telling me not to.
On the roof, cold rain had begun falling.
Adrian stood near the edge.
A gun in one hand.
My original ivory sketchbook in the other.
“Stay back!”
Agents raised weapons.
I stopped.
“Adrian.”
“Tell them to lower their guns.”
“I can’t.”
“You can do anything now, apparently.”
He held up the sketchbook.
“This is where it started.”
“Yes.”
“You remember?”
“I remember drawing the first collection while you slept.”
His face twisted.
“I gave you a name.”
“And I gave that name everything.”
He pointed the gun toward the sketchbook.
“Maybe I should destroy the last proof.”
I shook my head.
“You still don’t understand.”
“What?”
“The proof isn’t in your hand.”
Behind the rooftop doors stood dozens of employees.
“The proof is them.”
Adrian looked.
For the first time, he saw people refusing to worship him.
Something inside him broke.
He lowered the gun.
Agent Monroe stepped forward.
Then Adrian suddenly turned it toward me.
A shot exploded.
I fell.
May you like
Someone screamed.
And Adrian disappeared beneath a wave of federal agents.
