The Gown My Father Stole From Me

Camille, if you're reading this, then Vanessa has finally done what I was afraid she would do.

I stopped breathing.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

My father's letters always leaned slightly to the right. He wrote slowly, pressing hard enough that his words left impressions on the paper beneath them.

I had kept birthday cards from him for twenty years.

I knew every curve of his handwriting.

Judge Harris leaned forward.

"Miss Laurent, would you like to read the letter privately?""

I shook my head.

"No. I think everyone should hear it.""

Vanessa made a small, disbelieving sound.

"That's ridiculous. A personal letter has no place in this proceeding.""

Judge Harris looked at her.

"Mrs. Laurent, your objections have been noted. Please allow Miss Laurent to proceed.""

My hands trembled as I unfolded the page.

I began reading.

Camille,

There are things I should have told you when you came home from the hospital. I should have told you before I allowed anyone to discuss your work as if it belonged to the family.

I didn't.

I told myself I was protecting you. I told myself that keeping quiet was better than putting another burden on your shoulders.

I was wrong.

I paused.

The ballroom had become completely silent.

Brianna stood near the reception doors, her wedding bouquet hanging loosely from one hand.

I continued.

You need to know that I ordered the document.

My eyes blurred.

I lowered the letter.

"Judge Harris?""

He nodded.

"Continue.""

I forced myself to look at the page.

I ordered someone to create a false transfer agreement using a copy of your signature.

A gasp came from the guests.

Vanessa closed her eyes.

My throat tightened.

I did not do it to take your designs. I did it because I suspected Vanessa was planning to take them herself.

For months, I had noticed sketches disappearing from your studio. Production photographs were appearing in meetings you had never attended. Brianna was suddenly receiving information about unfinished pieces that only you and I should have known.

I confronted Vanessa. She told me you had agreed to let Brianna work with your designs.

I didn't believe her.

I looked at Brianna.

She was staring at the floor.

My father continued:

I had our legal department prepare a false agreement. It contained a reproduction of your signature, but it was never intended to be legally valid. It was marked as a control copy and was not supposed to be notarized.

I wanted to see whether Vanessa would attempt to use it.

I thought if she presented the document as genuine, we would have undeniable proof of her intentions.

My stomach turned.

I stopped reading.

Judge Harris folded his hands.

"Miss Laurent, are you all right?""

I nodded, although I wasn't.

I looked at Vanessa.

"You knew?""

She swallowed.

"Camille, your father was—"

"Did you know he made this document?""

She glanced at Mr. Whitmore.

He gave her a small shake of his head.

Vanessa looked back at me.

"Your father had his reasons.""

"That's not what I asked.""

Her jaw tightened.

"Keep reading.""

I looked down again.

Margaret Bell refused to notarize the document. She was right to refuse. I respected her decision.

The original control copy was stored in my office. It was marked beneath the lower seal with a security notation. Anyone examining it under the company's verification lamp would see the words CONTROL COPY — NO TRANSFER.

I did not authorize anyone to add Margaret's seal. I did not authorize anyone to remove her journal entry. And I certainly did not authorize anyone to present that paper as a legal transfer.

My eyes moved to the next paragraph.

Someone took the document from my office and altered it.

I know who.

I looked up.

Vanessa had gone completely still.

I read the next line.

It was you, Vanessa.

A sharp gasp escaped her.

Mr. Whitmore stood.

"Your Honor, this is a personal accusation contained in an unverified letter. I request that the contents not be treated as established fact.""

Judge Harris regarded him calmly.

"I haven't treated anything as established yet, Mr. Whitmore. Sit down.""

He did.

I continued.

I have kept the original control copy, the printer's audit report, and the internal correspondence showing who requested the changes.

The files are sealed with Margaret Bell. They should never have been needed.

But if Vanessa has presented that agreement in front of you, then she has gone further than I feared.

The room was so quiet I could hear the air-conditioning above the stained-glass windows.

Then I reached the final paragraph.

Camille, there is something else I need you to understand.

I was the person who ordered the imitation signature. I cannot pretend that makes me innocent. I used your name without permission. I made a decision about your life without asking you.

I thought I was clever enough to control what would happen next.

I was not.

You deserved a father who protected your work without turning your identity into a weapon.

I am sorry.

Your designs have always belonged to you. There is a separate signed assignment of rights, executed before your accident, establishing you as the sole owner of your original collection. I placed the original with independent counsel. Vanessa never had the authority to sell it, license it, or give it to Brianna.

The person who holds that document has instructions to release it if anyone challenges your ownership.

Please don't make the same mistake I did. Don't let someone else's fear decide what you deserve.

With all my love,

Dad.

I lowered the paper.

For several moments, I couldn't move.

I had wanted an explanation.

I had wanted proof that I wasn't imagining things.

I had wanted someone to tell me that my father hadn't abandoned me when I was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

Instead, I had learned that he had used my signature in a scheme without my consent.

He had tried to protect me by doing something that could have destroyed me.

"Who has the separate assignment?"" I whispered.

Judge Harris looked toward Margaret.

She opened her wooden case and removed a second envelope.

"This one was entrusted to my solicitor for safekeeping," she said.

"I was instructed to release it only if someone challenged Camille's ownership.""

Vanessa stood abruptly.

"No.""

Everyone turned.

She looked at Margaret.

"You can't have that.""

Margaret didn't blink.

"Why not?""

"Because Daniel wasn't in a position to make that decision.""

"That document was executed before his health deteriorated. It was reviewed by independent counsel.""

Vanessa shook her head.

"You're lying.""

Judge Harris extended his hand.

"Mrs. Bell, please.""

She passed him the envelope.

He opened it and examined the documents inside.

After a moment, he looked up.

"This appears to be an assignment of the original collection rights to Camille Laurent, executed and witnessed independently before the disputed transfer.""

Mr. Whitmore stood again.

"May I examine it?""

Judge Harris handed him a copy.

He read the first page.

Then the second.

His face changed.

He turned toward Vanessa.

She whispered, "What?""

He didn't answer.

I watched him read the final paragraph.

Then he leaned toward her and spoke quietly.

Vanessa shook her head.

"No. That's not possible.""

Judge Harris looked at Margaret.

"Is the original document available?""

"Yes, Your Honor.""

"And the audit records mentioned in this letter?""

Margaret opened the wooden case again.

"Also available.""

She placed a thick folder on the table.

Inside were the original control copy, the printer's job report, and several pages of internal correspondence.

Judge Harris examined the first sheet.

The document contained my signature.

But beneath the bottom margin, visible under a verification lamp, was a faint line of text.

CONTROL COPY — NO TRANSFER.

He looked at the agreement Vanessa had presented.

The words were missing.

Then he examined the printer's report.

"Who requested this revised copy?""

Margaret pointed to the printed record.

"Vanessa Laurent's office account.""

Vanessa grabbed the edge of the table.

"That doesn't prove I personally requested it.""

Judge Harris read the next line.

"The document was printed at 10:42 p.m. on September fifteenth. The user account was registered to you.""

"I wasn't even in the office!""

Mr. Whitmore looked at her.

"Vanessa, don't.""

She rounded on him.

"Don't what?""

"Don't make another statement until we've reviewed the entire report.""

Margaret placed another page beside the printer's audit.

"This is the internal correspondence accompanying the request.""

Judge Harris read the email.

His expression hardened.

"Mrs. Laurent, would you care to explain why your office requested that the control notation be removed and a notarization image added to the document?""

Vanessa's lips parted.

No sound came out.

Then she turned toward me.

"You don't understand what your father was doing.""

I stared at her.

"Then explain it.""

She stepped closer.

"He knew the company was in trouble. He knew the board was losing confidence. He needed a way to keep everyone together.""

"And that required stealing my designs?""

"Nobody was stealing anything!""

"You told me you owned the gown.""

"I was protecting the company.""

"From what?""

Her eyes flashed.

"From you.""

The words echoed across the ballroom.

Brianna covered her mouth.

Judge Harris looked down at the documents again.

"Mrs. Laurent, I believe we've established enough for now to suspend the collection presentation and refer the disputed documents for formal investigation.""

Vanessa took a step backward.

Then the ballroom doors opened.

A familiar voice called from behind us.

"She isn't the only person who needs to answer questions.""

I turned.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on a dark wooden cane.

His hair was almost completely white.

His shoulders had narrowed.

But his eyes were the same.

My father.