Chapter 5: The Man Who Recognized My Mother's Name
Victor Sterling didn't offer me his hand.
He stood in the doorway, blocking the light from the corridor.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he walked toward the framed photograph.
"Your mother was a talented woman," he said.
I swallowed.
"Thank you.""
"But talent doesn't always translate into business.""
Claire shifted uncomfortably.
"Mr. Sterling, Maya is reviewing the historical archive for her current project.""
Victor ignored her.
"Does Arthur know you're looking through these records?""
"Yes, sir.""
His expression tightened.
"Interesting.""
He looked at the photograph again.
"Your mother left this company a long time ago.""
"Why?""
Victor gave a short laugh.
"People leave jobs for all kinds of reasons.""
"Someone told me her designs were stolen.""
The room went silent.
Victor slowly turned.
"Who told you that?""
"I'd rather not say.""
"Then perhaps you should be careful about believing strangers.""
I looked at him.
"Did you work with my mother?""
"Of course. I was creative director at the time.""
"Did she create the collection in that photograph?""
Victor smiled without warmth.
"She contributed.""
"Contributed?""
"She was a pattern maker. She helped with construction and technical development.""
I looked at the silver gown.
"But the note says collection of the year.""
"Notes can be misleading.""
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"My mother told me she dreamed of becoming a designer.""
Victor adjusted his cuff.
"Many people have dreams, Miss Carter.""
He turned toward Claire.
"I need the archive room for a meeting. Please make sure she's finished here.""
Claire nodded reluctantly.
"Of course.""
Victor walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked at me once more.
"One piece of advice. Don't spend your time digging through old company history. It won't help your career.""
Then he disappeared.
Claire waited until his footsteps faded.
"Well, that was uncomfortable.""
I looked at her.
"Why does he hate my mother?""
Claire shook her head.
"I don't know.""
"He recognized her immediately.""
"Yes.""
"And he seemed angry that I'm here.""
Claire sighed.
"Victor has always been protective of the company's reputation.""
I stared at the photograph.
"Maybe there's a reason.""
At lunchtime, I went to the employee cafeteria.
I sat alone near the windows with a sandwich and a cup of coffee.
I was trying to process everything when someone placed a tray opposite me.
"Mind if I sit?""
I looked up.
It was Daniel from recruitment.
"Not at all.""
He sat down.
"How's the first day going?""
"Interesting.""
He laughed.
"That's one way to describe Sterling.""
I hesitated.
"Daniel, can I ask you something?""
"Sure.""
"Did you know my mother worked here?""
His smile faded.
"No. Why?""
I showed him the photograph.
He studied it.
"That's Arthur and Victor. And that's your mother?""
"Yes.""
Daniel leaned back.
"That's quite a story.""
"Do you know anything about the collection?""
"Not much. But I remember hearing something when I first joined.""
"What?""
He lowered his voice.
"An old employee mentioned that the company once had a collection called The Silver Garden. Apparently, it was created by a young designer who disappeared shortly before the runway presentation.""
My heart raced.
"Did you hear her name?""
Daniel shook his head.
"No. But the collection became one of Sterling's biggest successes.""
I stared at him.
"Was Victor involved?""
Daniel glanced around.
"I wouldn't repeat that question near his office.""
"Why?""
"Because Victor still controls a lot of things here. And people who challenge him tend not to stay long.""
Before I could ask anything else, my phone vibrated.
A new message.
Unknown number.
*You need to see what they did with your mother's collection.*
A photograph followed.
It showed an old magazine cover.
The headline read:
*VICTOR STERLING REVEALS THE SILVER GARDEN — A REVOLUTION IN MODERN COUTURE.*
Beneath the headline was a silver evening gown.
My silver evening gown.
Not exactly the same, but unmistakably similar.
The sculpted petals.
The black embroidery.
The dramatic train.
My hands went cold.
I looked at Daniel.
"Can I use your computer?""
"Why?""
"I need to search something.""
He nodded.
We went to an empty workstation.
I searched the collection name.
The results appeared immediately.
The Silver Garden had been launched twenty-five years ago.
It had received international recognition.
Victor Sterling had been credited as its sole creative visionary.
There were photographs of the collection everywhere.
Then I found an archived interview.
Victor was standing on a runway stage, smiling beside a display of silver gowns.
The interviewer asked:
"Where did the inspiration for this collection come from?""
Victor answered:
"From years of research, experimentation, and a very personal understanding of feminine elegance.""
I read the transcript again.
There was no mention of Grace Carter.
Not once.
Then I found a photograph from the original presentation.
A woman stood in the background, partially hidden behind a clothing rack.
I zoomed in.
My breath caught.
It was my mother.
She was wearing the same pale blue blouse from the photograph I had received.
And she was crying.
I felt sick.
"Daniel.""
He leaned over.
"What?""
"Look.""
He studied the image.
"That's definitely your mother.""
I clicked on the article.
The publication date was three days after her last recorded working day at Sterling.
I looked at the credits.
Victor Sterling.
Creative Director.
Arthur Sterling.
Chairman.
Grace Carter.
No mention.
My phone vibrated again.
This time, the message contained a voice recording.
I pressed play.
A woman's voice filled the quiet workstation.
It was older.
Shaky.
But I recognized it immediately.
Eleanor Hayes.
"Maya, I know you've started looking. I should have told you sooner. Your mother didn't leave because she wanted to. She was forced out after refusing to sign a document.""
I held my breath.
The recording continued.
"Victor had taken her original collection and registered the designs under his name. Your mother confronted him. She had proof, Maya. Original sketches, dated pattern sheets, and a signed agreement.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Where is the proof?""
Eleanor's voice became quieter.
"She hid it somewhere safe. I helped her. But after she left, Victor searched everywhere.""
The recording ended.
Daniel stared at me.
"That's serious.""
I nodded.
Then another message arrived.
*Your mother kept one original design. It was never shown on the runway.*
A second photograph appeared.
It showed a close-up of a handwritten label attached to a black fabric folder.
*G. CARTER — ORIGINAL COLLECTION — DO NOT DESTROY.*
I could barely breathe.
"Daniel, I need to find Eleanor.""
He looked at the time.
"She's probably not in the building.""
"Do you know where she lives?""
"No.""
I looked at the message.
Then a location appeared.
An old address on the outskirts of the city.
Below it were five words.
*Come alone. Bring your mother's pin.*
I looked down at my cardigan.
The little silver scissors pin was still attached near my collar.
I touched it.
Why did Eleanor want it?
And how did she know I still had it?
That evening, I went to Arthur's office.
I needed answers.
His assistant told me he was in a meeting, but I waited outside.
When he finally emerged, he looked surprised to see me.
"Maya? Is everything all right?""
"I need to ask you something.""
"Of course.""
I showed him the magazine photograph.
His face darkened.
"Where did you find this?""
"Online.""
He studied it.
"Victor's collection.""
"Was it my mother's?""
Arthur didn't answer.
"Please, Mr. Sterling. I need the truth.""
He looked at the photograph for a long moment.
Then he opened his office door.
"Come inside.""
I followed him.
He closed the door.
"Your mother created the original Silver Garden collection.""
My knees almost gave way.
"Then why was Victor credited?""
Arthur rubbed his forehead.
"Because I allowed it to happen.""
I stared at him.
"What?""
He looked older suddenly.
"Twenty-five years ago, I was dealing with a financial crisis. The company was close to collapse. Victor had been handling the creative department, and I trusted him.""
"What did he do?""
"He told me Grace had agreed to transfer the designs to the company. He presented a contract bearing her signature.""
"Did she sign it?""
Arthur looked down.
"I believed she had.""
I felt tears gather in my eyes.
"But she didn't?""
Arthur's silence was enough.
I stepped backward.
"You knew?""
"I discovered the truth later.""
"When?""
"After she left.""
I stared at him.
"You knew someone had stolen my mother's work, and you did nothing?""
Arthur closed his eyes.
"I tried to resolve it privately.""
"How?""
"I offered to compensate her.""
"Did she accept?""
"No.""
"Why?""
Arthur looked at me.
"Because she wanted her name back. Not money.""
My throat tightened.
"Then why didn't you give it to her?""
He had no answer.
For a moment, I couldn't look at him.
My mother had spent the rest of her life working in a tiny sewing room, believing that nobody would ever know what she had created.
And the man who could have corrected the injustice had remained silent.
I picked up my bag.
"Maya—"
"I need some air.""
He stood.
"Please.""
I stopped at the door.
"Did you know she had a daughter?""
Arthur's face softened.
"Yes.""
I turned slowly.
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't understand.
"Your mother came here once, shortly before she died.""
My breath caught.
"When?""
"About six years ago.""
"Why?""
Arthur looked toward his desk.
"She wanted to show me something.""
"What?""
"A drawing.""
I stepped closer.
"What drawing?""
Arthur opened a drawer and removed an old photograph.
It showed a young girl sitting at a sewing machine.
Me.
I recognized the pink dress I had worn for my eighth birthday.
On the back was a handwritten note.
One day, my daughter will finish what I started.
I looked at Arthur.
"Why do you have this?""
He answered quietly.
"Because your mother asked me to keep it.""
Then he reached into another drawer.
He pulled out a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front.
*Maya.*
My mother's handwriting.
I stopped breathing.
Arthur placed it on the desk.
"She told me to give this to you if you ever came here.""
My hands trembled as I reached for it.
But before I could open it, Arthur spoke.
"There's something else you need to know.""
I looked up.
"Your mother didn't come here just to leave that photograph.""
May you like
He hesitated.
"She came to warn me that Victor had stolen more than one collection.""
