Chương 8
Elena pressed the phone harder against her ear.
“I see,” she said.
“For what it is worth, our team was concerned by the lack of a direct meeting with you.”
“Not concerned enough to call me.”
“That is fair.”
“Why call now?”
“Because the materials carry your name, and because I have a daughter who designs furniture. She would be furious if I allowed someone to present her work without permission.”
It was not a legal answer. Elena trusted it more for that reason.
“Can you send me what you received?”
“I need authorization from counsel.”
“Of course.”
“But I can confirm in writing that no investment was made and that we understood your participation had been represented as agreed in principle.”
“Thank you.”
“Ms. Marín, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Moretti appeared uncomfortable.”
Elena waited.
Daniel continued. “That is not a defense. I mention it because Ms. Moretti did most of the speaking, and he corrected her twice when she described the bridal line as certain. He used the word potential. She used inevitable.”
“Did he stop the meeting?”
“No.”
“Then his discomfort was private.”
“Yes,” Daniel said after a moment. “It was.”
In the morning, Elena met attorney Rachel Kim at a coffee shop near the studio. Rachel wore a navy suit, running shoes, and the expression of a person who had already read every attachment before sunrise.
“The dress itself is the least useful legal issue,” Rachel said after ordering plain coffee. “Clothing design protection in the United States is limited and fact-specific. Your sketch, photographs, name, biography, and any false claim that you endorsed a venture are clearer concerns.”
Elena stirred coffee she did not intend to drink. “Can I stop them from using the design?”
“I can ask them to stop. Whether a court would force them depends on what exactly they use and how. We do not begin with court. We begin with evidence and a demand.”
“They have my money.”
“That is separate and potentially more urgent.”
Rachel had Elena explain the joint account, the transfer, the business proposal, and the wedding. She did not react visibly until Elena described Adrian taking the back photograph inside the studio.
“Did he have permission to be in the workroom?”
“Yes.”
“Permission to photograph unreleased designs?”
“No.”
“Was that rule written?”
“It’s common sense.”
Rachel gave her a sympathetic look. “Common sense is a beautiful witness and a terrible contract.”
She asked for copies of employment agreements, studio policies, bank records, cloud access logs, and every message Elena could obtain.
“What do you want?” Rachel asked.
“My money back. My name removed. My work destroyed or returned.”
“And personally?”
Elena looked through the café window. A man outside was trying to fit a bicycle into the trunk of a compact car. He kept rotating it as though a different angle might change the size of either object.
“I want him to tell the truth without me dragging each word out.”
Rachel waited.
“That is not a legal remedy,” Elena said.
“No.”
“Then the other things.”
Rachel closed her notebook. “I’ll contact counsel for Moretti House. Do not communicate with Luciana directly. Keep communication with Adrian in writing when possible. Do not post. Do not threaten exposure. Do not delete anything.”
“I wasn’t planning to threaten anyone.”
“Most people are not. Then they receive a message at midnight.”
Outside, Elena sat in Isabel’s car and checked her phone.
Adrian had sent a folder.
It contained bank records, vendor invoices, presentation drafts, and messages with Pietro. There was no partnership agreement. There were, however, two letters of intent from investment groups and a draft operating plan.
The forty-four thousand dollars had been used to pay past-due insurance premiums, plumbing repairs, temporary staff wages, and balances owed to wedding vendors.
Only eleven thousand had gone directly toward Elena and Adrian’s wedding.
The rest had kept the villa open.
Adrian had written in an email to Luciana:
This is the last time. Elena cannot know until the investment closes. She will see it as choosing you over our future.
Luciana had replied:
She will understand once she becomes part of the future.
Elena read the exchange in the car while Isabel watched through the windshield.
“What?” Isabel asked.
“He knew exactly how I would see it.”
“People often know the truth before they do the thing.”
“Why did he send me this?”
“Because you asked.”
“He could have hidden that email.”
“Maybe he is finally tired.”
Elena looked at her mother. “Do not make him sympathetic.”
“I am not. Tired people can still be cowards.”
They drove to the apartment.
Adrian was not there. Two suitcases were missing from the bedroom, along with several shirts and the coffee grinder. Elena was relieved by the absence of the grinder and then ashamed of the relief.
She moved through the rooms slowly.
His shoes remained by the door. A mug with a chipped handle sat in the sink. On the refrigerator, the seating chart hung beneath a magnet shaped like a lemon. Elena took it down and folded it once, then again, then stopped. She did not know whether to throw it away.
In the bedroom, the wedding clothes she had planned to change into the next morning lay on a chair. A linen dress for brunch. Sandals. A straw hat Luciana had said looked provincial.
Elena put them in a drawer.
Isabel stood in the doorway. “Come home with me.”
“I need to stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because leaving makes it feel like his.”
“Staying makes it feel like yours?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Elena sat on the bed. “I don’t know.”
Isabel nodded. “That is a reason.”
May you like
For the next three days, Elena moved between the apartment, the studio, and Rachel’s office. The outside world developed its own version of the wedding.
Some people called her exit brave. Others called it staged. A morning television show discussed whether wearing ivory to a wedding was emotional abuse. A psychologist who had never met any of them described Luciana as a narcissist. A man with a podcast said Elena had humiliated a grieving mother for publicity.
