Chapter 5 - She Offered to Buy My Silence
The next morning, I received an invitation to meet Harper Lane.
Not from Harper herself.
From her attorney.
The email described our disagreement as an unfortunate misunderstanding and suggested that a private discussion might prevent further damage to both parties.
Attached was a proposed agreement.
Harper would pay me five thousand dollars.
In exchange, I would stop selling the green dress and every other design in the Rose Collection, withdraw my accusations, agree never to discuss the dispute publicly, and publish a statement acknowledging that Harlow House owned the designs.
I read it three times.
Then I called Rachel.
"Is this a joke?"
"No," she said. "It's a settlement proposal."
"She stole eighteen thousand dollars from me!"
"That's one of the issues we're pursuing. Don't sign anything."
I stared at the amount again.
Five thousand dollars.
Harper was offering me less than a third of the money that had left my savings account.
And she wanted my mother's designs forever.
"What should I do?"
"Send me the original email. I'll respond."
I forwarded it.
Then I went to work.
My workday began at Tasha's dining table.
She had cleared away her makeup bags and turned the room into a temporary packing station.
Mrs. Alvarez arrived at nine carrying two sewing kits and a container of homemade muffins.
At ten, Noah dropped off the shipment records I'd requested through his company.
By eleven, I had an actual team.
Not a glamorous team.
Just three people who believed I deserved a chance.
Mrs. Alvarez examined the dresses we'd recovered.
"These stitches are yours," she said.
"How can you tell?"
She turned a hem inside out.
"You always make your final seam a little too narrow."
I blushed.
"I thought I'd fixed that."
"You have improved. But you are still impatient."
Tasha laughed.
Mrs. Alvarez pointed at another dress.
"See this? The lining is different. The copied dresses are being made somewhere else."
I picked it up.
She was right.
The garment looked like mine from a distance, but the fabric was thinner, the seams uneven.
The original design had been reproduced with cheaper materials.
If Harlow House fulfilled customers' orders with those dresses, people would think I'd suddenly started selling garbage.
My name was being used to sell products I hadn't made.
That hurt almost as much as the stolen money.
I opened my customer spreadsheet.
"Then we need to find everyone who ordered through the fake store."
Tasha frowned.
"How?"
"We start with the people who contacted us. We ask them to share the real order confirmations. We make the difference clear."
I began writing.
No accusations.
No insults.
Just facts.
My real website address.
My official customer service email.
Instructions for people who had ordered from the imitation site.
A promise that I'd personally review every order placed through my actual store.
Then I recorded a short video.
"Hi, everyone. It's Mia. I need to share an important update about Second Stitch."
I kept my voice steady.
"There is a website using my business name and photographs without my authorization. Please do not place orders through that website. If you've already done so, save your receipt and contact your payment provider. My official store information is linked below."
I stopped recording.
Tasha watched it.
"Post it."
"What if everyone thinks I'm guilty?"
"Some people will. Some won't. But your customers need the truth."
I pressed publish.
By lunchtime, the video had attracted hundreds of comments.
Some people supported me.
Others accused me of lying.
One woman demanded her money back in capital letters.
Another wrote, I knew something was wrong. The dress I received looked nothing like Mia's videos.
Then a message arrived from Olivia Reynolds.
She was the woman who had ordered clothing for her daughter's bridal shower.
Hi, Mia. I saw your video. I think I ordered from the fake website. Is there anything I can do?
I called her immediately.
Olivia was sixty-one, warm-voiced, and deeply embarrassed.
"I should've checked the address," she said.
"Please don't blame yourself. It was designed to look like my store."
She sighed.
"My daughter's shower is next weekend. I wanted to wear that ivory dress."
I looked at Mrs. Alvarez.
She was already measuring a piece of fabric.
"Olivia, what size do you need?"
"Twelve."
"And when is the shower?"
"Next Saturday."
I swallowed.
"I can't promise I'll be able to replace everything. But I have enough of the original ivory fabric left to make one dress. If you're comfortable with that, I'd like to make yours."
"Oh, honey, I couldn't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking."
There was a long pause.
Then Olivia said something that brought tears to my eyes.
"I used to watch your mother sew at the summer craft fairs. Did you know that?"
I sat up.
"You knew my mom?"
"I bought a little yellow dress from her when my daughter was five. She wore it until the seams practically burst."
I stared at the photograph of my mother.
Olivia continued.
"When I found your business last year, I recognized the name. I thought it was wonderful that her daughter had kept sewing."
My voice cracked.
"Thank you."
"No, Mia. Thank you for answering the phone."
After hanging up, I looked at Mrs. Alvarez.
She had already pulled out her measuring tape.
"Well?" she said. "Are we making a dress or having a funeral?"
I laughed through my tears.
"We're making a dress."
At three, my phone buzzed.
A text from an unfamiliar number.
Coffee. Four o'clock. The Beaumont Hotel. Come alone.
A second message followed.
Unless you'd rather lose everything.
Harper.
I forwarded the texts to Rachel.
She called immediately.
"Do not meet her alone."
"I wasn't planning to."
"If you decide to attend, I'll come with you."
I thought about my bank account.
The rent.
The fake website.
The clothing sitting in Harper's boutique.
"I want to hear what she has to say."
"Then we'll hear it together."
Harper was waiting in the hotel lounge at a table beside the windows.
She wore a white designer suit and a diamond bracelet that probably cost more than my car.
When she saw Rachel, her smile tightened.
"I said come alone."
Rachel pulled out a chair.
"And Mia decided to bring counsel."
Harper looked at me.
"How exhausting."
I sat down.
"Where's Derek?"
She smiled.
"Why? Do you want him back?"
"No. I want to know whether you're planning to send him to steal the rest of my furniture."
Her smile disappeared.
Rachel placed a copy of the proposed agreement on the table.
"We can discuss your offer."
Harper leaned back.
"Five thousand dollars is generous for someone with a struggling internet business."
"That struggling business paid for the inventory in your showroom," I said.
Harper stirred her coffee.
"Derek told me you were desperate to sell."
"Then he lied."
"That wouldn't surprise me."
I stared at her.
She smiled again.
"You think you're the first woman he's lied to?"
I felt a sharp, unexpected sting.
Not because I wanted Derek.
Because she said it as though his dishonesty were something we should bond over.
"You knew he was living with me."
Harper didn't answer.
"You ordered that dress using my website. You knew exactly who I was."
She set down her spoon.
"You're very emotional."
"And you're very comfortable spending my money."
Rachel spoke before I could continue.
"We've reviewed the transfer documentation. My client has not authorized Harlow House to use her business identity or represent itself as her partner. We're also reviewing the design ownership and inventory records."
Harper's eyes narrowed.
"Good luck."
Then she reached into her purse.
She placed a photograph on the table.
It showed Derek standing beside a large shipment of clothing.
Behind him was a warehouse.
And beside him was a woman I recognized.
Cynthia Bell.
The woman who'd called me pretending to be concerned about my accusations.
Harper tapped the photograph.
"The clothes are already in production, Mia. Hundreds of them."
My stomach dropped.
"With my designs?"
"With designs I have contractual rights to use."
"Show me the contract."
Harper tilted her head.
"Ask your boyfriend."
I pushed the photograph back.
"He's not my boyfriend anymore."
She leaned forward.
"Then take the five thousand dollars and walk away. You can't fight a company my size."
I thought about my mother drawing flowers beside the green dress.
About Olivia's daughter.
About the thirty-six customers who'd trusted my name.
"No."
Harper blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"No. I'm not signing your agreement."
She laughed quietly.
"Then you'll lose everything."
I stood.
"I've already lost the man who was holding me down. Everything else is still being decided."
Rachel collected the papers.
We walked out together.
That evening, an email arrived from an address I didn't recognize.
There was no message.
Only an attachment.
A scanned contract bearing my name.
EXCLUSIVE DESIGN TRANSFER AND DISTRIBUTION AGREEMENT.
According to the document, I had sold the entire Rose Collection to Harlow House for one dollar.
The signature at the bottom looked almost identical to mine.
Almost.
Because whoever had copied it had made one tiny mistake.
They'd signed:
Mia R. Parker.
My legal name didn't have a middle initial.
The letter R stood for Rose.
It was a nickname Derek had invented after my mother died.
He was the only person who ever called me Mia Rose Parker.
I looked at the forged signature.
May you like
Then I called Rachel.
"I know who signed it."
