Chapter 7: What Margot Kept
I called Margot at eight the next morning.
She answered on the first ring, as though she had been waiting.
"Ms.
Hale," she said.
"I wondered when you'd call."
"Sienna told me Graham signed something," I said.
"Something at the atelier.
Last week."
A brief pause.
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"An amendment to the original commission," Margot said carefully.
"He came in on Monday.
Without your sister.
He requested an amendment to the original order — specifically, a clause transferring legal ownership of the completed gown."
"To whom?"
"To himself," she said.
"As the account co-holder.
The original commission was opened jointly, Ms.
Hale.
When you were planning the wedding, you added Mr.
Ashworth to the account as a courtesy — for scheduling purposes.
He used that access to request a formal ownership transfer of the completed garment."
I sat down.
I hadn't realized I was still standing.
"He was going to take the gown," I said.
"The amendment was filed," Margot said.
"But it was not yet processed.
I held it.
I was waiting for — I wasn't comfortable processing it without speaking to you first." A pause.
"I want you to know that I have documented everything.
Every visit.
Every instruction.
Every signature.
I kept copies."
"Why?" I said.
Another pause, longer this time.
"Because the first day you came in," she said, "eleven months ago, you brought a sketch of lily-of-the-valley on a folded piece of paper.
You told me they were your grandmother's favorite flower.
You said you wanted every embroidered stem to curve the way real ones do — a little to the left, because real flowers don't grow perfectly straight." She paused.
"I've worked in this atelier for nineteen years.
I know the difference between a woman ordering a dress and a woman building something."
My throat tightened.
"I have the original commission documents," she said.
"The deposit receipts.
The amendment request.
And the security footage from Monday, showing Mr.
Ashworth here alone." She paused again.
"I've already been in contact with a colleague — she handles legal matters for the atelier.
She has advised me on what to retain and how."
"Margot," I said.
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"The gown is yours, Ms.
Hale," she said simply.
"Come and collect it whenever you're ready."
I called Francis Doyle immediately after.
He listened to everything.
He said *unauthorized transfer attempt* and *breach of fiduciary duty* and one other phrase I wrote down carefully: *this significantly strengthens your position.*
He said he would contact Ashcombe Glasshouse that afternoon.
He said he would send letters — formally, on letterhead — to my mother, to Graham, and to Atelier Fontaine, the latter as a record of cooperation rather than a complaint.
He said: "Miss Hale, I want you to be prepared.
When the letters arrive, things will move quickly.
People will call you.
Some of them will be angry.
Some will try to negotiate.
You don't have to respond to any of it.
That's what I'm here for."
"What happens to the wedding?" I asked.
A brief, careful pause.
"Given the venue release was obtained under a forged signature," he said, "Ashcombe Glasshouse may be obligated to suspend the booking pending resolution.
June 7th is five weeks away." Another pause.
"It is very possible there will be no wedding on that date."
I looked at the embroidery frame on the table.
The half-finished lily-of-the-valley.
The needle still threaded.
"All right," I said.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
May you like
"I will be," I said.
And for the first time in a week, I mostly meant it.
