Chapter 3: Forty-Seven Missing Gowns
My son turned the folder toward Celeste.
“Why did you certify that forty-seven gowns had been donated when they were sold through private appointments?”
Celeste stared at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You signed every inventory page.”
“I sign hundreds of documents.”
I removed the first report and placed it beside her empty coffee cup.
Her signature appeared beneath the gold seal of Rutherford Holdings.
“My name is Eleanor Mercer,” I said.
“I founded Mercer Bridal thirty-two years ago.”
The bride on the pedestal slowly lowered her hands.
The manager, Victor Hale, gripped the counter hard enough to whiten his knuckles.
Celeste gave a short laugh.
“You expect us to believe that?”
My son faced her.
“I’m Julian Mercer.”
“I know who you are.”
“Then you know she’s my mother.”
Celeste looked at my coat again.
This time, she noticed the tiny stitched M inside the collar.
Victor stepped forward.
“Mrs.
Mercer, there has obviously been a misunderstanding.”
“Forty-seven misunderstandings?” I asked.
“The donation records were handled by temporary staff.”
The sales associate raised her phone.
“That isn’t true, Mr.
Hale.”
Victor’s head snapped toward her.
“Lena, be quiet.”
“No.” Lena’s hand shook, but the phone remained raised.
“Those gowns were promised to Second Promise Brides.
You made me remove the donation tags.”
Celeste folded her arms.
“An unhappy employee making accusations proves nothing.”
I slid another page across the counter.
“This is a private-sale invoice for gown number 6118.
It was donated by the widow of Senator Bell.”
Victor glanced at Celeste.
She did not look back.
“The invoice bears your approval,” I said.
“The buyer paid eighteen thousand dollars.
The charity received nothing.”
Celeste pushed the page away.
“Speak to accounting.”
“I did.”
For the first time, her diamond bracelet stopped moving.
Julian opened the folder to the final page.
“You also signed a disclosure guaranteeing that Rutherford Holdings had no private financial interest in this location.”
“So?”
“So twelve payments went to a company registered at your apartment.”
“That company belongs to a consultant.”
“What’s the consultant’s name?”
Celeste’s mouth opened, then closed.
Victor moved toward Lena.
“Give me the phone.”
One of Julian’s executives blocked him again.
“Touch her,” Julian said, “and security will remove you.”
Celeste’s smile returned, thinner than before.
“You cannot speak to us this way.
My father is acquiring this chain.”
I turned to Julian.
“What did she say?”
“Mother—”
“Is Rutherford Holdings buying Mercer Bridal?”
Celeste reached into her handbag and removed a cream envelope.
“Your son didn’t tell you?” she asked.
“How touching.”
Julian held out his hand.
“Give me that.”
She stepped away and unfolded a document.
“Three weeks ago, Julian offered my father controlling interest in all eleven Mercer salons.”
I looked at my son.
He did not deny it.
Celeste tapped the signature at the bottom.
“You came here to expose me, Mrs.
Mercer.
But your own son has already agreed to sell me the room you’re standing in.”
She placed the signed letter of intent over my evidence.
May you like
“Tell her, Julian,” she said.
“Tell your mother what her life’s work was worth to you.”
