CHAPTER 6
I froze at the podium.
The applause faded into a ringing in my ears.
“Elara?” My father touched my arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t speak. I just pointed toward the fire exit.
By the time security reached it, she was gone.
The next hour was chaos.
The building was locked down. Every exit sealed. Every room, closet, and bathroom searched. Inspector Moreau’s team swarmed the premises. But Amber had vanished like smoke through a keyhole.
“How?” I demanded, pacing the length of my office. “There were two hundred security people in that building. How does one woman just walk in and walk out again?”
Inspector Moreau was studying the security footage, frame by frame.
“Because she didn’t come alone,” she said, pointing to a screen. “Look. Here she is entering through the loading dock at 8:42. And there—see that maintenance worker who waves her through? That’s not a maintenance worker. That’s Victor Hale. He’s been on the board of Vaucluse for fourteen years. He’s one of your father’s oldest… associates.”
My father’s face darkened.
“Victor,” he breathed. “I trusted him. He was an usher at my wedding.”
“Victor Hale, Marcus Thorne, and Richard Torres,” Inspector Moreau said, tapping a whiteboard where she’d connected names with red string. “The three men your wife was going to testify against. All three still have connections to this company. All three have the motive, the money, and the access to make your life very difficult.”
She turned to me.
“And Amber Torres? She’s not just the daughter. She’s the face of the operation. The inside woman. For three years, she’s been feeding them information. Contracts. Design concepts. Financial projections. Everything they needed to slowly bleed Vaucluse dry from the inside out.”
I sank into my chair, the weight of it pressing down on me.
“The gala,” I said slowly. “When she ripped my dress… that wasn’t just jealousy. That was sabotage. If the presentation had failed, if I’d been humiliated… the board would have never approved me as Creative Director. Dad would have looked weak. And they could have made their move to take over the company.”
“Exactly,” Inspector Moreau said. “And when that failed? They switched to Plan B. Intimidation. Threats. Trying to scare you into quitting. Scaring your father into selling.”
She leaned against the desk.
“But here’s what they didn’t count on. You. Every time they hit you, you come back stronger. The collection launch today? That was a masterstroke. The foundation in your mother’s name? You’ve rallied every designer, every influencer, every journalist in the industry to your side. Public opinion is with you. And that makes you dangerous.”
My phone buzzed on the desk.
Another unknown number.
We all stared at it.
“Answer it,” Inspector Moreau said, nodding to her tech who was already setting up tracing equipment. “Speakerphone. Keep them talking.”
I took a deep breath and pressed accept.
“Hello?”
A voice came through—distorted, mechanical, obviously filtered.
“Hello, Elara. Did you like my little visit today?”
Amber. Even through the filter, I’d know that voice anywhere.
“Amber,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Why are you doing this? We gave you everything. A career. Fame. Money. You threw it all away. Why?”
She laughed—a cold, bitter sound.
“Gave me? You gave me nothing! This was always supposed to be mine! My father built this company with yours. They were equal partners. And then your mother found some files, made up some lies, and got my father thrown out like garbage! We lost everything. Our home. Our friends. Our name. While you… you got to grow up in a palace, a spoiled little princess who never worked a day in her life!”
“That’s not true,” I said. “Your father was stealing. He was going to destroy everything both of your families built. My mother was trying to save the company—”
“Save it for YOU!” Amber shrieked, the filter cracking. “It’s always about you Vaucluses! The golden family! The perfect ones! Well, it ends today, Elara. It all ends.”
I glanced at Inspector Moreau. She was signaling me—keep talking, almost there.
“Ends how, Amber? What are you going to do? Kill me like you killed my mother?”
The line went dead silent for a beat.
And then Amber’s voice dropped to a whisper, cold and triumphant.
“Your mother was an accident. A necessary sacrifice. But you… oh, Elara… I’m going to enjoy destroying you. And I’m going to start with the one thing you love most.”
Click.
The line went dead.
The tech looked up, shaking his head.
“Too fast. Burner phone. We got the tower but that’s it.”
My father was already on his feet, reaching for his coat.
“The one thing I love most,” he said, his face ashen. “She means the house. She’s going to hit the archives. The original Vaucluse pieces. Your mother’s first gowns. The Starlight Gown. Everything.”
We raced to the archives on the top floor.
The heavy steel doors were standing open.
The night security guard lay unconscious on the floor.
Inside, the room was a nightmare.
Gowns that had survived two world wars, that had been worn by queens and movie stars, lay in shredded heaps on the floor. Fabric torn. Beads scattered. Paint splashed across irreplaceable embroidery.
And in the center of the room, tied to the display stand where the Starlight Gown should have been, was a single sheet of paper.
I walked forward slowly and picked it up.
May you like
Written in lipstick—Amber’s signature shade of red—were four words:
I HAVE YOUR BROTHER.
