Chapter 2: The Sketchbook in the Drawer
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Helen's voice.
There's something you need to know about your mother.
I sat on the floor of my small apartment, surrounded by fabric samples, loose sketches, and the half-finished dress I had been working on for three months.
Rain tapped against the window.
My apartment smelled faintly of coffee and laundry detergent.
It was nothing like Bellamy House.
The kitchen was barely large enough for one person. The radiator made a strange clicking sound, and the closet door refused to close unless I pushed it with my shoulder.
But this was where my mother had raised me.
And it was where she had taught me to dream.
I walked to the bedroom and pulled open the bottom drawer of an old wooden cabinet.
Beneath a stack of folded sweaters sat a blue notebook.
Its corners were worn.
A small brown stain marked the back cover.
I ran my fingers over the name written inside.
*Eleanor Carter — Private Collection, 1998.*
I opened it.
The first pages contained familiar sketches: evening dresses, tailored coats, delicate embroidery, and silhouettes that looked almost impossible to construct.
Then I reached a page I hadn't examined in years.
A photograph had been taped to the paper.
My mother stood beside a young man in a dark suit. They were both smiling in front of a fashion exhibition.
Behind them was a banner.
BELLAMY HOUSE — INTERNATIONAL DESIGN SHOWCASE.
I leaned closer.
The man looked familiar.
I turned the photograph over.
Two handwritten words appeared on the back.
For Eleanor.
Below them was a signature.
*Arthur Bellamy.*
I froze.
Arthur Bellamy was the founder of Bellamy House.
The same company I had interviewed with that morning.
I stared at the photograph for a long time.
Why had my mother never told me?
My phone buzzed.
It was a message from Olivia.
Hey, Maya. Just checking that you got home safely. Helen asked me to remind you to bring the sketchbook tomorrow.
I typed a reply.
I found something interesting in it. I'll bring it.
Then another message appeared.
Also, be careful around Vanessa tomorrow.
I frowned.
Why?
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally, Olivia sent:
She has been asking questions about your meeting with Helen.
I stared at the screen.
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
It was my landlord.
I answered with a sigh.
"Hello, Mr. Peterson?""
"Hi, Maya. Sorry to call this late.""
"Is something wrong?""
"Your rent payment hasn't come through.""
I closed my eyes.
"I know. I'm sorry. I have an interview opportunity, and I'm waiting to hear back.""
"That doesn't pay the rent.""
"I understand. I can pay half on Friday and the rest next week.""
He exhaled.
"That's what you said last month.""
I looked at the sketchbook in my lap.
"I know. I'm trying.""
There was a pause.
"Friday, Maya. I can't keep making exceptions.""
"I understand. Thank you.""
The call ended.
I sat quietly for a moment.
Then I opened the notebook again.
On the inside back cover, my mother had written something in small letters.
If they ever try to erase the truth, look beneath the first collection.
I read it twice.
Beneath the first collection?
I turned the page.
A small folded envelope slipped out.
It landed on the floor.
My hands trembled as I picked it up.
Inside was a narrow piece of paper with a name and an address.
*Arthur Bellamy. Private Office.*
Beneath it was a date.
October 14, 1998.
I searched through the remaining pages, but there was nothing else.
I looked at the clock.
12:43 a.m.
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
The following morning, I arrived at Bellamy House fifteen minutes early.
I wore the same black shoes, but I had replaced my cardigan with a simple navy blazer borrowed from my neighbor.
My mother's sketchbook was tucked safely inside my bag.
At reception, the blonde receptionist looked up.
Her expression changed when she recognized me.
"You're back?""
"Good morning. Yes. I'm meeting Helen Brooks.""
She checked her computer.
"One moment.""
She picked up the phone.
I heard her whisper something.
Then her eyes flicked toward me.
"Ms. Carter, please go directly to the twenty-fourth floor.""
"Thank you.""
I headed toward the elevators.
But before the doors closed, a familiar voice called out.
"Maya!""
Vanessa hurried toward me.
Her white suit was immaculate. A pair of oversized sunglasses rested on her head.
She stepped into the elevator.
"How lovely. You're back.""
"Good morning.""
"Did you sleep well?""
I looked at her.
"Yes, thank you.""
She pressed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
Then she turned toward me.
"I heard you had a private meeting with Helen yesterday.""
I kept my expression neutral.
"Yes.""
"Interesting.""
The elevator hummed.
Vanessa examined my blazer.
"New clothes?""
"Just something borrowed.""
"How resourceful.""
She smiled without warmth.
"Let me give you some advice, Maya. Helen is a very busy woman. She doesn't appreciate people wasting her time.""
"I'll keep that in mind.""
"Good. And whatever you told her yesterday, I suggest you keep it professional.""
I looked at her.
"I don't understand.""
"Of course you don't.""
The elevator doors opened.
Vanessa stepped out first.
"Come on. I'll take you to her office.""
I followed her down the corridor.
But instead of turning toward Helen's office, Vanessa stopped at a glass-walled room.
"Wait here.""
She walked inside.
Through the glass, I watched her speak to a man sitting at a desk.
He handed her a document.
She read it.
Then she looked directly at me.
A few seconds later, she returned.
"Change of plans.""
"What happened?""
"Helen has an emergency meeting. I'll take your sketchbook and make sure she receives it.""
I tightened my grip on my bag.
"She asked me to bring it personally.""
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Are you suggesting I'm lying?""
"No. I just want to give it to her myself.""
She extended her hand.
"Then perhaps you should learn how things work here. When a senior employee offers to help, you don't argue.""
I hesitated.
Then a voice came from behind us.
"Vanessa?""
Olivia approached carrying two folders.
"Why are you standing out here?""
Vanessa immediately lowered her hand.
"I'm helping Maya.""
Olivia glanced at my bag.
"Did you bring the sketchbook?""
"Yes.""
"Great. Helen is waiting.""
Vanessa turned sharply.
"She's waiting?""
"Yes. She just called.""
For a second, Vanessa looked as though she wanted to say something.
Instead, she smiled.
"Well, then. Don't let me keep you.""
Olivia led me toward Helen's office.
When we entered, Helen was standing beside the window with a cup of tea.
"Good morning, Maya.""
"Good morning.""
I placed the sketchbook on her desk.
Helen didn't open it immediately.
Instead, she looked at me.
"Before we discuss this, I want you to answer something honestly.""
"All right.""
"Did your mother ever tell you that she had designed an entire collection for Bellamy House?""
I shook my head.
"No.""
Helen slowly opened the notebook.
She turned through several pages.
Then she stopped at a drawing of a dramatic silver evening gown.
Her fingers hovered over the paper.
"Good heavens.""
"What is it?""
Helen sat down.
"This design.""
She turned the page toward me.
"Do you recognize it?""
I nodded.
"Yes. It's one of my mother's earliest sketches.""
Helen looked at me.
"Do you know what we called this collection?""
I shook my head.
She took a deep breath.
"The Eleanor Collection.""
My mouth fell open.
Helen continued.
"Your mother was one of the most talented young designers Arthur Bellamy ever worked with. She created an extraordinary collection in 1998. It was supposed to launch her career.""
"Then why did she become a seamstress?""
Helen looked down.
"Because the collection was stolen.""
I felt the room tilt.
"What?""
"Someone took her designs, presented them as their own, and convinced Arthur Bellamy that your mother had copied another designer.""
I stared at her.
"Who?""
Helen closed the notebook.
Before she could answer, the office door opened.
A man in his late sixties walked inside.
His silver hair was neatly combed, and he leaned slightly on a polished wooden cane.
Helen stood immediately.
"Mr. Bellamy.""
I recognized him from the photograph.
Arthur Bellamy.
He looked at the sketchbook.
Then at me.
His eyes widened.
"Good God.""
He stepped closer.
"You're Eleanor's daughter.""
I nodded slowly.
"Yes.""
He looked at the notebook again.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then his voice broke.
"Where did you find this?""
"It belonged to my mother.""
Arthur closed his eyes.
"I've spent twenty-eight years wondering what happened to those original designs.""
Helen moved closer.
"Arthur, I think Maya deserves to know the truth.""
He nodded.
Then he looked directly at me.
"Your mother didn't leave Bellamy House because she wasn't good enough, Maya.""
He paused.
"She left because someone here made sure she would never have the chance to prove how good she was.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Who?""
Arthur opened his mouth.
But before he could answer, his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression darkened.
"Not now.""
He rejected the call.
A moment later, the office door opened again.
Vanessa walked inside without knocking.
"Arthur, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we have a serious problem with the autumn collection.""
Her eyes landed on the sketchbook.
Then on me.
Her face went completely white.
May you like
For the first time since I had met her, Vanessa looked frightened.
And Arthur Bellamy noticed.
