My sister thought she could humiliate me in front of 200 wedding guests and get away with it, until Grandma Rose led a mass walkout and the groom’s own grandmother stepped forward with a sealed envelope—because the real reason everyone was leaving had nothing to do with me. / Chapter 6 / 40

Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of Victoria

Two days later, Julian secured a court order allowing me to inspect the Brooklyn warehouse Michael had mentioned.

Michael met Julian and me at the loading dock. He wore dark jeans and a plain navy jacket, completely different from the polished, pampered aristocrat he had appeared to be at the country club.

“She kept the key on her private ring,” Michael said, unlocking the heavy padlock and rolling back the corrugated steel door.

Dust motes danced in the shafts of morning light.

Inside sat rows of industrial shelving covered in drop cloths. I walked forward and pulled the first cloth away.

I gasped.

Underneath were my original hand-carved mahogany bureaus—pieces I had spent three years building from reclaimed church pews. Beside them were my brass-inlaid coffee tables, each signed with my personal maker’s mark: a small stylized sparrow carved into the underside.

Victoria had ground off the sparrows with an abrasive tool and slapped gold foil stickers over the raw wood: *“Victoria Carter Atelier - Limited Edition.”*

“She was selling these to high-end decorators in Manhattan for twelve thousand dollars a piece,” Julian remarked, examining the catalog files left on a workbench. “She had orders booked through next spring. She didn't just steal your inventory, Emily. She was using your talent to establish herself as an elite designer while planning to run you out of the market.”

Michael clenched his fists. “I helped her carry some of these crates last summer. She told me she had hired artisans in upstate New York to handcraft them according to her sketches. I’m so sorry, Emily. I’m so damn sorry.”

“You didn't know,” I said softly, touching the scarred wood where my little sparrow mark had been obliterated.

“I should have asked questions,” Michael said. “The truth was right there. But I wanted the fairy tale.”

Suddenly, footsteps echoed at the entrance of the warehouse.

“Get away from my things!”

We spun around.

Victoria stood framed against the sunlight, flanked by a tired-looking public defense lawyer. She had posted bail—likely funded by my father selling his last luxury sports car. She looked wild, her designer sunglasses pushed into unwashed hair, her fingernails chipped, wearing an oversized trench coat that failed to hide how violently she was trembling.

“Victoria,” Julian warned, “you are in violation of a restraining order simply by approaching Emily.”

“She’s in *my* warehouse!” Victoria screamed, her voice bouncing shrilly against the high rafters. “Those are my designs! I came up with the rustic-modern concept! She just cut the wood! I’m the creative visionary!”

“You're a plagiarist and an embezzler,” Julian replied coolly, holding up his phone. “And you just breached the distance conditions of your bail. Officer? You can come in now.”