Chapter 3 — The Statement He Signs
Kit had forty-one minutes before the first guest entered the Calder Rooms.
The number appeared in the upper corner of the production monitor while four lawyers explained why the truth could not be spoken in time.
He sat at the end of a narrow conference table on the floor above the runway. Tom occupied the chair to his right. Saskia had been sent to a separate room with Harcourt & Bell’s employment solicitor and instructions not to speak to press. Downstairs, Ottilie was refusing to release the collection.
The buyer’s lead counsel joined by video from Zurich. Her face froze whenever somebody moved too close to the camera.
“The warranty is unqualified,” she said. “Harcourt represented ownership or an enforceable exclusive licence over every material design in the acquisition schedule.”
Kit had signed the warranty twelve days ago. The document sat open before him, the disputed schedule marked in yellow.
The buyer’s counsel asked whether any creator had refused the schedule. Kit answered that an assignment remained in negotiation.
“That is not what I asked.”
Ottilie’s last redline sat in his inbox. Exclusive ownership: rejected. Moral-rights waiver: rejected. Archive licence: limited to approved campaigns. He had read it on the train from Paris and told legal to keep negotiating while diligence continued.
“Yes,” he said. “She refused the current terms.”
The finance director swore under his breath.
Marwick Cale could withdraw, call the warranty and force immediate disclosure to lenders. The company’s cash model assumed completion within five days. A failed deal would place the factory facility in breach before the next payroll.
Kit asked what happened if Harcourt acknowledged Ottilie’s authorship and paused the show.
The answer was immediate: acquisition suspended, warranty review opened, likely public announcement before markets closed.
What happened if the company treated the registration as valid pending investigation?
The buyer would maintain diligence for twenty-four hours. The show could proceed on the company’s asserted title. Jobs, lenders and valuation entered the column marked protected.
Ottilie entered the other column without anyone writing her name.
“We have an executed consultancy agreement,” Tom said.
“For services,” the company’s intellectual-property solicitor replied. “Not an assignment of pre-existing work. The sampling letter is limited, non-exclusive and conditional on final attribution. It doesn’t support the warranty.”
Kit looked through the glass wall towards the corridor. A production assistant hurried past carrying replacement seating cards. The show continued because he had not told it to stop.
“What supports the registration?” he asked.
The solicitor placed a second document beside the warranty. “An internal submission by Ms Reed. The system records when material was entered, not when it was created.”
“Source history?”
“There are scans in Mrs Harcourt’s archive folder that predate Ms Reed’s submission.”
“By how long?”
The solicitor didn’t consult her notes. “The oldest complete scan is six years and four months earlier.”
Kit knew the image. Orchard Ashes had hung above the long table in Ottilie’s first studio, weighted at the corners because the silk curled in winter.
He had watched her paint gold resist onto the branches with a tool made from a dressmaker’s pin and a wine cork.
Her mother’s plan chest had bitten a small crescent from the lower edge.
There had never been a question of who made it.
“Then the registration cannot stand,” he said.
“Internally, no. Publicly, removing it now confirms the press confrontation and directs immediate attention to the chain of title.”
The buyer’s counsel leant towards her camera. “If the chain of title is defective, Marwick Cale must suspend closing. If Harcourt knowingly warranted rights it didn’t own, we reserve the right to terminate and pursue losses.”
Tom wrote a figure on a pad and turned it towards Kit.
The bridge facility expired in nine days.
Without the acquisition proceeds, payroll could be met for six weeks, less if retailers returned the disputed collection.
The Macclesfield factory held fabric and labour commitments for the next two seasons.
Three hundred and eighty-six direct employees. More in dependent workshops and mills.
Tom connected the factory director without introducing the rights dispute. She reported that the night shift had completed cutting for fourteen looks and asked whether to release weekend overtime. The question expected Kit to confirm work already moving.
“Hold new cutting for one hour,” he said.
“We have tables laid and external pleaters booked. A hold loses the slot.”
“One hour.”
“What do I tell the floor?”
Kit looked at the lawyers. Nobody supplied language that let workers make an informed decision without exposing the acquisition warranty.
“Technical review,” Tom said.
Kit repeated it. The factory director accepted the instruction and asked whether workers sent home would be paid. Tom muted the call before answering.
“If we pay a rights stoppage before the show, we signal that the claim is credible,” he said.
“Pay the booked shift.”
The finance director marked the expense. It was a small decision compared with the acquisition and a large one to people waiting beside laid cloth. Kit felt the familiar relief of solving the measurable part.
The buyer’s counsel asked for a copy of the pause instruction. Providing it placed the title question into the diligence record. Withholding it deepened the disclosure failure already beneath Kit’s signature.
“Send it,” he said.
Tom did, while the factory clock consumed the hour.
Kit didn’t need the figure. He had approved it yesterday.
“If Ottilie confirms a licence now?” he asked.
“The buyer might proceed after diligence,” the solicitor said. “But she has demanded that the show stop and the credits be corrected. I would not assume consent.”
“I’m not assuming anything.”
Tom looked at him. Neither man remarked on the signed warranty between them.
“Can we pause the show as a technical issue?” Kit asked.
The communications director shook her head. “The exchange backstage is already on two live feeds. If we cancel without a position, the registration record becomes the only document in public. We need a statement before the doors open.”
“A statement saying what?”
She slid a draft across the table.
Harcourt & Bell has become aware of a dispute concerning the provenance of creative material in the Inheritance collection.
Pending an expedited independent review, Ottilie Vane Harcourt will take no further part in company activities.
Harcourt & Bell protects the work of every designer and doesn’t tolerate creative theft.
The paper remained beneath Kit’s hand.
“You have named her and not Saskia.”
“Saskia holds the earlier registration.”
“A false registration.”
“A record we have not yet completed reviewing.”
“We have a six-year-old source scan.”
“Which exposes the warranty.”
There it was. Not uncertainty. Sequence.
If Harcourt & Bell treated the registration as credible for forty-eight hours, the buyer might be kept in the room while Kit obtained a licence from Ottilie and corrected the credit after closing.
If the company admitted the source chronology now, Marwick Cale could withdraw before Kit found another route to payroll.
The choice didn’t arrive disguised. It placed Ottilie’s name on one side and the company on the other.
Kit’s telephone showed six messages from her. The first asked who had authorised the credit. The last contained only two words.
Tell them.
He remembered saying her name against the workroom light. He remembered her knees on the fitting-room carpet and the trust with which she had turned her back to him. The memory was neither argument nor absolution. It made the cost exact.
“Give me the room,” he said.
The lawyers remained still.
“Two minutes. All of you except Tom.”
Chairs moved. The buyer’s video feed went dark. When the door closed, Tom removed his glasses and rubbed the dent they had left beside his nose.
“You told Saskia she could use the full archive,” Kit said.
Tom’s hand stopped. “You authorised access.”
“I authorised creative review.”
“The instruction said full creative access and ownership to be regularised later.”
Kit remembered dictating it between two acquisition calls. The archive team had asked whether Saskia could see the private scans. He had been tired of delays and certain the final assignment would be signed.
“Did you know she registered the work in her name?”
“No.”
“Did you know the final file removed Ottilie?”
Tom looked towards the monitor. Thirty-two minutes.
“Saskia’s team supplied the credit package. We were going to reconcile individual attributions after the buyer approved the campaign.”
“Tomorrow?”
“After closing.”
“That is not tomorrow.”
Tom put his glasses back on. “No.”
Kit stood and walked to the window. Below, black cars were drawing up along the kerb. Guests crossed beneath umbrellas held by people paid to disappear from photographs.
His father had taught him that a house survived by deciding which damage could be repaired later. A failed collection could be replaced. A bad season could be financed. Public confidence, once broken, consumed cash faster than either.
Ottilie’s reputation had never appeared in those lessons as a corporate reserve.
Kit called her.
She answered without greeting.
“Come upstairs,” he said.
“Have you stopped the show?”
“We are holding doors.”
“That was not my question.”
“The buyer will terminate if we admit defective title before closing.”
“The title is not defective. It is mine.”
He closed his eyes. “I know.”
The line held a moment of sound from backstage: metal hangers, a steam iron, somebody calling a model number.
“Then correct it,” she said.
“I need forty-eight hours.”
“For what?”
“To keep Marwick Cale from withdrawing while we replace the warranty and agree your licence.”
“There will be no licence while Saskia is wearing my archive and you are telling the press I stole from her.”
“The statement is a temporary suspension pending review.”
“You have written it already.”
Kit looked at the unsigned sheet on the table.
“A draft.”
“Does it name me?”
He could have changed that much. Name both women. Name neither. Suspend the show without accusation and accept the buyer’s response. Every alternative transferred the immediate risk back to the company.
“Yes,” he said.
Ottilie’s voice became very quiet. “Do not sign it.”
The line ended.
Tom watched him return to the table. “If we lose the buyer today, the factory hears before market close.”
“I know.”
“We can correct Ottilie’s credit in forty-eight hours.”
“If she signs.”
Tom said nothing.
Kit read the statement again. He struck the word permanent from a sentence that didn’t contain it. He changed internal review to independent review. Small accuracies applied to a lie.
The communications director returned when he called. “We need approval now.”
Kit signed beneath the text.
The action took less time than signing a hotel receipt. His name looked no different.
Downstairs, the main doors opened. The first guests began to take their seats while the statement travelled to press inboxes and the company’s social accounts. Kit followed the communications director towards the stage entrance.
“Saskia stands with the design team,” he said.
“The photographer already has her beside you for the opening position.”
“Move her.”
“If we change the line now, it implies—”
“Move her.”
At the curtain, Tom caught Kit’s arm. “Ottilie is refusing to leave backstage.”
Kit could hear the audience beyond the set, hundreds of low conversations pressing against the opening music. A camera operator signalled thirty seconds.
“Have security wait,” Kit said.
The communications director gave him the final statement card. “Take the centre mark. Questions after the prepared line only.”
Kit stepped into the light.
The applause came first because the audience had not yet received the release. Then telephones began to lift. The statement was reaching them row by row.
He saw Ottilie at the edge of the runway entrance. She stood in the same black dress she had worn last night, hair pinned back, face without make-up. A security officer waited two paces behind her.
Kit looked at the camera directly ahead.
“Harcourt & Bell doesn’t make exceptions for creative theft,” he said. “Not even for my wife.”
The sentence was stronger than counsel’s draft. That had said the house would investigate any suspected misappropriation regardless of personal relationship. Kit changed it because the buyer wanted certainty and the room wanted a culprit before doors opened.
He knew, as he spoke, that Ottilie had made the source work. The remaining uncertainty concerned paper title, not creation. He used the harsher word anyway.