Outside, rain had polished the pavement black. Adrian followed me beneath the awning and said I had destroyed the deal. I told him there had never been a deal I could honestly sign. He called me selfish, then said he could not remain married to someone who embarrassed him in public. The words landed softly because he had rehearsed them. He held out his hand for the car key. I gave it to him, kept the shop key, and watched our car disappear through the rain.

My assistant, Rosa, was balancing the next week's receipts when I reached the shop. She looked at my dress and the cake box and unlocked the door without asking why I was soaked. We checked the workroom computer. Its recent-file list showed scans of customer sketches, invoices, and Lorna's original pattern book. Adrian had copied more than the portfolio revealed. Rosa wanted to call everyone immediately. I wanted to curl beneath the cutting table. Instead, we disconnected the computer and wrote down what we could prove.

At midnight, Priya emailed the full proposal. She had withdrawn her interest and preserved the files for my lawyer. She said the project's authorship claims had concerned her before dinner, which was why she had insisted I attend. I felt foolish for being grateful, then realized gratitude did not erase her due diligence or my work. Both could be true. I forwarded everything to a legal clinic Rosa knew and changed the passwords Adrian might have guessed.

I slept on the shop's fitting-room bench with my coat under my head. I noticed green fibers on the floor leading from the pressing board to a cabinet. Inside, behind coats awaiting repair, I found a banker box labeled roof estimates. It held no estimates. There were hotel renderings, loan notices, and copies of my signature that looked close until the final stroke. The newest letter said the lender would inspect our jointly owned building on Friday. It was Tuesday, and Adrian had planned to use my shop as collateral.