The Missing Minutes

The workroom staff had arranged their chairs in two careful rows.

I asked if we could pull them into a circle instead.

Nobody moved until Helen stood and dragged the first chair across the floor. Then everyone got up at once.

Lucy sat near the door. Peter stayed standing behind her until Marcus offered him a seat.

I didn't open with the video.

"Your wages are being paid as usual," I said. "The workroom is staying open. No one has been asked to cut jobs as part of this review. If that changes, you will hear it directly from us."

A woman beside the cutting table raised her hand.

"Does that include the pattern cutters? We were told their jobs could go outside."

"Who told you?"

She looked at Peter.

His face colored.

"There had been discussions before the acquisition," he said.

"With whom?" Marcus asked.

"Mr. Blake."

I remembered the payment description: external production support.

"Nothing has been authorized by the new management," I said. "We'll review the proposal with the people whose work it affects."

Another woman folded her arms.

"We've heard that before."

"I believe you."

She looked almost annoyed that I hadn't argued.

"I can't ask you to trust a meeting," I continued. "I can give you direct contact details and a written answer about the jobs you're worried about. You can judge what happens after that."

The room eased a little.

Then Lucy spoke.

"Is Ms. Delacroix coming back?"

"She won't be supervising staff while the review is underway."

"She called me last night."

I felt Elaine turn beside me.

"On your personal phone?" she asked.

Lucy nodded.

"She said the new owners would look for people to blame. She said she could still protect me if I remembered Friday correctly."

Peter lowered his eyes.

"What did she want you to remember?" I asked.

"That you grabbed the dress. That you frightened her."

I kept my hands still on my knees.

"And what do you remember?"

Lucy looked at me directly.

"You asked about the lining. She got angry because you wouldn't let her talk to me like that."

Her voice shook, but she kept going.

"I didn't say it on Friday. I'm saying it now."

Helen reached over and squeezed her hand.

I had prepared for anger in that meeting. For accusations and nervous questions. I wasn't prepared for how much those simple sentences would hurt.

"Thank you," I said.

Afterward, Lucy waited while everyone else returned to their stations.

"I have something," she told Elaine. "I wasn't sure if I should send it."

She opened a video on her phone.

The camera pointed at a dress, then jolted toward my voice.

"We were making short clips for the event page," she explained. "I put the phone on the shelf while I helped you with the hanger. I forgot it was still recording."

The image caught my shoulder, most of Victoria, and the mirror behind us.

It caught the slap.

I watched myself go still.

I heard the impact again.

My fingers tightened against the chair.

Elaine paused it.

"We don't have to watch it together."

"Finish it," I said.

The rest showed Victoria calling security and Adrian telling her to stop talking only after he heard my name.

The sound was clearer than the overhead security footage.

Lucy stared at the dark screen when it ended.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner."

"You couldn't have known we'd need it," I said.

Elaine asked her permission to use the recording in the company's response. Lucy agreed, then asked whether the video could be sent without her personal number attached.

"Of course," Elaine said.

By evening, our statement was ready. Brief. Specific. The boutique remained open. Workshop jobs were not being eliminated. The circulated clip omitted an assault. We included the relevant continuous footage with staff and uninvolved guests obscured where needed.

I called my mother before it went out.

"You may not want to watch it."

"Did you want to live it?"

"Mom."

"I won't look away from you because it's unpleasant for me."

I stood at my office window after the call, holding the phone with both hands.

The city continued below me. Delivery bikes, taxis, a man carrying flowers upside down.

I wanted my father so badly that the ordinary movement of the street felt offensive.

An hour later, the account that posted the edited clip added our footage. It didn't make everyone honest. It did make the lie harder to repeat without seeing what had been removed.

Victoria called three times.

I sent each call to Elaine.

The next morning, Peter asked to speak with me.

He sat on the edge of the chair Lucy had used on Friday.

"I saw her hit you," he said.

"I know."

His hands twisted in his lap.

"I thought if I stayed out of it, it would stop sooner."

I let him sit with that.

"You're responsible for the people in that room," I said. "You left them to work out whether a surname mattered more than their safety."

"I understand."

"Marcus will discuss your position with you. This won't be handled by pretending you weren't there."

He nodded and left.

I was still thinking about him when Helen knocked.

She carried a thick gray binder.

"I spent last night remembering where we kept the old sample lists," she said.

"Please tell me you didn't stay here all night."

"I went home. I remembered while brushing my teeth."

She placed the binder on the desk.

Each page recorded a garment, a date, materials, fittings, and the names of people who had worked on it.

One column listed the outside pattern supplier.

Beside the first version of the ivory coat was my father's name.

Helen turned to the next page.

And the next.

Six designs.

Six entries.

For the first time since Henry offered to buy my silence, I felt something stronger than anger.

I felt him running out of places to hide.

Helen left the binder open while I called Elaine. I asked her to arrange the same careful review as before, then looked up at the woman standing beside my desk.

"Will you explain these entries to the specialist?"

"Every one," she said. "For as long as it takes."