The Woman Wearing My Success

By the time I reached Leah's apartment, I had read the anonymous messages at least twenty times.

Don't ask Martin Voss about the drawing.

Those eight words bothered me more than anything else.

Martin had worked with Adrian for almost ten years. He was the man Adrian trusted with contracts, suppliers, budgets, and nearly every major decision at Cross Meridian.

If something had gone wrong during construction, Martin would know.

But why would someone warn me not to speak to him?

"Elena, are you even listening?"

I looked up.

Leah was standing across the kitchen counter with her arms folded.

"Sorry. What?"

"I asked whether you replied to the last message."

"No."

"Good. Don't delete anything."

She pulled a chair beside mine and examined the screenshots I'd taken.

"So this person knows about the September eighteenth approval, the drawing revisions, and Martin Voss."

"Apparently."

"That suggests they may have access to information about the project."

"Which means they probably work for Adrian."

"Possibly. But we shouldn't assume that yet."

I leaned back.

"I don't understand why they won't just tell me who they are."

"Maybe they're afraid."

"Of Martin?"

"Maybe of losing their job. Maybe something worse. We don't know."

I looked at the folder containing my father's drawings.

"Papa kept everything."

Leah smiled.

"Your father is officially my favorite person today."

"He'd be happy to hear that."

"These originals might be extremely useful. Especially the dated sketches and correspondence that establish when you created the concept."

I ran my fingers across the folder.

For years, I'd been so busy helping Adrian build his company that I'd forgotten how much of my own work existed before him.

The Seventh Lantern had been my dream.

Not his.

Not Celeste's.

Mine.

And I was finally ready to fight for it.

The next morning, I woke to my phone ringing.

I reached across the bed without opening my eyes.

"Hello?"

"Elena, have you seen the news?"

It was Leah.

I sat up.

"What news?"

"Open the link I just sent you."

I checked my messages.

There was a video from a popular business news website.

The headline read:

THE WOMAN BEHIND ASTER TOWER: CELESTE WYNN ON CREATIVITY, SUCCESS, AND WORKING WITH BILLIONAIRE ADRIAN CROSS

My stomach sank.

I pressed play.

Celeste appeared on the screen wearing an elegant white dress, sitting across from a television host.

Behind them was a large photograph of Aster Tower.

My building.

Again.

"Celeste," the host began, "everyone is talking about Aster Tower. It's already being called one of Port Meridian's most impressive architectural achievements. What inspired the concept?"

Celeste smiled.

"Adrian always believed that a building should be more than a place to work or live. He wanted something unforgettable."

I almost threw my phone.

Those weren't Adrian's words.

They were mine.

I'd said almost the same thing during our earliest design meetings.

The host leaned forward.

"And how did you bring that vision to life?"

Celeste crossed her legs.

"Well, when you're creating something on this scale, you have to think about the entire experience. The design, the atmosphere, the emotions people feel when they enter the space."

I laughed bitterly.

She was describing my work like she'd actually been there.

The host continued.

"Some people are calling you the architect of Adrian Cross's success."

Celeste smiled wider.

"That's very flattering."

She didn't correct her.

Not once.

Instead, she continued talking about creativity, ambition, and how fortunate she was to work alongside someone as visionary as Adrian.

I stopped the video.

I couldn't watch another second.

My phone rang again.

Leah.

"Did you see it?"

"Unfortunately."

"Elena, don't respond publicly."

I stood and walked toward the window.

"She just told the entire city that she created my building."

"She carefully avoided saying she was the licensed architect."

"So that makes it okay?"

"No. But it's important. We need to distinguish what she actually said from what the interviewer implied."

I closed my eyes.

Of course Leah was right.

She always seemed capable of separating her emotions from the facts.

I wasn't there yet.

"People are congratulating her," I whispered.

"I know."

"She's getting interviews, magazine features, awards. And I'm sitting in your apartment wondering whether my professional license is in danger."

Leah's voice softened.

"That's why we're gathering evidence."

I looked at the paused image on my phone.

Celeste was smiling beside a photograph of Aster Tower.

I knew what I wanted to do.

I wanted to call her.

Ask her how she could stand in front of a camera and take credit for something she'd never created.

I wanted to ask whether she'd ever seen the original drawings.

Whether she knew how much work went into every floor, every support, every safety calculation.

But instead, I said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I won't call her."

"Thank you."

I ended the call.

Then I watched the video one more time.

Not because I wanted to.

Because this time, I was taking notes.

At eleven thirty, someone knocked on Leah's apartment door.

I wasn't expecting anyone.

When I looked through the peephole, a courier stood outside holding a large envelope.

"Delivery for Elena Reyes."

I opened the door.

"That's me."

"Signature, please."

I signed the delivery record and took the envelope.

The return address made my chest tighten.

CROSS MERIDIAN GROUP — LEGAL DEPARTMENT

I already knew it wasn't going to be good news.

I sat at the kitchen table and opened it.

Inside was a formal letter.

NOTICE TO CEASE UNAUTHORIZED USE AND DISCLOSURE OF COMPANY MATERIALS

I read the first paragraph.

Then the second.

By the third, my hands were shaking.

The letter claimed that certain architectural documents, drawings, and project materials belonged exclusively to Cross Meridian Group.

It warned me against distributing confidential information, contacting project personnel for restricted records, or making public statements that could damage the company's reputation.

I stared at the signature at the bottom.

The letter had been issued by Cross Meridian's legal department.

And copied to Adrian Cross.

My husband.

The same man who had promised to protect me for the rest of my life was now sending lawyers after me.

I called Leah.

"Please tell me you're coming home soon."

"What happened?"

"I got a letter."

"From whom?"

"Cross Meridian."

Her voice changed.

"Don't respond. I'm leaving now."

Leah arrived twenty minutes later.

She read the letter carefully while I paced around the living room.

"Well?" I asked.

She continued reading.

"Leah."

"Give me a second."

I stopped pacing.

Finally, she placed the letter on the table.

"This is a warning letter. It isn't a court order."

"So I can ignore it?"

"No. We take it seriously, but we don't panic."

I sat across from her.

"They're saying everything belongs to the company."

"They're asserting that. Whether it's true depends on your agreements, the circumstances under which you created the work, and the applicable law."

I rubbed my forehead.

"Adrian told me the same thing."

"What?"

"That I couldn't claim ownership just because I'd worked on the building."

Leah looked at me for a moment.

"Elena, there's something I need you to understand."

"What?"

"Who owns particular rights to a design, who created it, and who has authority to approve regulated construction documents can be different legal questions."

I stared at her.

"So even if Cross Meridian owns certain project rights—"

"That doesn't automatically mean you didn't design it. And it certainly doesn't prove you authorized a document someone submitted under your name."

I finally released the breath I'd been holding.

"Then what do we do?"

"We find your original design agreement."

I shook my head.

"I already looked. It's missing."

"Every copy?"

"I checked my home office."

"That's not what I asked."

I looked at her.

Then I remembered something.

"My old laptop."

Leah straightened.

"What about it?"

"When I closed my architecture studio, I backed up all my files to an external drive."

"Where is it?"

I thought for a moment.

Then I nearly jumped from my chair.

"My suitcase."

I'd packed the old drive when I left the penthouse.

Not because I thought I'd need it for a legal dispute.

I simply couldn't imagine leaving behind ten years of drawings and photographs.

It was a small black external drive with a scratched corner.

I'd owned it for so long that I'd almost forgotten what was on it.

I connected it to Leah's laptop.

A folder appeared.

REYES ATELIER — ARCHIVE

My throat tightened.

Reyes Atelier.

The business I'd started before marrying Adrian.

Back when I still believed I could build something under my own name.

I opened the folder.

There were hundreds of files.

Client proposals.

Invoices.

Contracts.

Architectural sketches.

Old photographs.

I searched for Aster Tower.

Nothing.

Then I searched for Cross Meridian.

Several results appeared.

Leah moved her chair closer.

"Try opening the oldest one."

I clicked a folder dated five years earlier.

Inside were emails, scanned documents, and a P*F named:

CMG_DESIGN_LICENSE_EXECUTED.p*f

My heart raced.

"Leah."

"I see it."

I opened the file.

The first page appeared.

ARCHITECTURAL DESIGN LICENSE AGREEMENT

Between:

Reyes Atelier

And:

Cross Meridian Group

I covered my mouth.

"Oh my God."

We had found it.

At least part of it.

I scrolled through the document.

There was the original project description.

The design services.

The licensing provisions.

The payment schedule.

And on the final scanned signature page, I saw my name.

Elena Reyes — Proprietor, Reyes Atelier

Below it was Adrian's signature on behalf of Cross Meridian Group.

I remembered signing that agreement.

We'd been sitting in his tiny office, before he owned the penthouse, before his company occupied three floors of a luxury office building.

He'd held my hand across the desk.

"This is just paperwork, sweetheart."

I remembered smiling.

Of course.

We're building our future together.

I wanted to reach back through time and shake myself.

"Elena, look at this."

Leah pointed toward the final section before the signatures.

There was a list of incorporated documents.

Appendix A — Original Design Identification and Attribution

Appendix B — Licensed Project Deliverables

Appendix C — Payment Schedule

Leah looked at me.

"Where are the appendices?"

I scrolled down.

The P*F ended after the signature page.

There was nothing else.

I checked the folder.

No separate appendix files.

"Maybe they weren't scanned," I said.

"Possibly."

"But I remember discussing the attribution section."

"What do you remember?"

I leaned back and closed my eyes.

There had been an argument.

Not with Adrian.

With Martin.

He'd wanted the company to have complete control over the project's branding and promotional materials.

I had agreed that Cross Meridian could market the development.

But I hadn't wanted my original design to be presented as somebody else's work.

I remembered insisting that my contribution be acknowledged in professional publications and project credits, subject to the agreement's terms.

Martin hadn't liked it.

Adrian had told him to stop arguing.

Give Elena her credit. It's not going to hurt anyone.

I opened my eyes.

"Appendix A."

Leah nodded.

"What about it?"

"That was the section covering my original design and attribution."

"Are you certain?"

"I remember insisting on it."

"Then we need to locate the signed version."

I stared at the screen.

"Maybe Cross Meridian has a copy."

Leah gave me a look.

I almost laughed.

"Right. The same company sending me legal threats."

"We can request it formally."

I turned back to the folder.

Then I noticed another file.

An old email export.

The subject line read:

RE: FINAL AGREEMENT — APPENDIX A

My pulse quickened.

I opened it.

The email was from Cross Meridian's former legal adviser.

Dated three days before the agreement was signed.

The message was brief.

Dear Ms. Reyes,

As discussed, please find the revised attribution provisions for Appendix A. These reflect the parties' agreement concerning identification of the original design author and authorized use of the design materials.

The final appendix is to be attached to the executed agreement.

I read those words three times.

Then I looked at Leah.

"They knew."

She studied the email.

"This is useful."

"Useful? It proves the appendix existed."

"It establishes that an appendix was being prepared and intended for attachment. We still need the final signed copy to know exactly what terms became binding."

I nodded.

She was right.

But this was the first time since the gala that I felt like I had something solid.

Something Adrian couldn't dismiss as me being emotional.

An actual record.

With dates.

Names.

And words that recognized my role.

For the first time, I smiled.

That afternoon, Leah arranged a consultation with a specialist attorney who handled architectural contracts and professional liability matters.

She also prepared a formal request for preservation of relevant company records.

I sat beside her while she worked.

The agreement.

The email.

The original drawings.

The Northbridge approval package.

The anonymous messages.

We now had enough questions to fill a notebook.

But at least we were no longer relying only on my memory.

"One more thing," Leah said.

She opened the legal letter again.

"Cross Meridian's counsel attached an agreement excerpt to support its claim about the company's rights."

I frowned.

"They did?"

"It was included in the electronic copy they sent to my office after I identified myself as your counsel."

She opened the attachment.

The first page looked familiar.

Same title.

Same parties.

Same original agreement date.

I leaned closer.

Leah scrolled through it.

Then she stopped at the signature page.

"Elena."

"What?"

"Look."

I examined the bottom of the document.

Something was different.

Not the signatures.

Not the date.

The list of appendices.

In my archived signed agreement, Appendix A was listed as part of the contract.

In the company copy, the list began with Appendix B.

I blinked.

"Wait."

Leah put the documents side by side.

She highlighted the relevant lines.

On my copy:

Appendix A — Original Design Identification and Attribution

On the company's copy:

There was no Appendix A.

The next item was Appendix B.

I leaned forward.

"That's impossible."

Leah said nothing.

I checked again.

The pages looked nearly identical.

Except for that missing entry.

"Maybe it's a different version," I whispered.

"That's one possibility."

"But both documents have the same agreement date."

"Yes."

"And both include the same signature page."

"That's what we need to investigate."

I looked at her.

"Leah, someone removed the attribution appendix from their copy."

She shook her head slightly.

"We can't conclude who changed what yet. We need the original executed agreement, its complete attachments, and the document history."

I knew she was trying to be careful.

But my hands were trembling again.

The original design credits had disappeared from the project website.

My access had been revoked.

A revision I hadn't authorized carried my professional signature.

And now the company's version of our agreement didn't even list the appendix that was supposed to identify me as the designer.

It was becoming harder to believe these were unrelated mistakes.

I stood and walked toward the window.

Below us, people moved along the sidewalk.

Cars passed through the intersection.

The city carried on as though nothing had happened.

Maybe that was the strangest part.

My life was falling apart.

But outside, everything looked perfectly normal.

"Elena?"

I turned.

Leah was staring at her laptop.

"What?"

"There's something else."

She pointed to the email from the former legal adviser.

At the bottom, beneath the signature, was a forwarded message that hadn't displayed in the preview.

It was from Martin Voss.

Sent to Adrian five years earlier.

The subject line read:

ATTRIBUTION TERMS — REYES ATELIER

My chest tightened.

Leah opened it.

The message contained only two sentences.

Adrian, I strongly advise against giving Elena permanent attribution rights over the Aster Tower concept. This could complicate future commercial arrangements.

We should remove Appendix A before execution.

I stared at the screen.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I whispered, "Adrian told him to leave it."

Leah looked at me.

"What?"

"I remember. Adrian told Martin to stop arguing and give me the credit."

I looked at the two agreements again.

One listing Appendix A.

One without it.

Had Adrian changed his mind?

Had someone altered the documents afterward?

Or had I been signing paperwork without understanding what was really happening?

I felt sick.

Leah closed the laptop halfway.

"Elena, we need to preserve these files exactly as they are. Don't edit or overwrite anything."

I nodded.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number.

The same number that had warned me about Martin.

I opened it.

Unknown: Have you found the old agreement yet?

My entire body went cold.

I showed Leah.

She read the message.

Then another appeared.

Unknown: Check what happened to Appendix A.

I stared at the screen.

Someone knew.

Someone knew about the missing appendix.

And somehow, they knew I was looking for it.

I typed a reply before Leah could stop me.

Me: Who are you?

The three typing dots appeared.

Then disappeared.

I waited.

Finally, another message came through.

Unknown: Someone who watched them take your name off the contract.

My hands began shaking.

I looked at Leah.

"Whoever this is," I whispered, "they know what happened."

She took a slow breath.

"Don't assume they're telling the truth. But save the message."

I looked down again.

A final notification appeared.

Unknown: And Elena?

I waited.

Unknown: Martin didn't make that decision alone.

I stopped moving.

Because there was only one person at Cross Meridian with the authority to overrule Martin Voss.

My husband.

Adrian Cross.

I stared at the two versions of the agreement.

Five years ago, I'd believed Adrian was protecting my future.

Now I was beginning to wonder whether he'd been planning to take it away from the very beginning.

He hadn't just erased my name from the building.

Someone had tried to erase it from the agreement that made the building possible.

And I was going to find out who.