Now she was standing in front of a woman who had witnessed it.
She looked up.
"Do you remember her name?"
The seamstress spoke it softly.
The owner felt tears fill her eyes.
She nodded.
"She was my mother."
The older woman covered her mouth.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then the seamstress stepped forward.
The owner opened her arms.
They embraced.
Not as employer and employee.
Not as billionaire and worker.
As two women connected by the memory of someone whose hands had made beautiful things.
The production director quietly stepped away.
And for the first time since purchasing Leonne Elegance, the owner allowed herself to cry.
They sat together in the studio's small break room.
The older seamstress brought tea.
The owner held the paper cup between her hands while the woman described the workshop as it had been decades earlier.
There had been long tables.
Old machines.
A supervisor who complained whenever the windows were opened.
Workers who shared lunches.
A radio playing near the cutting area.
And the owner's mother, who could fix a difficult pattern with three pins and a pencil.
The seamstress smiled through tears.
"She used to tell us that a garment should look beautiful inside too."
The owner laughed softly.
"She told me that."
The older woman nodded.
"She hated sloppy finishing."
"Absolutely."
They shared a smile.
Then the owner asked about the cape.
The seamstress's expression became serious.
"She worked on it for weeks."
The owner listened.
"Not just the embroidery," the woman continued. "The pattern. The shoulder structure. The hidden supports."
She paused.
"The original sketch didn't work."
The owner nodded.
Her mother had told her the same thing.
The seamstress continued.
"Your mother figured it out."
For several seconds, the owner was quiet.
Then she asked, "Why didn't anyone say anything when the company began calling it the founder's creation?"
The older woman looked down.
"Some people did."
The owner leaned forward.
"What happened?"
The seamstress sighed.
"The founder's office told us the work belonged to the house."
She looked toward her tea.
"We were young. We needed our jobs."