Daniel closed his folder.
"There's another matter."
"What is it?"
"Claire Bennett's dismissal."
Eleanor turned back toward him.
"Go on."
"The termination record states that she was dismissed for insubordination and failure to comply with a management directive. However, there is no evidence of misconduct. The only written explanation comes from Victoria."
"Was the dismissal approved by regional management?"
"No. Victoria entered the termination herself, using her local authority."
Eleanor's expression hardened.
"Then the company has a responsibility to correct the record."
Daniel nodded.
"I've already asked the legal team to prepare a formal review."
"Good. But I don't want this to become a gesture made because Claire knows me. Every employee who was treated unfairly deserves the same attention."
"Agreed."
Eleanor returned to the papers on her desk.
After a moment, Daniel asked, "May I speak frankly?"
"Always."
"You're taking this very personally."
Eleanor looked at him.
"I am."
"I understand why. But there are many problems in a company this size. We can't personally intervene in every store."
"You're right. We can't."
"Then perhaps we should focus on the formal investigation and let the management team handle the rest."
Eleanor slowly closed the file.
"Daniel, when Robert and I opened our first workshop, we had six sewing machines and three employees. We knew every person who worked for us. We knew their families, their struggles, and their dreams. When we could not afford to pay ourselves, we still made sure the workers were paid."
She paused.
"I know a company becomes more complicated as it grows. But complexity should never become an excuse for forgetting people."
Daniel lowered his head slightly.
"I understand."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Then help me make sure that the people who work for us understand it too."
Claire spent the next several days searching for work.
She updated her résumé, visited employment agencies, and submitted applications to several clothing stores. Some positions paid too little to cover the medical expenses at home. Others offered no health insurance. A few employers promised to call back but never did.
She tried not to become discouraged.
Every morning, she woke early, prepared breakfast for Margaret, and went out with a folder of applications. Every evening, she returned with the same folder and a little less hope.
Margaret noticed.
"You've been walking all over the city," she said one night.
"I need to find something."
"You will."
"I don't know when."
"Neither do I. But worrying about tomorrow won't make it arrive any slower."
Claire sat beside her mother.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better today."
"Did you take your medication?"
"Yes."
"All of it?"
Margaret gave her a knowing look.
"Yes, nurse."
Claire smiled.
"Good."
Margaret reached for her daughter's hand.
"Did you hear from that woman you helped?"
"Eleanor?"
"Yes."
"She gave me her number. She said she'd like to talk again."
"Then perhaps you should call her."
"I don't want to bother her."
"Claire, she asked you to call. That means you aren't bothering her."
Claire considered this.
"I suppose."
Margaret studied her daughter's face.
"You know, when your father was alive, he used to say that the most important thing a person could own was a good name."
Claire smiled faintly.
"I remember."
"He didn't mean a title or a reputation. He meant being able to look at yourself honestly. He wanted you to grow up knowing that you could lose money, lose a job, even lose people's approval, but you should never have to lose your conscience."
Claire felt a lump rise in her throat.
"I think he would have been proud of you," Margaret said.
Claire looked down.
"I hope so."
"He would have been."
Later that evening, after Margaret had gone to bed, Claire took Eleanor's card from the drawer.
She stared at the number for several minutes before dialing.
Eleanor answered after the second ring.
"Claire?"
"Hello. It's me."
"How lovely to hear from you. How is your mother?"
"She's all right today. Thank you for asking."
"I'm glad. And how are you?"
Claire hesitated.
"Still looking for work."
"Have you found anything suitable?"
"Not yet."
"Would you be willing to meet me tomorrow? There's something I would like to discuss with you."
Claire felt nervous.
"Is it about the boutique?"
"Partly. But I would also like to introduce you to someone."
"Who?"
"A person who may be able to help you understand the opportunities available to you."
Claire agreed to meet.
When she ended the call, she looked at the small card again.
For the first time, she wondered whether the events of the past few days might lead somewhere she had not expected.
The following morning, Eleanor invited Claire to the headquarters of Whitmore Luxury Group.
The building stood in the heart of the business district, its glass façade rising above the surrounding offices. Claire had passed it many times without knowing what it was.
At the entrance, a receptionist greeted her by name.
"Good morning, Miss Bennett. Mrs. Whitmore is expecting you."
Claire followed an assistant through the lobby.
The walls displayed photographs of fashion collections from different decades. Some showed elegant models on runways; others captured workshops, designers, and seamstresses working behind the scenes.
One photograph caught Claire's attention.
It showed Eleanor and Robert standing outside a small building with a hand-painted sign. They were young, smiling, and standing close together. Behind them were three sewing machines and a group of workers.
Claire stopped.
"That's where it began," the assistant said.