Urban God of Rebate: Infinite Returns Of Women And Powers

”Which one,” said Sean.

”I don’t know yet,” said Vanessa. ”Give me twenty minutes to think about it.”

She sat down at the examination table with her tablet and her notepad and started working, the focused efficiency of someone who had been making decisions under pressure since she was twelve and had learned that pressure was simply a condition, not an obstacle.

Sean’s phone buzzed.

Max.

Got the footage. Storage area. Access log shows two entries after the collection arrived. Transport team at eleven seventeen PM, standard delivery. Second entry at two forty-four AM. Single individual. Female. Used a valid credential issued to a guest of the Maison Collective showcase in the adjacent wing. I’m pulling the credential registration now.

Sean stepped into the corridor.

How long, he typed back.

Ten minutes. The credential database requires a workaround but it’s a small one.

Sean leaned against the corridor wall and looked at the venue around him, the high ceilings, the Saturday morning light coming through the upper windows, the distant sound of venue staff beginning setup in the main space.

A two forty-four AM timestamp.

Someone who knew exactly what they were doing and had exactly the access they needed to do it.

His phone buzzed again.

Max.

Credential registered to a guest named Dominique Voss. She attended the Maison Collective opening last night as an industry invitee. The access credential she was issued covers the full venue complex including the storage wing. Standard guest issuance for that event. She had legitimate access to the building.

Sean looked at the name.

He sent it to Laurent immediately.

Laurent responded in three minutes.

Dominique Voss. French designer. Seventh year competing in the same luxury retail category as Vanessa Chen. Ranked above Chen in three of the last four industry assessments by narrow margins. History of aggressive competitive behavior, two previous complaints filed against her by other designers, both settled privately. She was at the Maison Collective opening last night, confirmed on the guest list. I can have a full profile to you within the hour.

Sean read it twice.

He put his phone in his pocket and went back into the storage room.

Vanessa looked up from her tablet.

”Twenty minutes isn’t up,” she said.

”I know who did it,” said Sean.

She went very still.

”Her name is Dominique Voss,” said Sean. ”She was at an event in the adjacent wing last night. Her access credential covered the full complex including this storage area. Security footage places her here at two forty-four in the morning.”

Vanessa looked at him for a long moment.

”Dominique,” she said. The single word carrying the specific weight of someone hearing a name they recognized in a context they hadn’t anticipated.

”You know her,” said Sean.

”We’ve competed for years,” said Vanessa. ”She placed above me in the industry rankings three years running. By very small margins.” She looked at the damaged pieces on the table. ”I never thought.” She stopped.

”You wouldn’t,” said Sean. ”Because you don’t operate this way.”

Vanessa looked at him.

”I need you to focus on the show right now,” said Sean. ”The alterations team will be here soon. You have decisions to make about the running order. I’ll handle Dominique.”

”What does handling Dominique mean,” said Vanessa.

”Tonight,” said Sean. ”After the show. Leave it with me.”

She held his gaze for a long moment. Something moved through her expression that was complicated and real and not managed at all.

”Sean,” she said.

”Yes.”

”You arrived in Paris yesterday,” she said. ”You identified who did this and how in under an hour on a Saturday morning in a city that isn’t yours.”

”Max found the footage,” said Sean. ”Laurent identified the credential.”

”You made the calls,” said Vanessa. ”You built the network that made the calls possible.” She held his gaze. ”Why.”

Sean looked at her.

”Because someone built something real over eight months,” he said. ”And someone else tried to diminish it in the middle of the night with a borrowed access card.” He held her gaze steadily. ”That’s not something I’m going to let stand.”

Vanessa looked at him for a long moment, the Paris morning light coming through the high windows above them, the damaged pieces on the table between them, eight months of work that was still mostly intact despite someone’s best efforts to make it otherwise.

Then she turned back to her tablet.

”The negative space ending,” she said. ”I’ve been thinking about it for eighteen minutes.”

”And,” said Sean.

”It’s a very good idea,” said Vanessa. ”I hate that I didn’t think of it myself.” She picked up her pen. ”I’m rewriting the introduction remarks.”

The alterations team arrived thirty-seven minutes later.

The show was in eight hours.

They got to work.

—-------

The alterations team was four people.

Their lead was a woman named Céleste, mid-forties, compact and precise in the way of someone whose entire professional life existed in the space between what fabric could do and what a garment needed to do. She walked into the storage room, assessed the damaged pieces on the examination table without being told which were which, and said something in French to the three people behind her that Sean’s adequate French translated as approximately, four cuts, two are straightforward, two are complicated, we have enough time if we start now.

Vanessa stepped forward and spoke to her in French that was considerably better than Sean’s, the fluid conversational speed of someone who had been coming to this city for twelve years and had used the language properly rather than adequately.

Sean watched the two of them communicate over the pieces with the specific shorthand of people who shared a technical vocabulary. Céleste asked questions. Vanessa answered them. Hands moved over the fabric, indicating the cut lines, the thread direction, the structural considerations that made each repair its own specific problem.

After four minutes Céleste nodded once and her team spread out around the examination table and began.

Vanessa stepped back.

Sean was beside her.

”Two hours minimum,” she said quietly. ”Possibly two and a half. Céleste is very good but two of the cuts are at complex junction points.” She looked at the team working. ”I need to be here while they work.”