Chapter 139

Chapter 139

Vivienne smiled and shook her head. "I'm not going."

Sabrina froze, then immediately erupted. "Why not? It's DW! A top-three global luxury brand! Do you know how many designers would kill for a chance to work with them? And here they are, reaching out to you directly, and you won't even think about it before saying no?"

Vivienne took a sip of soup, swallowed slowly, then said, "Who said I'm not thinking about it?"

"You just said—"

"I said I'm not going. I didn't say I won't collaborate." Vivienne smiled.

She turned the laptop screen back toward Sabrina and tapped a few keys, pulling up a business proposal.

"Right now, I don't have the bandwidth to go overseas for a collaboration collection, and I don't want to attach my name to someone else's brand again." Vivienne placed her hand on her rounded belly. "The Branpia Group design company fought so hard to break away precisely to have an independent platform, free from anyone's control. If I run off now to sign with DW and pour all my energy into their runway show, what happens to my own company? What happens to the designers who followed me from The Branpia Group? You agreed to be the legal representative as a favor to me—am I just going to dump the whole company on you to carry alone?"

Sabrina was left speechless. After a long pause, she muttered, "I wouldn't mind…"

"I would." Vivienne cut her off. "But you don't need to be too disappointed. Not accepting a full-time offer doesn't mean we can't work together."

She reopened the email from DW's creative director and quickly typed out a reply.

The message began with a polite thank-you for the recognition, then honestly explained that she was currently establishing her own independent design brand and couldn't accept a full-time position at this time.

But in the second half of the email, she proposed an alternative.

The Branpia Group could partner with DW as their domestic collaborator to co-develop a limited collection. She would personally lead the design, while DW would provide brand channels and global launch resources.

"See?" Vivienne turned the screen toward Sabrina. "I don't go to Paris, and they don't have to fly here. Two brands collaborate, each getting what they need. My company can use DW's channels to break into international markets, and DW can use this collection to test the waters with fresh design talent in new markets. Way better than me going to work for them as creative director."

Sabrina was silent for several seconds before saying, "Vivi, when did you get so good at negotiating? This email is… how do I put it? Polite but assertive. They'd have a hard time finding a reason to say no."

Vivienne smiled and hit send. "After being locked up for a month, I didn't learn much else, but I got a lot of clarity. I used to think all I needed to do was design well—let someone else handle the business and negotiations. But things are different now. This is my company, my brand, my name. If I don't look out for myself, no one else will."

Less than two hours after she sent the email, she got a reply.

The response was even more enthusiastic than she'd expected.

Not only did they accept the collaboration proposal, but they also offered to fly over next week to discuss specifics in person. They said it had been a long time since they'd encountered a partner like Ms. Branpia—someone who understood both design and business.

Sabrina was so excited she spun around the living room three times. Only when Vivienne pulled her back down onto the couch, saying "If you keep spinning, I'm going to get dizzy," did she finally settle down.

Meanwhile, Lloyd rushed to the detention center.

Allegra had provided some supplementary testimony.

After nearly a week of continuous interrogation, she'd finally cracked and revealed new information.

In her statement, she admitted that two batches of steel rebar used in the East Suburb project had been switched out by Gavin—bypassing Archibald entirely and directly appointing a different supplier. And she, as project consultant, not only knew about it but had also signed off on the replacement authorization form.

Most critically, the timing and location she gave for this incident perfectly aligned with the moment Archibald had explicitly stated in internal company emails that material brands could not be changed without authorization.

In other words, Gavin and Allegra had conspired to swap the construction materials without Archibald's knowledge.

Not only had Archibald not condoned it—he'd explicitly objected the first chance he got.

"This testimony, combined with the email records and meeting minutes you had me pull earlier, Mr. Carnegie, forms a complete chain of evidence." For the first time in days, Lloyd's expression brightened, his tone energized. "Mr. Carnegie, this proves the material replacement wasn't your decision—it was done behind your back by Allegra and Gavin. Legally, you had no knowledge of it and therefore no intent to enable it. I've already filed with the court to reopen the investigation into the cause of the accident and submitted this new evidence. If the court accepts it, your charge could be reduced from major negligent manslaughter to supervisory negligence."

Archibald looked down at the photocopy of the testimony for a long time.

His finger paused on Allegra's signature. The handwriting was crooked.

Just like when she used to practice writing in the study at the Carnegie Manor.

When she was first learning, she'd held the pen wrong, so her handwriting always came out messy. She'd been envious of other girls who could write beautifully.

Archibald had tried to teach her many times. He'd tell her to stay calm, keep her wrist steady.

She'd always laugh and say, "I get it, Archie," then keep writing crookedly anyway.

Back then, he'd thought she was just young. That she'd grow out of it.

But she never did.

Or maybe she grew—just not in the direction he'd thought she would.

"Mr. Carnegie?" Lloyd called out softly when the silence stretched too long.

Archibald pushed the document back. "Follow procedure. Whatever the court decides, I'll accept it."

Lloyd was momentarily stunned, then understanding settled in.

He got it. Archibald wasn't indifferent—he was exhausted.

So exhausted that even good news couldn't lift his spirits anymore.

Meanwhile, after days of surveillance, the police finally caught a lead on Gavin.

He'd used a carefully forged passport, hoping to slip away unnoticed like he always had before.

But just as Gavin let his guard down, two plainclothes officers emerged from a side corridor near security and flanked him on either side.

"Sir, you need to come with us."

Gavin froze.

Without another word, the officers escorted him into a temporary holding room partitioned off at the airport.

But once Gavin realized what was happening, he calmed down. In fact, he grew remarkably composed, even chatting casually with the officers.

The interrogation lasted nearly six hours.

No matter how many times they laid Allegra's testimony on the table, no matter how many times they presented Vance's statement or the procurement records for those two batches of substandard rebar from the East Suburb project, Gavin remained slippery. He didn't admit to a single thing.

His lawyer arrived quickly. Together, they repeated the same line over and over: all this testimony and evidence was circumstantial. There was no direct proof that Gavin himself had committed or ordered any illegal act.

After eight hours in detention, the police had no choice but to release him due to insufficient evidence.

When Gavin walked out of the holding room, it was already dark.

He stood at the entrance to the airport arrivals hall and took a deep breath of the night air.

Then he pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and said in a cold voice, "Find me Vivienne's address."