I Made His Wife’s Dress Now I’ll Marry Another Chapter 60
During the recess, Grandfather cornered Sabine in the hall.
“Without Whitmore, who do you think you are?”
Sabine was deathly pale, but she didn’t retreat behind anyone.
“That’s what you said to Clara, too, isn’t it?”
Grandfather raised his hand.
My father caught his wrist.
“Enough.”
He had said those same two words six years ago. Then, he had meant for me to stop asking questions.
This time, he stopped the blow before it could fall.
Grandfather shook with fury. “Have all of you forgotten who kept this brand alive?”
“That’s what you said when Paolo lost the use of his hand,” I said.
He froze.
The union hearing records and the photographs Paolo had submitted years ago were still sitting in the old factory accident files. The blocked aisles, the unlicensed subcontracting workshops, the delayed rehabilitation payments—none of it had ever disappeared.
The brand’s lawyer clearly knew that.
He stepped toward Grandfather and said, his voice low, “Sir, do not say another word.”
Grandfather shook him off. “That dismissed cutter doesn’t deserve to destroy Whitmore.”
The reporters at the end of the hall heard every word.
As the camera flashes went off, I realized I didn’t have to hand over anything else.
With one sentence, after hiding it for fifteen years, Grandfather had turned the lining inside out all by himself.