“You’ve got something they don’t, Em,” he said. “Heart.”
About a month in, while clearing out the basement, I noticed something strange. One of the large wooden wall panels looked newer than the others and was a bit loose.
With a bit of prying and some elbow grease, the panel popped off, revealing a hidden room.
My heart pounded as I took a peek. Dust and cobwebs clouded the air, but inside were dozens of boxes stacked to the ceiling.
It also held old industrial machines, fabric bolts, unfinished fabric samples, dusty ledgers, sketchbooks with Grandpa’s handwriting, and one locked filing cabinet labeled “Private.”
I picked the lock with a hairpin and a lot of YouTube guidance.
What I found changed everything!
There were licensing agreements, patent documents, supplier contracts, and a dozen patented fabric formulas my grandfather had quietly developed, but never mass-produced. It finally dawned on me, Grandpa hadn’t given up on the business. He’d evolved it quietly, kept it under wraps, waiting for someone to take the torch!
I spent the next six months immersed in research, networking with small manufacturers, and pitching the idea of a new fabric line.
I took the blueprints and partnered with a local textile innovator and manufacturer named Sam, who saw the same sparkle that I did.
It wasn’t easy. It was hard, grueling work. Some days I worked 16 hours straight, fingers blistered and shoulders aching.
I slept in the basement during winter with a space heater and thick socks just to save rent money.
I won’t lie, I cried, I doubted, and I even lost the gas station job after falling asleep on shift!
But in the spring of the following year, we landed our first deal! A boutique fashion label in New York wanted to use Grandpa’s patented fabric in their fall line. The contract was small, but it opened doors.Continue reading…
