Chapter 2: The Receipt in My Father's Office
At 8:15 the next morning, my phone began vibrating.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed, still wearing the oversized sweatshirt I'd slept in.
Three missed calls from Mom.
Two messages from Brielle.
One message from Dad.
*Dad: Come to my office at 9. Bring everything related to the blue dress.*
I stared at the screen.
For a moment, I considered staying in my room.
The previous evening had drained me. My eyes were swollen, my throat hurt, and I couldn't stop seeing the blue silk disappearing into the flames.
But something about Dad's message made me get dressed.
I pulled on jeans and a simple white sweater, then gathered my receipts, photographs, and the order confirmation from the dressmaker.
At exactly nine, I walked downstairs.
Our father's office was at the end of the main hallway. It was the one room in the house where nobody entered without permission.
Dark wood shelves lined the walls. Framed photographs showed Dad standing beside buildings he'd helped construct. His old leather chair sat behind a wide desk.
Brielle was already there.
She wore a pale pink blouse, cream trousers, and large sunglasses pushed onto her head.
Her black handbag rested on the chair beside her.
She looked immaculate.
She also looked furious.
Mom sat near the window.
Dad stood behind his desk.
“Close the door, Nia.””
I did.
“Sit down.””
I took the chair opposite Brielle.
She glanced at my folder.
“Wow. You actually brought evidence?””
I ignored her.
Dad placed a document on the desk.
“Before we discuss the dress, I want everyone to understand something. I asked for this meeting because I will not allow either of my daughters to lie in this house and expect me to pretend I don't notice.””
Brielle sighed.
“Dad, I already apologized.””
He looked at her.
“When?””
“Last night.””
“You told your sister she deserved what happened.””
“That isn't what I meant.””
I opened my mouth, but Dad raised a hand.
“Let me finish.””
He picked up a printed receipt.
“Brielle, do you recognize this?””
She glanced down.
“It's a receipt.””
“For a purchase made three weeks ago.””
“Okay?””
“An expensive purchase.””
“Dad, I have a job. I can buy things.””
“I didn't say you couldn't.””
He slid the paper across the desk.
Brielle glanced at it again.
Then her expression changed.
It was subtle.
A tightening around the mouth. A brief movement in her eyes.
I noticed it immediately.
Dad noticed it too.
“Do you recognize the merchant?””
Brielle folded her arms.
“No.””
“Really?””
“I don't memorize every store I shop at.””
Dad leaned against his desk.
“This purchase was made using a family business credit account.””
Mom shifted in her chair.
“Marcus, perhaps we should discuss this privately.””
He looked at her.
“That's exactly what we're doing.””
I looked between them.
“What purchase?””
Dad turned the receipt toward me.
The merchant's name was printed at the top.
It was the same boutique where I'd purchased the blue silk fabric and paid the dressmaker.
But the amount was nearly four times what I'd spent.
I frowned.
“Dad, I don't understand.””
He tapped the paper.
“This transaction was approved using the foundation's purchasing account. The account was intended for event-related expenses.””
Brielle straightened.
“I was helping with the gala.””
Dad nodded.
“You were. As a volunteer.””
“And I needed clothes.””
“You needed a gown?””
“It's a formal event.””
Dad's voice remained calm.
“You told me the dress was for a foundation presentation.””
“It was.””
“Then why was the purchase delivered to your apartment?””
Silence.
I turned toward Brielle.
She looked away.
Dad opened a second folder.
Inside were printed emails and account statements.
“Brielle, you were given temporary access to the purchasing account because you volunteered to coordinate some of the gala's vendor arrangements.””
“I remember.””
“You were specifically told that the account could only be used for approved expenses.””
“I know that.””
“Then explain this transaction.””
She pushed her chair backward.
“Are you accusing me of stealing?””
Dad didn't flinch.
“I'm asking you to explain an expense.””
“You always do this!””
“Do what?””
“Treat me like I'm some kind of criminal!””
Mom finally spoke.
“Marcus, she's your daughter.””
Dad turned toward her.
“So is Nia.””
The room went quiet.
I looked down at my hands.
It was the first time someone had said that without making it sound like an obligation.
Dad returned his attention to Brielle.
“Did you use foundation money to purchase that handbag?””
Her eyes widened.
“What?””
He glanced at the black bag beside her.
“The one you were screaming about last night.””
Brielle's face went pale.
“No. Absolutely not.””
“Then we can verify it.””
“You're making me feel like I can't even breathe in this house.””
Dad opened another document.
“The transaction was made using the account assigned to you. The delivery address is your apartment. The invoice is in your name.””
Brielle stared at him.
Then she turned toward me.
“This is your fault.””
I frowned.
“My fault?””
“You always have to make everything about you.””
“I'm not the one who bought a designer bag with the foundation's money.””
Her eyes flashed.
“Shut up, Nia.””
Dad's hand struck the desk once.
“Enough.””
Brielle fell silent.
Dad looked at me.
“Show me what you brought.””
I placed the folder on the desk.
He opened it carefully.
The first photograph showed me standing in the dressmaker's studio, holding the unfinished blue gown against myself.
The second showed the completed dress hanging on a wooden mannequin.
The third was a photograph I'd taken three days before the incident.
I was smiling.
Actually smiling.
The dress looked beautiful.
Dad studied the photographs for a long time.
“Is this your design?””
I nodded.
“Yes.””
“Did you pay for it yourself?””
“Yes.””
“Every dollar?””
“Yes.””
He closed the folder.
“Then I want you to know something. I'm proud of you.””
My eyes burned.
I hadn't expected those words.
Not then.
Not after everything.
Brielle laughed bitterly.
“Oh, wonderful. Now we're having a ceremony for Nia.””
Dad turned toward her.
“Your sister worked for something she wanted. She didn't ask anyone to buy it for her. She didn't take money from the foundation. And she didn't destroy anyone else's property.””
Brielle looked down.
Dad continued.
“That's the difference between earning something and simply expecting it.””
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Brielle stood.
“I need to leave.””
“Sit down,” Dad said.
“No. I'm not staying here while you humiliate me.””
“Brielle.””
She grabbed her handbag.
“I'm going to work.””
Dad watched her.
“Your access to the foundation account has been suspended pending an audit.””
Her head snapped around.
“You can't do that!””
“I already have.””
“You're ruining my reputation!””
“Your decisions are responsible for your reputation.””
She stared at him, then stormed toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned toward me.
“You happy now?””
I didn't answer.
She pulled the door open.
Then Dad spoke again.
“One more thing.””
Brielle stopped.
“What?””
“Your mother told me something this morning.””
Mom's eyes widened.
“Marcus.””
He ignored her.
“She said she knew you were planning to wear a blue gown to the gala.””
Brielle's face tightened.
“So?””
Dad looked directly at her.
“She also said you asked her to convince Nia not to attend.””
I turned toward Mom.
“Mom?””
Denise lowered her eyes.
Brielle gave a small laugh.
“This is ridiculous.””
Dad continued.
“You told your mother that the gala was supposed to be your night. You said Nia would embarrass the family.””
Brielle shook her head.
“I was upset.””
“Why?””
“Because she's always competing with me!””
I stared at her.
“I never competed with you.””
She turned toward me.
“You don't even realize when you do it.””
“What does that mean?””
“You walk around pretending you're innocent. You get everyone to feel sorry for you. You act like you're the only person who has ever struggled.””
My voice became quiet.
“Brielle, I worked two jobs to pay for that dress.””
“And?””
“And I never asked you for anything.””
She looked away.
Dad closed the folder.
“That's enough for today.””
Brielle left.
The office door slammed.
Mom stood and approached the desk.
“Marcus, you shouldn't have handled it this way.””
He looked at her.
“Which part?””
“All of it. The handbag. The account.
The questions. She's devastated.””
I watched Mom carefully.
She hadn't once asked how I was doing.
Dad noticed.
“Denise, do you think Nia isn't devastated?””
Mom pressed her lips together.
“I think both girls need to calm down.””
Dad shook his head.
“Sometimes people don't need calming down. Sometimes they need to take responsibility.””
Mom left without another word.
I remained in my chair.
Dad sat down and rubbed his forehead.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart.””
“For what?””
“For allowing things to reach this point.””
I looked at the family photographs on his shelves.
“Did you know Brielle treated me like this?””
He was quiet.
Then he said something that surprised me.
“I knew she was jealous. I didn't know how far she'd gone.””
I swallowed.
“Why is she so angry with me?””
Dad looked at the closed door.
“That's something I've been trying to understand for a long time.””
He reached into the folder and pulled out another sheet of paper.
It was a printed email.
The sender's name was Brielle.
The recipient was someone from the foundation's gala committee.
Dad slid it across the desk.
“Read this.””
I looked at the first line.
Then the second.
My stomach dropped.
It wasn't about my dress.
It wasn't about the fire.
May you like
It was about the scholarship award.
And the email had been sent before I'd even submitted my application.
