Chapter 6: The Man Who Knew My Mother's Secret
I didn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard Vanessa's warning.
Keep that recording away from Marcus Reed.
By sunrise, I had read the partnership agreement so many times that the words blurred together.
The document was long, filled with legal language and clauses about intellectual property, licensing, design ownership, and future collections.
My mother's name appeared on every page.
So did Marcus Reed's.
The agreement described a small fashion studio they had planned to build together. My mother would lead design and construction. Marcus would manage manufacturing, investor relationships, and commercial partnerships.
The arrangement made sense.
My mother had been brilliant with fabric and design, but she had never enjoyed negotiating contracts. Marcus, according to the agreement, had experience turning creative concepts into commercial products.
The final pages described several unfinished projects.
One was called Tidal Light.
I recognized the name immediately.
It was the concept that had inspired my aqua gown.
But the agreement contained a clause that made me sit upright.
Any design developed jointly by the partners would remain subject to the ownership terms established in the agreement, even after one partner's death.
I read it again.
Then I searched the folder for the earlier drafts.
The first version had been signed by both my mother and Marcus.
The second contained revisions in Marcus's handwriting.
The final version had a different witness.
Vanessa Carter.
I stared at the name.
Why had my stepmother witnessed a business agreement involving my mother and a man she claimed I should avoid?
And why had she kept the sewing box hidden?
At 7:15 a.m., I carried the laptop downstairs.
My father was already in the kitchen, standing beside the coffee maker. He looked as though he had slept even less than I had.
I placed the printed agreement on the counter.
“Dad, do you know Marcus Reed?””
He stopped pouring coffee.
“Where did you hear that name?””
“Mom's files.””
He set down the pot.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.””
I remained standing.
“Tell me what happened.””
He rubbed his hands together.
“Marcus was a friend of your mother's before he became her business partner. They wanted to start a small design company. She had the talent, and he had the business experience.””
“What happened to it?””
“It never fully launched.””
“Why?””
My father looked toward the window.
“Your mother became ill. The project stopped.””
“That doesn't explain why Vanessa knew about the agreement.””
His shoulders dropped.
“She helped with some of the administrative work toward the end.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I didn't know how much of the project had been completed. Your mother handled most of it herself.””
I placed the document in front of him.
“Did you know she left a recording of the aqua concept?””
He read the first page.
“No.””
“Did you know Vanessa had the sewing box?””
He hesitated.
“I knew she had moved some of your mother's things into storage.””
“That's not what I asked.””
He looked up.
“No. I didn't know she had hidden the box from you.””
The kitchen was quiet except for the refrigerator's low hum.
I sat down.
“Dad, Vanessa told me that if Marcus found out I had the recording, he would come looking for me.””
My father's expression hardened.
“She said that?””
“Yes.””
He pushed the document away.
“I don't know why she would say something like that.””
“Then let's find out.””
He looked at me carefully.
“You want to contact him?””
“I want to know whether my mother's work was stolen before mine was.””
My father closed his eyes.
For several seconds, I thought he would tell me to leave it alone.
Instead, he reached for his phone.
“I have an old business card somewhere.””
He searched his contacts first, then opened a drawer beside the kitchen table. Beneath a stack of instruction manuals and unopened mail, he found a small black card.
MARCUS REED — REED CREATIVE GROUP.
A phone number was printed beneath the name.
I took a photograph of it.
“Will you call him with me?””
My father nodded.
We made the call at 9:30 a.m.
A receptionist answered and asked for the reason for our inquiry.
My father gave his name.
There was a pause.
Then the receptionist said, “Mr. Reed has asked that any questions regarding Elaine Carter's work be sent through his office.””
I leaned toward the phone.
“My name is Nia Carter. I'm Elaine's daughter.””
Another pause.
“I understand, Miss Carter. I'll inform him.””
“Can you tell him I have her original design archive?””
My father glanced at me.
I continued.
“I'm not calling about a business opportunity. I need to clarify the ownership of some designs she worked on before she died.””
The receptionist asked for my contact information.
I provided my email and phone number.
Before ending the call, she said, “Mr. Reed may be available tomorrow afternoon.””
“Please tell him I have a deadline related to an active ownership dispute.””
She promised to pass along the message.
When the call ended, my father looked at me.
“You sound like your mother when you're determined.””
I almost smiled.
“Maybe that's not such a bad thing.””
“No,” he said quietly.
“It isn't.””
At noon, an email arrived from the gala's legal representative.
The organizers had completed their preliminary review of the entry records.
The original application was mine.
The revision had been submitted through the household email account, using a device identified in the event's electronic records as belonging to Vanessa.
The signature authorization could not be authenticated from the digital copy alone, but there was no record of me personally approving the transfer.
The judges had therefore removed Brianna's entry from consideration pending a full investigation.
My original entry had been restored.
I read the email twice.
Then a third time.
I had won back the right to compete.
Not the trophy.
Not the grant.
Not the opportunity itself.
Just the right to stand in the same room and have my work judged under my own name.
Yet my hands shook as I called Maya.
“They restored my entry,” I said.
She screamed so loudly that I had to move the phone away from my ear.
“YES! Nia, I knew they would!””
“They haven't decided the award.””
“That's fine. You don't need the award to prove you're a designer. But if they give it to you, I will personally frame the trophy and make everyone who visits my house read your name.””
I laughed.
Then my voice softened.
“There's something else.””
I told her about the sewing box, the recording, and Marcus Reed.
Maya listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said, “That sounds bigger than the gala.””
“I think it is.””
“Are you going to meet him?””
“Tomorrow, if he agrees.””
“Take your dad.””
“I will.””
“And don't hand over the flash drive.””
“I wasn't planning to.””
“Good. Make copies of everything. Keep the originals somewhere safe. And please stop letting these people surprise you with documents.””
I smiled.
“I'm working on it.””
After the call, I copied the archive to two separate drives and stored one with my original sketches in a locked case.
Then I returned to the partnership agreement.
There was one page I hadn't examined closely.
A section titled Legacy Rights and Family Beneficiaries.
The language was complicated, but the meaning was clear enough: if Elaine Carter died before the planned company launched, certain design materials and related rights would pass according to a separate estate schedule.
I searched the folder.
Nothing.
No estate schedule.
No final distribution document.
Only a note in my mother's handwriting:
To be completed after final review with Marcus.
I took a screenshot.
Something about it bothered me.
My mother had been meticulous. She dated sketches, labeled fabric samples, and kept every receipt from her design work.
Why would the most important document in her business archive be missing?
I was still searching when someone knocked on the front door.
My father went to answer it.
I heard a woman's voice in the hallway.
Then his voice, low and tense.
“Nia isn't available.””
Vanessa replied, “I need to speak to her.””
“You can speak to her when she's ready.””
“This concerns the family.””
“It concerned the family yesterday, too. You didn't seem interested in talking honestly then.””
A pause.
Then Vanessa said, “You have no idea what she has found.””
I stood from my desk.
My father appeared in my doorway a moment later.
“She's here,” he said.
“Do you want to see her?””
I considered refusing.
Then I remembered the partnership agreement and the warning.
“Yes.””
Vanessa entered my room carrying a thin folder.
She glanced at the laptop, the sewing box, and the locked case on my desk.
“Have you contacted Marcus?””
I didn't answer.
Her mouth tightened.
“You have, haven't you?””
“Why does that matter?””
She placed the folder on the bed.
“Because you don't understand the agreement you found.””
“Then explain it.””
She opened the folder and removed a photocopy of a document.
“This is the final ownership schedule. Your mother signed it shortly before she died.””
I stared at the page.
It contained a list of designs, their working titles, and the parties associated with them.
The aqua concept was included.
Beside it was a note indicating that the original materials would remain with Elaine's estate.
At the bottom were two signatures.
Elaine Carter.
Marcus Reed.
But there was a third signature beneath them.
Vanessa Carter.
I looked up.
“You signed this?””
“I witnessed it.””
“Why was it hidden?””
“I didn't hide it. It was misplaced.””
“Inside a folder you brought to my room?””
Vanessa ignored the question.
“Marcus has been trying to acquire the rights to your mother's unfinished collection for years. If he learns you have the archive, he'll try to convince you that everything belongs to him.””
“Does it?””
“Not entirely.””
“Then why are you warning me away from him?””
She sat on the edge of my bed.
For the first time, she looked tired rather than furious.
“Because your mother trusted him, and I believe he took advantage of her.””
I studied her face.
“Do you have proof?””
She looked down at the document.
“I have the agreement.””
“Which you kept from me.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
I almost laughed.
“You keep using that word.””
“Because it's true.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
Vanessa's eyes lifted to mine.
For several seconds, I thought she might finally speak honestly.
Then she closed the folder.
“I can't explain everything without putting your father's finances at risk.””
My stomach tightened.
“What do his finances have to do with Mom's designs?””
Vanessa stood.
“Ask him about the loan.””
I turned toward the doorway.
My father was standing there.
His face had gone pale.
“David,” I said slowly, “what loan?””
He looked at Vanessa.
She gripped the folder against her chest.
Then she said, “Tell her.””
My father swallowed.
“After your mother died, I borrowed money to keep the house.””
“How much?””
He didn't answer.
Vanessa did.
“Enough that we couldn't repay it without selling something valuable.””
I stared at them.
“What did you sell?””
My father took a step into the room.
“Nothing of your mother's was sold without—”
He stopped.
Vanessa looked at him sharply.
I felt my heartbeat climb.
“Without what, Dad?””
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he looked directly at me.
“Without a document that I thought gave us permission.””
I glanced at the ownership schedule.
Then at the sewing box.
Then at the folder in Vanessa's hands.
“What document?””
My father reached into his pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper.
He placed it on my desk.
It was a loan agreement.
The lender's name appeared near the top.
Reed Creative Group.
And beneath the amount borrowed was a clause assigning certain rights to Elaine Carter's unfinished designs as collateral.
The signature at the bottom was my father's.
The witness was Vanessa.
But the final line contained a name that made my blood run cold.
*Beneficiary of the pledged design rights: Brianna Carter.*
I looked at my father.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
Then my phone rang.
The number was unfamiliar.
I answered.
A man's calm voice came through the speaker.
“Miss Carter? My name is Marcus Reed. I've received your message about Elaine's archive.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Yes.””
“I understand you have a recording and some original documents.””
“I do.””
There was a pause.
Then he said, “Before we meet, there's something you need to understand about your mother's final agreement.””
I looked at the loan document on my desk.
“What?””
Marcus's voice lowered.
“The aqua design wasn't the only thing your mother left behind. And if Vanessa has shown you a document naming Brianna as a beneficiary, you need to know that your father may have signed away rights he never actually owned.””
My father looked up.
Vanessa went completely still.
Marcus continued.
“Miss Carter, can you tell me whether you have the original agreement—or only a copy?””
I glanced at the sewing box.
At the flash drive.
At the missing estate schedule.
Then I saw something I hadn't noticed before.
The signature on the loan document was dated four days after my mother's funeral.
But the witness line had been signed three days before she died.
I leaned closer.
The dates were impossible.
And suddenly, I understood why Vanessa had been so afraid of that hidden archive.
Because if the documents were genuine, my family hadn't merely stolen my dress.
May you like
Someone had been using my mother's unfinished designs to secure money before she was even gone.
And someone had decided, long before I was old enough to understand what a contract meant, that Brianna would inherit the value of everything I had spent my life learning to create.
