Chapter 7: The Woman My Mother Feared
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the pounding of my heart.
Celeste Whitmore stood beside her desk, one hand resting on the folder that contained my mother's unfinished design. Outside the office, sewing machines hummed and assistants hurried between racks of expensive gowns. The world continued moving, completely unaware that mine had just tilted sideways.
“Vanessa knew my mother before she married Dad?”” I asked.
“Yes.””
“How?””
Celeste pulled out a chair.
“Please sit down, Nia. What I'm about to tell you is complicated, and I don't want you making decisions before you understand the whole story.””
I remained standing.
“Everyone keeps telling me to wait until I understand. Meanwhile, they've been making decisions about my life for years.””
Celeste lowered her eyes.
“You're right. You deserve answers.””
She opened the folder and removed a faded photograph.
It showed three women standing outside a small fashion studio. My mother was in the center, wearing a simple blue dress and holding a roll of fabric. Celeste stood on her right.
The woman on the left was Vanessa.
She looked younger, but there was no mistaking her face.
I took the photograph with trembling fingers.
“Why was she with them?””
“Vanessa worked as an administrative assistant for a textile distributor when your mother and I were developing our first collection,” Celeste explained.
“She was ambitious, intelligent, and very good at convincing people she could be trusted.””
“What happened?””
“Your mother discovered that several confidential designs had been copied and offered to competing manufacturers. At first, she suspected a supplier. Then she found evidence that someone inside the distribution office had been sharing information.””
“Vanessa?””
Celeste nodded.
“She denied everything. Your mother couldn't prove every part of it, but she had enough evidence to end Vanessa's employment.””
I stared at the photograph.
“So Mom got her fired?””
“She didn't have Vanessa fired directly. She presented the evidence to the company's directors, and they made the decision.””
“Why didn't she tell Dad?””
“She did. At least, she tried.””
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?””
Celeste leaned back.
“Marcus and Vanessa met several years before your mother died. They weren't married, but they knew each other through mutual acquaintances. Your mother became concerned when she learned they were spending time together.””
I remembered my mother's last year of life: the evenings when she sat quietly at the kitchen table, staring at papers she quickly put away whenever I entered the room.
At the time, I had assumed she was worried about her illness.
Now I wondered how much she had been carrying alone.
“Did Mom know Vanessa wanted Dad's money?””
“I can't speak to Vanessa's intentions. But your mother believed she was interested in the financial arrangements surrounding the company.””
“Then why did Dad marry her?””
Celeste's expression softened.
“Because your father wanted to believe Vanessa had changed. And because Vanessa knew how to make people feel that choosing her was their own idea.””
I looked down at the photograph again.
The three women stood close together, smiling at the camera.
It was difficult to reconcile that image with the woman who had mocked my mother's curtains and slapped me for trying to reclaim my own dress.
“What else did Mom discover?””
Celeste hesitated.
“Vanessa had been asking questions about your mother's shares. She wanted to know how the inheritance would be structured and whether you would receive the assets immediately or through a trust.””
I felt sick.
“She was interested in my inheritance before Mom died?””
“Yes.””
“Did she ever threaten her?””
“Not directly, as far as I know. But your mother stopped trusting her completely.””
Celeste opened another folder.
Inside were copies of letters exchanged between my mother and an attorney. Some pages contained handwritten notes in the margins. Others were marked with dates and references to financial documents.
One letter caught my attention.
Marcus must understand that the trust cannot become a source of income for anyone else. Nia's future must remain separate from the household.
I read it twice.
“Mom wrote this?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“About six months before she died.””
I looked at Celeste.
“Did Dad know what she was afraid of?””
“He knew she had concerns. Whether he understood their full extent, I can't say.””
I swallowed.
“Then why did she leave me with him?””
Celeste didn't answer immediately.
When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle.
“Because she loved him. And because she hoped he would choose his daughter over his own comfort.””
The words hurt more than I expected.
I sat down.
For years, I had blamed myself for the distance between Dad and me. I had wondered whether I was too difficult, too angry, too much like my mother.
Now I was beginning to understand that my father's silence had nothing to do with my worth.
It had everything to do with the choices he made.
Celeste slid another document across the desk.
“This is a copy of the original trust agreement. There's a clause your mother insisted upon.””
I scanned the page.
The language was dense, but one section had been highlighted.
If a guardian or related party knowingly misrepresented the beneficiary's rights or improperly diverted trust assets, the trustee could request an independent review and suspend the guardian's authority over trust-related decisions.
I looked up.
“So Vanessa could lose access to the money?””
“She never had legitimate access to it in the first place. But if the review establishes that she interfered with the trust, the consequences could be significant.””
“And Dad?””
Celeste's eyes met mine.
“That depends on what he knew and what he did.””
I thought of the transfers, the signatures, and the envelope he had kept hidden.
“I want the truth,” I said.
“Even if it means Dad gets into trouble.””
Celeste nodded.
“Then that's what we'll pursue.””
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Patricia Wells.
“Nia, I need you to come to the venue immediately.””
“What's happened?””
“The preliminary review panel has received additional material from Brianna's side. They've requested an emergency hearing before tomorrow's final.””
“What material?””
“Photographs, sketches, and a statement claiming Brianna created the original design.””
I closed my eyes.
“She's lying.””
“I know you believe that. But the panel has to evaluate the evidence.””
“I have timestamped photographs, fabric receipts, and my original sketchbook.””
“Bring everything. And bring Mr. Brooks if he's willing to testify about the repairs.””
“I'll call him.””
“There's one more thing,” Patricia added.
“Your father has contacted us.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did he say?””
“He requested permission to attend the hearing as a witness.””
I stared at Celeste.
“Did he say which side he was supporting?””
Patricia paused.
“He said he intended to tell the truth.””
After the call ended, Celeste helped me gather the documents. Before I left, she handed me a small velvet box.
Inside lay a silver thimble engraved with the initials E.C.
“My mother wore this when she worked?”” I asked.
“She wore it almost every day. She left it with me when she realized she wouldn't have much time.””
I held the thimble in my palm.
“Why didn't you give it to me before?””
“Because she asked me to wait until you were ready to understand why it mattered.””
I looked at her.
“And now?””
Celeste smiled sadly.
“Now you understand that the people who inherit our work don't always inherit our values. You have to choose those for yourself.””
I slipped the thimble into my pocket.
Then I went to the competition venue.
The emergency hearing was scheduled in a conference room behind the main theater. Patricia sat at the head of the table beside two judges and a legal adviser.
Brianna was already there.
She wore a cream-colored suit and had arranged a folder of documents in front of her. Vanessa sat beside her, dressed in black, looking every bit like a woman attending a corporate negotiation.
My father sat at the opposite end of the table.
He looked older than he had the day before.
Brianna smiled when I entered.
“Glad you could make it.””
I sat down without responding.
Patricia began the meeting.
“We are here to evaluate the competing claims regarding the authorship of the gown submitted to the National Young Designers Showcase.””
Brianna's representative opened the folder.
“My client, Brianna Carter, maintains that she designed the garment and that her stepsister, Nia Carter, obtained access to her concepts without permission.””
“That's a lie,” I said.
Patricia raised a hand.
“Nia, you'll have an opportunity to respond.””
Brianna leaned forward.
“I have sketches showing the original silhouette.””
Her representative placed several pages on the table.
I recognized the design immediately.
It was my dress.
The fitted bodice. The sculpted shoulders. The flowing skirt.
But the pages were dated six weeks before I had supposedly begun working on the gown.
My stomach dropped.
Those dates were impossible.
Brianna hadn't even seen the finished design six weeks earlier.
The legal adviser examined the sketches.
“Ms. Carter, do you have the originals?””
Brianna nodded.
“These are the originals.””
I opened my own sketchbook and placed it beside hers.
“These are mine. The pages have been in this book for months.””
The adviser compared them.
The similarities were undeniable.
But then I noticed something strange.
Brianna's sketches included a tiny symbol in the lower corner of every page: a crescent moon with three dots.
It was a symbol I had never seen her use.
I had, however, seen it before.
In my mother's old sketchbook.
I flipped through my pages until I found the same symbol on a drawing of a wedding dress dated eight years earlier.
My hands began to tremble.
“Where did you get that symbol?”” I asked.
Brianna glanced at the page.
“What symbol?””
“The crescent moon. The three dots.””
She shrugged.
“It's my signature.””
“No, it isn't.””
Vanessa intervened.
“That's enough. The girl is trying to distract everyone.””
I turned toward her.
“Then explain why the symbol appears in my mother's sketches from years before Brianna was born.””
The room went silent.
Brianna's representative looked down at the papers.
Patricia leaned forward.
“Ms. Carter, did you prepare these sketches yourself?””
Brianna opened her mouth.
Then she looked at Vanessa.
That single glance told me something had gone wrong.
My father finally spoke.
“I need to say something.””
Vanessa's face tightened.
“Marcus, don't.””
He looked at the judges.
“The sketches Brianna submitted weren't created by her.””
Brianna shot to her feet.
“Dad!””
He didn't look at her.
“They came from Elena's old portfolio. Vanessa found the portfolio several months ago.””
Vanessa stood abruptly.
“That's a lie!””
My father flinched but continued.
“I saw the drawings. I knew they were Nia's mother's work.””
I stared at him.
“Then why didn't you stop them?””
His eyes filled with tears.
“Because Vanessa told me the designs were never registered. She said there would be no way to prove who created them.””
I felt as if the room had become unbearably small.
“You knew she was using Mom's work?””
He nodded.
“And you let her?””
“I was afraid.””
“Of what?””
He looked at Vanessa.
“Losing everything.””
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Vanessa laughed sharply.
“Don't be ridiculous. Marcus, you're making yourself look guilty because you can't handle a simple family disagreement.””
My father shook his head.
“No. I'm finally admitting what I've done.””
He reached into his jacket and removed a folded document.
“I have a copy of the agreement Elena made with the company. It identifies her original designs and establishes her ownership rights.””
The legal adviser took the paper.
Patricia looked at me.
“Nia, do you have any other documentation?””
I nodded.
I opened my folder and placed the dated photographs, fabric receipts, and the competition submission confirmation on the table.
Then I pulled out the photograph of my mother, Celeste, and Vanessa outside the old studio.
Brianna stared at it.
Vanessa went completely still.
The legal adviser examined the photograph.
“Can you identify these individuals?””
“My mother, Elena Carter. Celeste Whitmore. And Vanessa Carter, before she married my father.””
Patricia turned to Vanessa.
“Ms. Carter, do you dispute that this photograph depicts you?””
Vanessa's lips parted.
For the first time, she seemed unable to manufacture an answer.
Then she looked directly at me.
“You have no idea what you're doing.””
I met her gaze.
“Maybe not. But I know what you did.””
The hearing was suspended while the panel reviewed the documents.
As everyone stood, Brianna grabbed my arm.
“You have to help me.””
I looked down at her hand.
“Let go.””
“Please, Nia. Mom told me the sketches were hers. I didn't know.””
“You knew the dress was mine.””
Her eyes filled.
“I was trying to win.””
“So was I.””
She released me.
“I didn't think it would go this far.””
I stepped back.
“That's the problem, Brianna. You never think about what happens to anyone else.””
I walked out of the conference room.
In the hallway, my father caught up with me.
“Nia, please.””
I stopped.
“What?””
“I know I don't deserve forgiveness.””
“No, you don't.””
He nodded, accepting the words.
“But I want you to know that I'm going to cooperate with the investigation. All of it. The trust, the transfers, the designs.””
I looked at him.
“Why now?””
“Because your mother was right about something. I kept choosing the easiest way out, and every time I did, I made things worse.””
I said nothing.
He reached into his pocket and handed me a small key.
“There's a locked drawer in my study. Vanessa doesn't know I kept the original financial statements there. They show where the transfers went.””
My pulse quickened.
“Why didn't you give them to the lawyer before?””
“Because I was afraid the records would prove I had known more than I admitted.””
I stared at him.
“And do they?””
He swallowed.
“Yes.””
I took the key.
Before I could ask another question, a security officer hurried down the hallway.
“Mr. Carter? Ms.
Carter? We need you to return to the conference room.””
My father turned.
“Why?””
The officer looked uncomfortable.
“Ms. Vanessa Carter has just presented a document claiming that Nia's mother voluntarily transferred the disputed assets to her before she died.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“That isn't possible.””
The officer handed me a copy.
At the bottom of the page was my mother's signature.
It looked real.
May you like
And beside it was a date.
Three days before her death.
