Chapter 2: The Secret Inside My Mother's Portfolio
I didn't sleep that night.
At 2:17 a.m., I finally finished the silver panel running across the waist of my redesigned dress.
It wasn't perfect.
The left side sat slightly higher than the right, and the train still needed another layer of lining.
But it was beautiful.
More importantly, it was mine.
I stood in front of the old full-length mirror beside my sewing table, holding the dress against my body.
The turquoise fabric caught the light from my desk lamp.
The silver details shimmered like stars.
For the first time since Brianna had ripped my original dress, I smiled.
Then I remembered the message.
Check your father's email.
I picked up my laptop.
My father had given me an email address for family emergencies years ago. He had also told me never to use his work computer without permission.
But I wasn't trying to access his computer.
I was checking the family email account that he had once asked me to monitor for school-related announcements.
I typed the password.
The inbox opened.
There were dozens of messages.
Most were advertisements, school newsletters, and bills.
Then I noticed an email with a subject line that made my stomach tighten.
*Graduation Attendance — Important Update*
It had been sent by Vanessa two days earlier.
I clicked it.
The message was addressed to my father's assistant and the school administration.
Due to ongoing behavioral concerns, Nia Carter will not be participating in the graduation ceremony. Please remove her name from the guest attendance list and cancel the additional seating arrangements.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My graduation.
My ceremony.
My name.
Removed.
Without my permission.
My hands went cold.
I scrolled down.
There was another email attached to the thread.
This one came from the school's guidance counselor.
We cannot remove a graduating student's participation without her written consent or a formal disciplinary decision. Nia's academic record is excellent, and we have no behavioral reports.
Vanessa had replied:
I am her legal guardian. I insist that this matter be handled discreetly.
I leaned back.
My father had never seen this.
Or had he?
I checked the date of his last response.
There was none.
Then I opened the second email from the unknown sender.
It contained a photograph.
My mother's portfolio.
The one I hadn't seen since I was twelve.
I immediately recognized the faded brown leather cover and the small brass clasp.
My mother, Elena, had been a fashion designer.
Not a famous one.
Not someone whose face appeared on magazine covers.
But she had been talented.
Incredibly talented.
She had worked for a small independent design house in New York before marrying my father and moving back home.
When she died, I was twelve.
My father packed most of her belongings into storage because he couldn't bear seeing them.
Vanessa arrived a year later.
And somehow, every trace of my mother's work slowly disappeared.
Her sewing machine was moved into the garage.
Her fabric collection was sold.
Her old sketches vanished.
I had always assumed my father had donated everything.
But the photograph showed the portfolio sitting on a desk.
And beside it was a hand.
A woman's hand.
With a distinctive diamond ring.
Vanessa's ring.
My stomach dropped.
I enlarged the image.
Behind the portfolio was a printed document.
The heading read:
*ELENA CARTER DESIGN ARCHIVE — OWNERSHIP TRANSFER*
I couldn't read the smaller text.
Then my phone buzzed again.
The portfolio is at Brianna's apartment. She plans to take it to graduation tomorrow.
I typed a reply.
Who are you?
The response came almost immediately.
Someone who knew your mother.
I stared at the words.
Then I typed:
Why is Brianna taking my mother's portfolio?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally, a message arrived.
Because your mother left something in it that could change everything.
I didn't get another answer.
At six in the morning, I heard footsteps in the hallway.
I quickly closed my laptop.
Vanessa opened my bedroom door without knocking.
"You're awake.""
I turned toward her.
"Good morning.""
She looked at my sewing table.
Then at the dress.
Her lips tightened.
"You're still working on that?""
"Yes.""
"Didn't I tell you to stop wasting your time?""
I carefully folded the dress.
"No.""
Her eyes narrowed.
"What did you say?""
"I said no.""
Vanessa stepped into the room.
For a moment, she looked genuinely surprised.
Then she laughed softly.
"You're becoming very difficult.""
"I'm graduating tomorrow.""
"Not if you continue behaving this way.""
I stood.
"You can't cancel my graduation.""
Vanessa's expression changed.
"Who told you about that?""
I said nothing.
She moved closer.
"Did you go through my phone?""
"No.""
"Did you read my emails?""
I didn't answer.
That was enough.
Vanessa's face hardened.
"You have absolutely no right to interfere in family matters.""
"My graduation isn't a family matter. It's my graduation.""
She pointed toward the dress.
"And that ridiculous thing is exactly why you're not ready to represent this family.""
I looked at her carefully.
"Why do you hate seeing me succeed?""
For a second, she didn't speak.
Then she gave a small, bitter laugh.
"Because success is something you earn, Nia. Not something you inherit from a dead woman.""
The room went silent.
My throat tightened.
"Don't talk about my mother.""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Your mother was not the saint you imagine.""
"Stop.""
"She left your father with a child and a mountain of problems.""
"STOP!""
Vanessa grabbed the turquoise dress from the table.
I lunged forward.
But this time, I caught her wrist before she could pull.
"Don't touch it.""
Her eyes widened.
For the first time, she looked uncertain.
Then she released the fabric.
"Fine.""
She smoothed her blouse.
"Your father will be home this afternoon. We'll discuss your future then.""
She turned to leave.
But before she reached the door, I asked:
"Where is my mother's portfolio?""
Vanessa stopped.
Her shoulders became rigid.
"What portfolio?""
"The brown leather one.""
She slowly turned around.
"I have no idea what you're talking about.""
"Then why do you look scared?""
Her face went pale.
Only for a second.
Then she smiled.
"You're imagining things.""
She walked away.
I waited until her footsteps disappeared.
Then I opened my laptop again.
I needed to find the person who had sent those messages.
I searched the family email for the words Elena Carter.
There were only three results.
One was an old insurance document.
One was a birthday message from my mother's sister.
And the third was a message sent six months after my mother's death.
It was from a company called Carter & Vale Holdings.
The subject line read:
*Final Beneficiary Confirmation — Elena Carter Estate*
I clicked it.
The message was brief.
Dear Mr. Carter,
As previously discussed, all intellectual property and original design materials belonging to the late Elena Carter remain protected under the terms of her estate. Any transfer requires the written approval of her designated beneficiary upon reaching the age of eighteen.
I read the sentence again.
Her designated beneficiary.
Me?
I scrolled down.
The attached document was password-protected.
But the email contained one additional line.
Please ensure that the beneficiary is informed of her rights before any commercial licensing agreement is executed.
My hands began to shake.
A commercial licensing agreement?
What had Vanessa been trying to transfer?
At 9:30 a.m., Brianna appeared in my doorway.
She was holding a large black shopping bag.
"Look what I bought.""
She pulled out a white designer gown.
It had a plunging neckline, a fitted waist, and an enormous feathered skirt.
"Two thousand dollars," she announced.
I looked at the price tag.
"Why are you showing me?""
"Because I'm wearing it to your graduation.""
I frowned.
"You're not graduating.""
She smiled.
"I'm not attending as a student, sweetheart.""
She stepped closer.
"I'm attending as the guest of honor.""
"What?""
"Mom has arranged a special announcement. Apparently, some people from the fashion industry will be there.""
I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
"What announcement?""
Brianna tossed the gown onto my bed.
"Something exciting.""
She picked up my redesigned dress and examined the silver panel.
"Still working on this?""
"Don't touch it.""
She ignored me.
Her fingers traced the crystals.
"Actually, this isn't terrible.""
I stepped forward.
"Put it down.""
Brianna held the dress against herself.
"You know, this might look good on me.""
"No.""
She turned toward the mirror.
"With a few alterations, I could wear it tomorrow.""
I grabbed the hanger.
"Give it back.""
Her smile disappeared.
Then she leaned toward me and whispered:
"Do you really think anyone will care about your little dress when they find out what happened to your mother?""
I froze.
Brianna's eyes glittered.
"Ask Dad why he stopped talking about her.""
Then she dropped the dress onto my bed.
She walked out.
I stood there, staring at the doorway.
A moment later, I heard her laughing downstairs.
And for the first time, I wondered whether Brianna had known about the portfolio all along.
At noon, I received another message.
This time, it included a name.
*Margaret Lewis.*
Below it was a phone number and a single sentence.
Call me before Vanessa signs the papers.
I immediately dialed.
A woman answered after two rings.
"Nia?""
"Yes. Who are you?""
"My name is Margaret Lewis. I worked with your mother for fourteen years.""
I sat down.
"Do you know where her portfolio is?""
"I do.""
"Why does Brianna have it?""
Margaret went quiet.
May you like
Then she said something that made my entire body go cold.
"Because your stepmother has been trying to sell your mother's final collection for six years.""
