Chapter 7: The Woman Who Signed My Mother's Name
“The account was opened under your mother's identity.””
Rebecca's words echoed in my ears long after the call ended.
I stood beside the apartment window, staring at the city below, while my father paced behind me with his phone pressed against his ear.
Someone had used my mother's name.
Someone had moved money through an account that should have been closed ten years ago.
And someone had arranged for the final collection she created to disappear just weeks before I won the fashion competition.
My hands began to shake.
“Daddy, what if Mom knew this would happen?””
My father stopped pacing.
“What do you mean?””
“What if she knew someone was trying to steal her designs? What if she hid the blueprints because she knew they would come after them?””
He looked toward the sewing table, where her leather notebook lay beside the silver thimble.
“Your mother was careful,” he said.
“But she never imagined things would go this far.””
“How can you know that?””
He didn't answer.
I hated that silence.
It reminded me of all the questions I had asked as a child and all the times Vanessa had told me there were things I was too young to understand.
I was tired of being protected from the truth.
“Daddy, I need you to tell me everything you remember about the night Mom died.””
He put his phone down.
For several seconds, he stared at the photograph of my mother beside the sewing table.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“Sit down, Nia.””
I sat opposite him.
“The night your mother died, she called me at the studio. She said she had discovered something important in the company's financial records. She wanted me to come immediately.””
“Was Vanessa there?””
“No. She told us she was taking Brianna to a friend's house.””
I frowned.
“Brianna was little then.””
“She was about six.””
I tried to imagine Brianna as a child, standing beside her mother while my own mother was fighting to protect her work.
“What happened when you arrived?””
“Your mother had spread several contracts across the cutting table. She'd marked certain payments in red ink. She said someone had been using a shell company to acquire our designs without authorization.””
“Was Victor involved?””
“I suspected he was. But Eleanor wanted proof before we accused him.””
My father rubbed his forehead.
“She had also discovered that someone had been trying to access the original blueprints for The Phoenix collection.””
I glanced at the notebook.
“The collection in Mom's sketchbook.””
He nodded.
“She believed those designs contained evidence of who had been copying our work. The construction methods, the original measurements, the dated sketches—all of it could establish who created the collection.””
“Then why didn't she take the blueprints to the police?””
“She planned to meet a lawyer the next morning.””
He paused.
“But she never got the chance.””
I swallowed.
“You said you left to get help.””
“Yes. I called the police after your mother showed me the financial records. While we were waiting, someone contacted me about a break-in at the studio. I went to check the rear entrance.””
“And Mom stayed behind?””
“She insisted she could manage.””
He looked at me with haunted eyes.
“When I returned, smoke was coming from the building. I tried to get inside, but the fire had spread too quickly.””
My hand flew to my mouth.
“You tried to save her?””
“Of course I did.””
His voice cracked.
“I tried until the firefighters pulled me away. They found her inside.””
Tears filled my eyes.
For ten years, I had imagined my mother dying peacefully in her bed.
Now I was imagining her trapped in the studio where she had spent her life creating beautiful things.
“Did the police say it was an accident?””
“They initially believed an electrical fault had started the fire. But later, I learned that a container of industrial solvent had been found near the rear entrance.””
“Someone started the fire?””
“I couldn't prove it.””
I stared at him.
“And then your accident happened.””
He nodded.
“Three months later, I was driving to meet a lawyer who had agreed to review the studio's records. A truck forced my car off a mountain road. I remember the impact. Then nothing.””
My blood ran cold.
“Do you think it was connected?””
“I think it's possible.””
“Daddy, that's not an answer.””
He leaned forward.
“No, it isn't. And I won't pretend otherwise. Until we have evidence, I can't tell you who was responsible for your mother's death or my disappearance.””
I wanted to believe that caution was a good thing.
But I had spent years watching people use uncertainty as an excuse to bury the truth.
“Then let's find the evidence.””
He reached across the table and took my hand.
“We will.””
Before either of us could speak again, someone knocked sharply on the apartment door.
My father checked the security camera.
Rebecca stood in the hallway, holding a thick envelope.
He opened the door immediately.
“What's happened?””
Rebecca entered and placed the envelope on the table.
“The investigator found the courier.””
I leaned forward.
“Where is he?””
“Under questioning. He says he collected the crate from a private storage unit two weeks ago and delivered it to an address in Connecticut.””
“Whose address?””
Rebecca opened the envelope.
Inside was a copy of the delivery receipt.
The signature at the bottom was unmistakable.
*VANESSA CARTER.*
I stared at it.
“She took the collection herself?””
“According to the courier, yes. He says she was waiting at the property when he arrived.””
My father gripped the back of a chair.
“What property?””
Rebecca handed him another page.
“An estate registered to a company called Northstar Holdings.””
He went completely still.
I looked between them.
“What is it?””
My father slowly sat down.
“Northstar Holdings was the company we used to secure international licensing rights before Eleanor died.””
“But you said the company was dismantled.””
“It was supposed to be.””
Rebecca nodded.
“Someone reactivated it using a filing submitted six months ago. The filing lists Vanessa as managing director.””
I stared at the paperwork.
“She has been planning this.””
“Possibly,” Rebecca said.
“But we need to establish why.””
My father turned another page.
A photograph of a large stone house had been attached to the file.
It stood behind iron gates, surrounded by bare trees and a long gravel driveway.
I recognized the property.
Not because I had ever visited it.
Because I had seen it in a photograph on Vanessa's desk when I was fourteen.
She had told me it belonged to a distant relative.
Now I understood why she had never allowed me near it.
“That's the house she took Brianna to during school holidays,” I whispered.
My father looked at me sharply.
“You've been there?””
“Once. When I was fourteen. Vanessa said she needed to collect some paperwork. She made me wait in the car.””
Rebecca wrote something down.
“Do you remember anything unusual?””
I closed my eyes.
The memory returned in fragments.
A stone staircase.
A locked room at the end of a corridor.
A strange smell of paint and chemicals.
And Vanessa shouting at someone behind a closed door.
I opened my eyes.
“There was a room upstairs. She told me never to go near it.””
My father and Rebecca exchanged a glance.
“What was inside?”” my father asked.
“I don't know. But I remember seeing a red flower painted on the door.””
He looked at the photograph again.
Then he whispered a word that made Rebecca sit upright.
“The Phoenix.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
My father turned the photograph toward me.
On the iron gate, barely visible beneath the ivy, was an ornamental emblem.
A red flower with five pointed petals.
The same symbol my mother had drawn on the cover of her final collection.
Rebecca closed the folder.
“We need a search warrant.””
My father nodded.
“Then get one.””
But as Rebecca reached for her phone, mine began to ring.
Brianna.
I hesitated.
My father shook his head, but I answered anyway.
“What do you want?””
Her voice sounded different.
Quieter.
“Nia, I need to talk to you.””
“You've had plenty of chances.””
“Please. Just listen.””
I heard a door close on her end.
“Mom doesn't know I'm calling.””
My heart started pounding.
“Why are you calling me behind her back?””
“Because she's planning to leave the country.””
I looked at my father.
“What?””
“She's packing everything. She's taking the original designs, and Victor is coming tonight.””
My father snatched the phone from my hand and switched on the speaker.
“Brianna, this is Adrian.””
There was a sharp intake of breath.
“Dad?””
The word sounded strange coming from her mouth.
“Yes. Tell me exactly what is happening.””
Brianna began to cry.
“Mom said everything was supposed to be simple. She said the collection would belong to me, and Nia would never find out. But now the police are asking questions, and Victor says we have to leave.””
My father closed his eyes.
“Where are you?””
“I can't tell you.””
“Brianna, listen to me. If you know something about Eleanor's death, you need to tell the truth.””
Silence.
Then Brianna whispered, “I found something in the blueprints.””
“What did you find?””
“A second set of plans. They're hidden inside the original Phoenix collection.””
My breath caught.
“Where?””
“In the locked room at the estate.””
My father leaned closer to the phone.
“Brianna, do not touch anything. Stay where you are, and we'll send someone to help you.””
“I can't.””
“Why not?””
“Because Victor is here.””
A loud crash sounded through the phone.
Brianna screamed.
Then a man's voice thundered in the background.
“WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?””
The line went dead.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Then my father grabbed his coat.
“Call the police.””
Rebecca was already dialing.
I stood so quickly that my chair toppled backward.
“Daddy, we have to help her.””
He looked at me.
“I know.””
“But she's still in there!””
“I know, sweetheart.””
He took my shoulders.
“Whatever Brianna has done, she's still a young woman in danger. We are not going to leave her there.””
I nodded, tears spilling down my face.
My father turned toward Rebecca.
“Tell the police we have reason to believe someone is attempting to remove stolen property and may be holding a witness against her will.””
Rebecca relayed the information.
Within minutes, officers were being dispatched to the estate.
My father took my hand.
“We're going to get answers.””
I looked at the photograph of the stone house.
Somewhere behind those locked doors lay my mother's final collection.
And perhaps the truth about the night she died.
But as we rushed toward the elevator, I couldn't stop thinking about Brianna's last words.
I found something in the blueprints.
May you like
Whatever she had discovered was frightening enough to make her betray her own mother.
And I had a terrible feeling that once we saw it, there would be no going back.
