Chapter 2: The Funeral Was a Lie
I couldn't hug him.
I couldn't even move.
My father stood less than six feet away, but my mind kept showing me the funeral.
The polished wooden coffin.
The white flowers.
The photograph beside the altar.
The adults telling me he wasn't coming home.
I remembered crying until my throat hurt.
And now he was standing in front of me.
Alive.
“Prove it,” I whispered.
His expression crumpled.
“Nia…”
“Prove you're my father!””
He slowly reached into his jacket.
I flinched.
He immediately stopped.
“I'm not going to hurt you.””
He pulled out a small silver object and held it in his open palm.
It was a sewing needle case.
Old.
Scratched.
With a tiny star engraved on the lid.
I recognized it immediately.
My father had given it to me when I was seven.
I had lost it during a family trip, and he had spent an entire afternoon helping me search for it.
He had eventually found it beneath the back seat of his car.
“You told me it was a designer's most important weapon,” I whispered.
He smiled through his tears.
“Sharp needles. Sharp eyes. And a sharp mind.””
I stared at him.
Then I saw the small crescent-shaped scar near his thumb.
He had received it while teaching me how to cut fabric.
I remembered that day.
I remembered the blood.
I remembered him pretending the injury didn't hurt because I had started crying.
“Dad…”
My voice broke.
He opened his arms.
This time, I ran.
I crashed into his chest and wrapped my arms around him.
He held me so tightly that I could hear his heartbeat.
A real heartbeat.
Not a memory.
Not a dream.
My father was alive.
I buried my face in his jacket.
“You left me,” I sobbed.
He closed his eyes.
“I know.””
“You didn't come back!””
“I know, sweetheart.””
“I waited for you!””
His arms tightened.
“I know.””
I pulled away just enough to look at him.
“Why?””
He couldn't answer immediately.
He sat down on the sofa and gently guided me beside him.
For several seconds, he stared at his hands.
Then he said, “Because someone wanted me dead.””
The words made my stomach turn.
“What?””
“My accident wasn't an accident.””
I shook my head.
“That's impossible. They found your car. There was a funeral.””
“There was a car. There was a fire. And there was a funeral.””
He looked directly at me.
“But there was no body identified as mine.””
I stared at him.
“Then whose funeral did I attend?””
“Someone the authorities believed was me.””
“Who?””
“I don't know his identity. I was unconscious when they found me.””
He explained that the crash had happened on a remote road during a storm.
His car had gone over an embankment and caught fire.
He had survived, but suffered severe injuries.
A passing truck driver had found him and called for help.
He woke up weeks later in a private medical facility under an assumed identity.
“Why didn't you call me?””
His eyes lowered.
“That was the question I asked every single day.””
“Then why?””
“Because I was told you would be in danger if I contacted you.””
“Who told you that?””
“My business attorney. He said the people responsible for the accident had access to the family company, the police investigation, and our financial records.””
I stared at him.
“Vanessa?””
He didn't answer immediately.
That silence told me enough.
My stepmother had married my father three years before his supposed death.
She had entered our lives when I was seven.
At first, she had been kind.
She bought me dresses, took me to restaurants, and called me her little princess.
Then my father died.
And everything changed.
“Did she know you were alive?”” I asked.
“She was involved in the investigation.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
My father looked at me.
“I believe she knew more than she admitted.””
I felt sick.
“Then why did she raise me?””
His expression darkened.
“Because she wanted control of the company.””
He leaned forward.
“After the accident, I was told that the business had been transferred into temporary management. Vanessa became the acting director. She controlled the accounts, the employees, and the legal documents.””
“But you owned the company.””
“I did.””
“Then why couldn't you return?””
He looked toward the window.
“Because the person who helped me disappear was the same person who warned me not to come back until I could prove what had happened.””
I frowned.
“Who?””
“My old attorney, Daniel Reeves.””
He had been investigating irregularities in the company for months before the accident.
He suspected that someone was transferring money through shell companies and using the Carter name to hide unauthorized business deals.
After the crash, Daniel arranged medical care and kept my father hidden.
He also began collecting evidence.
For ten years.
I looked at my father.
“Where is he now?””
“Unfortunately, he died three months ago.””
I covered my mouth.
“Then how did you find me?””
“His daughter contacted me. She had finally located financial records that proved the people responsible had been using the company to conceal what happened.””
He paused.
“And she found something else.””
“What?””
“A document showing that the Carter company was supposed to pass to you when you turned eighteen.””
I stared at him.
“Me?””
He nodded.
“Your mother and I created a trust for you. Vanessa was never supposed to own the company.””
I thought about all the years she had told me I was lucky to have a roof over my head.
All the times she had refused to let me enter the executive offices.
All the times she had said I had no understanding of the business.
“She told me I was useless,” I whispered.
My father closed his eyes.
“I am so sorry.””
“She said my designs were childish.””
“I know.””
“She told people I was only interested in sewing because I wasn't intelligent enough to do anything else.””
He reached for my hand.
“Your mother and I always knew you were special.””
I looked down.
“Then why didn't you come home?””
He had no answer that could erase ten years.
And I didn't want a comforting excuse.
I wanted the truth.
A knock interrupted us.
My father stood immediately.
“Come in.””
A woman in her early forties entered carrying a leather folder.
She wore a charcoal suit and had a small silver pin on her lapel.
“Mr. Carter, the security team has confirmed that Vanessa Carter is still in the building.””
My father nodded.
“Did she see me?””
“No, sir. But she has been asking why the private elevator was used.””
The woman glanced at me.
“I apologize. I'm Eleanor Price. I was Daniel Reeves's legal assistant.””
I shook her hand.
“Are you the person who found my father?””
“I helped.””
She placed the folder on the table.
“Mr. Carter, we need to discuss the documents before you speak to Vanessa.””
My father opened the folder.
Inside were photographs, company statements, and several legal papers.
Eleanor pointed toward a page.
“This is the original trust agreement. Your daughter is the primary beneficiary.””
I leaned closer.
My name appeared beneath my father's signature.
NIA ELIZABETH CARTER.
The document had been signed years before the accident.
“Why does Vanessa have the company, then?””
Eleanor exchanged a look with my father.
“Because someone filed a second document after his disappearance.””
She turned another page.
It contained a signature that looked like my father's.
But something about it seemed wrong.
I had spent years studying his handwriting.
I knew how he shaped the letter C.
I knew the small upward stroke at the end of his surname.
This signature didn't match.
“That's fake,” I whispered.
Eleanor nodded.
“We believe so.””
My father leaned back.
“Daniel suspected that from the beginning.””
I looked at the document again.
Then I noticed the date.
It was signed only four days after my father's funeral.
Four days.
While I was still sleeping with his photograph beneath my pillow, someone had been signing away his company.
“Who filed it?”” I asked.
Eleanor turned the page.
A name appeared at the bottom.
Vanessa Carter.
My father closed the folder.
“That's why I came back.””
I stared at him.
“To take the company?””
“To protect you.””
I wanted to believe him.
But there was something else I needed to know.
“Did you know about tonight?””
He looked confused.
“About the competition?””
“Brianna destroyed my dress. Vanessa watched her do it. They tried to throw me out.””
His jaw tightened.
“I didn't know they would do that.””
“They've always treated me like this.””
My father looked down at the torn sleeve of my dress.
For the first time since I had entered the room, anger crossed his face.
“Not anymore.””
Eleanor quietly closed her folder.
“There's one more problem.””
My father looked at her.
“What?””
She hesitated.
“Vanessa has already contacted the police. She's claiming that Nia stole a collection of original Carter designs from the company archive.””
I stared at her.
“I didn't steal anything.””
“I know,” Eleanor said.
She pulled another sheet from the folder.
“But the complaint includes photographs of the designs.””
My father studied the page.
Then his face turned pale.
Because the designs in those photographs weren't mine.
May you like
They were his.
And the signature authorizing their sale belonged to someone who had supposedly been dead for ten years.
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