Chapter 4: The Photograph That Should Never Have Existed
My father locked the door.
It was the first thing he did after seeing the photograph.
The second was pull me away from the windows.
“Nia, stay behind me.””
I stared at the phone in his hand.
The photograph showed me sitting beside him only minutes earlier. My face was visible. So was the silver needle case he had given me.
Someone had been watching us.
Someone had been close enough to photograph us through the doorway.
And that person knew my father was alive.
“Dad, who sent that?””
He didn't answer.
“Dad!””
He turned toward Eleanor.
“Secure the building. Nobody leaves this floor without being identified.””
Eleanor immediately picked up her phone.
“I'll contact the security director.””
Vanessa, meanwhile, had gone unusually quiet.
She stood beside the sofa, holding her handbag against her body.
Brianna was staring at the photograph.
“Mom,” she whispered.
“What's happening?””
Vanessa ignored her.
My father noticed.
“Did you know about this?””
Vanessa raised her chin.
“Know about what?””
“The person sending threats.””
She gave a short laugh.
“You've been missing for ten years. Perhaps you should consider that someone else has taken over your old enemies.””
“I'm asking you a question.””
“And I'm telling you that I don't know anything.””
Eleanor approached the door.
Before she could open it, my father stopped her.
“Wait.””
He examined the photograph again.
“Look at the reflection.””
I leaned closer.
In the glass behind me, there was a faint reflection of someone standing in the corridor.
A man.
He wore a dark security uniform.
His face was partially hidden by the angle of the photograph.
But something about his posture seemed familiar.
“Is that one of the guards?”” I asked.
Eleanor enlarged the image.
Her expression tightened.
“No.””
My father looked at her.
“Who is he?””
Eleanor swallowed.
“That's Richard Carter.””
Vanessa's brother.
The man who had supposedly been living overseas for the past five years.
The man whose company had received millions from the unauthorized licensing agreements.
My stomach turned.
“Why would Uncle Richard be here?””
Vanessa suddenly moved toward the door.
“Don't be ridiculous. Richard is in London.””
My father turned.
“Then why is his reflection in this photograph?””
Vanessa didn't answer.
Brianna looked at her mother.
“You said Uncle Richard wasn't involved.””
“Brianna, stop talking.””
“But you said—”
“I said stop!””
My father stepped between them.
“Vanessa, where is Richard?””
She looked at him with pure hatred.
“You should have stayed dead.””
The room fell silent.
Even Brianna stopped breathing.
My father didn't move.
Then he quietly said, “Thank you.””
Vanessa frowned.
“For what?””
“For finally telling the truth.””
He nodded toward Eleanor.
“Call the police.””
Vanessa lunged toward the folder on the table.
Eleanor pulled it away.
“Don't touch those documents.””
Vanessa turned toward me.
“This is all because of you.””
I stared at her.
“Because I won a competition?””
“Because you should never have entered it!””
“Why?””
“Because you were supposed to stay invisible!””
Her voice cracked through the room.
I had heard her insult me countless times.
But never like that.
Never with such desperation.
My father stepped forward.
“That's enough.””
Vanessa looked at him.
“You have no idea what you've brought back into this family.””
“Then explain it.””
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
A few minutes later, two members of the event's private security team arrived.
Eleanor explained the situation while my father examined the photograph.
Vanessa insisted that she was being unlawfully detained.
Brianna stood beside the wall, pale and trembling.
Then my father's phone rang.
He checked the number.
His expression changed.
“Daniel's daughter.””
He answered.
“Hello, Claire.””
A woman's voice came through the speaker.
“Mr. Carter, have you received the photograph?””
“Yes.””
“Then you need to leave immediately.””
My father stood straighter.
“Why?””
“Because the notebook isn't just evidence of the financial fraud. It contains the names of everyone involved in the accident.””
I looked at him.
“What notebook?””
Claire continued.
“My father spent years trying to locate the original. We found it last week in a storage unit registered under your late wife's name.””
My father closed his eyes.
“Where is it now?””
“Somewhere safe.””
“Are you sure?””
There was a pause.
Then Claire said something that made his face turn white.
“No. I need to correct that. Someone broke into the storage unit this morning.””
My father gripped the phone.
“Was the notebook taken?””
“We don't know.””
“Claire, listen to me carefully. Don't go home. Don't contact anyone you don't trust.””
“Mr. Carter…”
“Yes?””
“I found something inside the notebook before the break-in.””
“What?””
“A letter addressed to Nia.””
My heart stopped.
My father slowly turned toward me.
“A letter?””
“Yes. It has her name on it.””
I stepped closer.
“What does it say?””
Claire hesitated.
“I haven't read it. But there's a sentence written across the envelope.””
“What sentence?””
Claire's voice became quiet.
“Your mother wrote, 'If my daughter ever wears the dress with the wings, tell her the truth.''”
I felt my knees weaken.
The dress.
My competition gown.
The same dress Brianna had destroyed.
I looked at my father.
He was staring at me.
“Dad?””
He slowly sat down.
“Your mother knew,” he whispered.
“Knew what?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“She knew you would eventually become a designer.””
I shook my head.
“That doesn't explain anything.””
He looked at the torn fabric visible beneath the door's small glass panel.
Then he said something I would never forget.
“Your mother designed the original winged gown.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
“Before you were born, she created a collection with me. We called it The Phoenix Collection.””
He paused.
“The dress you made tonight was almost identical to the final design in that collection.””
I couldn't speak.
I had thought the wings came from a childhood drawing.
But perhaps the memory had been deeper than I realized.
Perhaps I had inherited more than my father's talent.
Perhaps I had been following my mother's work without knowing it.
My father reached for my hand.
“She wanted you to have that design one day.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I thought the collection had been destroyed.””
Eleanor approached us.
“Mr. Carter, there's something else.””
She held up a photograph from the folder.
It showed an old fashion sketch.
At the bottom was my mother's signature.
But beside it was a second signature.
Mine.
Not the name I used today.
A small drawing I had made as a child.
A little red star.
I stared at it.
“That's mine.””
My father nodded.
“You used to draw that on all your sketches.””
Eleanor looked at the photograph again.
“Someone has been keeping these designs.””
My father slowly stood.
“Then we need to find the original collection.””
Before anyone could answer, a security officer rushed into the room.
“Mr. Carter, we've got a problem.””
My father turned.
“What?””
“The man in the photograph has been identified.””
“Richard?””
The officer shook his head.
“No, sir.””
He looked directly at me.
“It's the event director.””
The man who had announced my victory.
The man who had handed me the trophy.
May you like
The man who had watched me walk onto the stage wearing my mother's design.
And according to security records, he had entered the building under a false name.
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