Chapter 1: The Dress They Thought They Could Steal
“That invitation is for family members,” Brielle said, smiling at me through the mirror.
“And let's be honest, Camille. You're barely family anymore.””
For a moment, the room went silent.
I stared at my stepsister standing in my midnight-blue designer gown, admiring herself as though she had personally earned every bead and every inch of silk.
Then I looked at Vanessa.
She was adjusting Brielle's waistline, completely ignoring the fact that she had just helped her daughter steal something that had cost me months of work.
“Actually,” I said quietly, “my name is on the invitation.””
Brielle stopped turning.
Vanessa slowly lifted her eyes.
“What did you say?””
“My name is on the invitation. I received it from the foundation.””
Brielle laughed.
“Oh, please. Daddy probably sent one out of pity.””
Vanessa straightened and folded her arms.
“Camille, don't embarrass yourself. Your father and I have already discussed the gala arrangements. Brielle will be accompanying us.””
“And what about me?””
“You can stay home.””
I blinked.
“It's a foundation honoring my mother.””
Vanessa's expression tightened.
“Your mother has been gone for years. You need to stop using her memory as an excuse to demand special treatment.””
The words struck somewhere deep.
My mother, Evelyn Brooks, had been dead for five years.
She had been the kind of woman who remembered the names of grocery store cashiers, donated anonymously to struggling families, and believed that a person's character was worth more than their bank balance.
She had also helped my father establish the Brooks Foundation.
Yet Vanessa had spent three years trying to erase every trace of her.
The photographs had disappeared first.
Then the books.
Then the little garden where my mother used to grow white roses.
Now Vanessa was standing in my bedroom, telling me that I had no place at an event created in my mother's honor.
I looked at Brielle.
“Take off my dress.””
She rolled her eyes.
“Don't start.””
“I'm serious.””
“Camille, sweetheart,” Vanessa said, adopting the fake sweetness she used whenever she wanted to sound reasonable.
“Brielle has been having a difficult time lately. She's been trying to establish herself socially. You have a stable job. You don't need something like this.””
“So because she wants it, I have to give it to her?””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Because you're part of this household, you should learn to share.””
I almost laughed.
Share?
I had shared my childhood home, my father's attention, my privacy, and even the memories of my mother.
But apparently, none of that had been enough.
“I'm calling Dad,” I said.
Brielle's expression changed.
“Go ahead.””
I pulled my phone from the dressing table.
Vanessa didn't move to stop me this time.
That should have been my warning.
I called my father.
He answered after three rings.
“Camille, sweetheart. Everything okay?””
“Dad, I need you to come upstairs.””
“What happened?””
“Brielle took my gala dress. Vanessa helped her. They're saying I can't attend the gala.””
There was a pause.
Then I heard him sigh.
“Camille, please. Not today.””
I closed my eyes.
“Dad, I'm not asking you to fix a disagreement over clothes. They physically took something I bought with my own money.””
“Your stepsister is excited about the event. Maybe you two can work something out.””
“She is wearing my dress.””
“Then perhaps let her borrow it for the evening.””
I stared at the woman in the mirror.
Brielle was smiling again.
She had heard him.
Of course she had.
“Dad, I saved for months to buy that dress.””
“And I appreciate that, sweetheart. But it's only a dress.””
Only a dress.
I looked at the delicate beading around the waist.
I remembered the extra shifts, the lunches I had packed, the weekends I had spent working on residential design projects.
I remembered how carefully I had saved every dollar.
“Would you tell Brielle the same thing if someone took her favorite handbag?””
My father didn't answer immediately.
“Camille, I'm at work. We'll discuss this tonight.””
The call ended.
I lowered my phone.
Brielle laughed.
“See? Daddy agrees with me.””
Vanessa picked up the garment bag and handed it to her daughter.
“Keep it somewhere safe. We don't want Camille accidentally damaging it.””
That was when something inside me finally settled.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Something colder.
I bent down and picked up the boutique shopping bags scattered across the floor.
I placed them neatly beside the wardrobe.
Then I retrieved the small velvet box containing the earrings I had purchased to wear with the gown.
Brielle watched me.
“What are you doing?””
“Nothing.””
“Why are you being so quiet?””
I looked at her reflection.
“I'm deciding whether this is worth arguing about.””
She grinned.
“Finally. Some maturity.””
Vanessa gave an approving nod.
“Good. I knew you would understand.””
I didn't correct her.
I simply took my phone and walked out.
Behind me, Brielle was already asking her mother to take photographs.
At 6:40 that evening, I sat alone in my car outside a small coffee shop in Buckhead.
My shoulder still hurt where Vanessa had shoved me into the dressing table.
I had changed into a simple black dress before leaving the house.
My designer gown was still upstairs.
Technically, it was still mine.
But the real reason I hadn't demanded it back again was that I had just received an email that changed everything.
The subject line read:
*BROOKS FOUNDATION — LEGACY GALA: SPECIAL FAMILY RECOGNITION*
I opened it.
The message was from Margaret Ellis, the foundation's executive director.
Dear Camille,
We are looking forward to seeing you at Saturday's Legacy Gala.
As discussed, the board has prepared a special announcement concerning your mother's original charitable trust and the future of the foundation.
Your attendance is particularly important. Please bring the sealed envelope delivered to your father's residence several years ago, if you still have access to it.
I read the message twice.
Then I checked the attachment.
It was a scanned copy of an old document.
At the top was my mother's name.
Evelyn Brooks.
Below it was a handwritten note.
For Camille, when she is ready.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
I knew exactly which envelope Margaret meant.
It had been in my mother's old writing desk for years.
A cream-colored envelope sealed with dark red wax.
After my mother died, I had found it while sorting through her belongings. I had asked my father about it, but he told me he would keep it safe until the appropriate time.
Then Vanessa moved into the house.
And the desk disappeared.
I had assumed the envelope had been thrown away with the rest of my mother's things.
I called Margaret.
She answered almost immediately.
“Camille, darling. I'm glad you saw my email.””
“Margaret, what is this about?””
“It's a little complicated.””
“Does it have something to do with my mother?””
A brief silence followed.
“Yes.””
I swallowed.
“Can you tell me?””
“Not over the phone. There are some matters the board needs to address in person.””
“Is my father aware?””
Another pause.
“Your father knows there is an announcement. He doesn't know everything.””
My stomach tightened.
“Why not?””
“Because Evelyn specifically requested that certain details remain confidential until you turned twenty-three.””
I looked at the date on my phone.
I had turned twenty-three three months earlier.
“Margaret, what did my mother leave me?””
“I think it's time you found out.””
When I returned home, the house was unusually quiet.
The lights in the dining room were on.
My father sat at the head of the table, scrolling through his phone. Vanessa was pouring wine, while Brielle was stretched comfortably across a chair.
She was still wearing my gown.
“Camille,” my father said, looking up.
“We need to talk.””
I placed my purse on the counter.
“About what?””
Vanessa set down the wine bottle.
“Your attitude this afternoon.””
I almost smiled.
“My attitude?””
“You made Brielle feel uncomfortable.””
Brielle sighed dramatically.
“Mom, don't bother. She's clearly still upset because she can't handle someone else looking better than her.””
My father rubbed his forehead.
“Girls, please.””
I pulled out a chair.
“Dad, I received an email from Margaret Ellis.””
His phone stopped moving.
“Margaret?””
“Yes. She mentioned a special announcement about Mom's charitable trust.””
Vanessa's wineglass paused halfway to her lips.
Brielle looked between us.
“What charitable trust?””
My father leaned back.
“It's foundation business.””
“Apparently, it concerns me.””
His expression changed.
“Who told you that?””
“Margaret.””
Vanessa placed her glass down carefully.
“Daniel, I thought we agreed that those old arrangements were finished.””
The room went still.
I turned toward her.
“What old arrangements?””
Vanessa looked at my father.
He didn't answer.
“Daniel?””
My father cleared his throat.
“Camille, your mother made several arrangements before she died. Some of them were complicated.””
“Why would they be complicated?””
“Because she had different ideas about how the foundation should operate.””
Vanessa gave a short laugh.
“Your mother was very idealistic.””
I looked at her.
“That's usually a good thing.””
“Not when you're managing millions of dollars,” she replied.
My father gave her a warning glance.
I noticed it.
For the first time, I wondered whether there was something between them that I had never been allowed to see.
“Dad, Margaret asked me to bring an envelope.””
His face went pale.
“What envelope?””
“The one Mom left for me.””
The fork slipped from his hand and struck his plate.
Vanessa stared at him.
Brielle sat upright.
“Wait. What envelope?””
My father looked at me for several seconds.
Then he asked a question I had never expected.
“Camille, where exactly did you hear about that?””
I felt my pulse quicken.
“Why?””
He pushed his chair back.
“Because that envelope was never supposed to be opened.””
May you like
And before I could ask another question, Vanessa whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“Daniel, I thought you told me you destroyed it.””
