Chapter 7: The Woman Who Stole My Mother's Name
The message on my phone contained a threat, but the photograph in my hand contained something far more dangerous.
Proof.
Proof that Vanessa had known my mother long before she married my father. Proof that Graham Grant's family was connected to the disappearance of Elena Carter's original fashion collection. And proof that the story I had been told about my mother's life was built on a lie.
I stared at the silver phoenix pendant around the young woman's neck.
I had seen that symbol hundreds of times.
Vanessa wore a similar pendant at formal events. Brianna sometimes borrowed it, claiming it was a family heirloom. Whenever I asked about it, Vanessa said it had belonged to her grandmother.
Now I knew that explanation might be another lie.
"Eleanor," I whispered, "who was Victoria Grant?""
Eleanor Hayes carefully returned the photograph to the envelope.
"Victoria was a promising young designer. She was Graham's older sister, and she worked with your mother before Carter House Fashion became successful.""
"Was she friends with my mother?""
"They were collaborators, at first. Your mother was the creative mind behind the collection. Victoria handled some of the business arrangements.""
"Then why is Vanessa in the photograph?""
Eleanor sighed.
"Because Vanessa worked as an assistant in the company's business office. She was ambitious, intelligent, and very good at convincing people she could be trusted.""
I thought of the way Vanessa had smiled at my father during their wedding photographs.
The way she had entered our home carrying expensive luggage and promises of a fresh start.
The way she had gradually removed every trace of my mother from the house.
"Did Victoria die?"" I asked.
Eleanor looked away.
"She disappeared from the fashion industry after a dispute involving the original collection. Some people said she moved overseas. Others believed she had suffered a breakdown. No one could confirm what happened.""
"Did my mother know?""
"Elena believed Victoria had betrayed her. But she never explained exactly what had occurred.""
I looked at the old gown standing beneath the storage unit's fluorescent lights.
My mother had designed it.
She had sewn her name into its label.
Yet for eighteen years, the world had been told that her collection wasn't hers.
"Could Vanessa have been involved in what happened to Victoria?""
"Possibly," Eleanor replied.
"But we need evidence before making that accusation.""
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a message from Brianna.
Mom knows you've been to the storage unit. She just called Mr. Grant. Please don't go home alone.
I showed Eleanor.
Her expression tightened.
"Have you told Brianna everything you've found?""
"No. She knows about the forged label and the video, but not the original collection.""
"Then we should assume Vanessa knows more than Brianna has admitted.""
I glanced toward the storage unit entrance.
"Can we take the documents?""
"We can arrange a documented transfer and make copies. The originals need to be handled carefully. If the ownership dispute becomes a legal case, preserving their authenticity will matter.""
Eleanor contacted her attorney, who arranged for the evidence to be photographed, cataloged, and secured. We didn't leave the original gown behind without documenting its condition, the label, and the materials stored with it.
As the attorney's assistant began preparing the inventory, I examined the contents of the wooden box again.
Beneath my mother's sketches was a small notebook with a blue leather cover.
I opened it.
The first pages contained fabric measurements and embroidery patterns. The later entries were different. They recorded dates, meetings, payments, and names.
One entry had been underlined twice.
September 14. Vanessa says Victoria has agreed to transfer the phoenix collection. Victoria says she never signed the contract. Graham insists the signature is genuine.
I turned the page.
September 18. Elena discovered the duplicate agreement. She says someone has copied her signature, too.
My hands began to shake.
There were more entries.
September 21. The original sketches are safe. I have moved them away from the studio.
Then, on the final written page:
If anything happens to me, Nia must know that the phoenix was never meant to belong to one person alone. It was created from two women's work. The truth about Victoria must be found.
I read the sentence again.
Two women's work.
Victoria.
My mother.
What had they created together?
I looked at Eleanor.
"Does this mean Victoria designed part of the collection?""
Eleanor studied the notebook.
"It could. The original contracts may tell us more.""
"But why would my mother leave a note about finding Victoria?""
"Because she believed the truth about the collection and Victoria's disappearance were connected.""
I closed the notebook.
My phone rang.
The caller ID showed my father's old estate attorney's office.
I answered immediately.
"Hello?""
A man's voice spoke.
"Miss Carter? This is Daniel Collins. I need to see you as soon as possible.""
I glanced at Eleanor.
"What's happened?""
"I've received an urgent notice from the bank. Someone has attempted to freeze the trust your father established for you.""
My stomach dropped.
"Can they do that?""
"Not without a legal basis. But someone has submitted a claim alleging that the trust was established using assets improperly transferred from Carter House Fashion.""
I gripped the phone.
"Who submitted the claim?""
There was a pause.
Then he answered.
"Graham Grant, acting on behalf of the company.""
I closed my eyes.
Vanessa and Graham weren't merely trying to discredit my design.
They were trying to cut off the money that could pay for my eye treatment.
"They're trying to take everything," I whispered.
"That's why we need to move quickly," Daniel said.
"Bring every original document you found. Do not sign anything from Graham or Vanessa.""
"I won't.""
"And Nia?""
"Yes?""
"There's something else. I reviewed your father's estate records again after our meeting. One payment caught my attention. It was made to a private medical facility three days before his death.""
My breath caught.
"What kind of payment?""
"A deposit for a patient whose name was recorded only by initials. The facility has refused to release further information without additional authorization.""
"Do you know the initials?""
"V.G.""
I looked at Eleanor.
Victoria Grant.
The initials matched.
"Could it have been Victoria?"" I asked.
"I can't confirm that. But the date is significant.""
I thanked him and ended the call.
For several seconds, neither Eleanor nor I spoke.
Then Eleanor picked up the notebook.
"We need to find out whether Victoria is alive.""
I stared at her.
"You think she could be?""
"I think we have enough evidence to stop assuming she's dead or gone forever.""
She glanced toward the storage unit door.
"And if she is alive, she may be the only person who can explain what really happened to your mother.""
We met Daniel Collins at his office shortly after three that afternoon.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, and the windows overlooked a busy Chicago street. I sat across from him with the folder of evidence resting on my knees.
He examined the documents one by one.
When he reached the ownership agreement, he leaned back in his chair.
"This is significant.""
"Can Graham still take the company from me?"" I asked.
"Not lawfully without establishing a valid claim. But his filing could delay access to certain assets while the dispute is investigated.""
"And my medical treatment?""
"We'll contact the trust administrator and request that essential medical expenses be handled separately while the claim is reviewed. I can't promise the request will be approved immediately, but we can make the case that your treatment shouldn't be held hostage to a business dispute.""
I nodded, trying to keep my emotions under control.
Daniel examined the letter from my mother.
"This may be the most important piece of evidence you've found.""
"Because it proves she created the collection?""
"That, and the fact that it appears to identify a second designer. If Victoria Grant contributed to the collection, then we need to determine who owns which rights. We shouldn't assume every design belongs exclusively to your mother or exclusively to the company.""
I thought of the notebook.
"The phoenix was created by two women.""
"Then we need to establish what each woman contributed and whether any valid agreement exists.""
Daniel placed the papers in a protective folder.
"Do you have any idea where Victoria might be?""
I told him about the payment to the medical facility.
He wrote down the initials and date.
"I'll make inquiries through the appropriate legal channels.""
Then he opened another file.
"There's something about your father's death that I want to discuss with you.""
My hands went cold.
"What?""
"His death certificate lists a cardiac event. There was no criminal investigation at the time. But the estate records show that he had arranged a meeting with an accountant the morning he died.""
"Why?""
"He intended to review several questionable transfers from the company.""
I stared at him.
"Was Vanessa involved?""
"We don't know. But the timing warrants further examination.""
For two years, I had believed my father died suddenly, leaving me alone with a stepmother who resented me.
Now I was beginning to understand that his final days might have been far more complicated than anyone had admitted.
Daniel closed the file.
"I don't want you jumping to conclusions. We need facts, not suspicions.""
"I understand.""
"Good. And one more thing. Keep your own records.
Every message, every threat, every document. If someone tries to pressure you, write down exactly what happened and when.""
I nodded.
As we stood to leave, Daniel looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Your father loved you very much, Nia. He spent considerable effort trying to protect your future.""
My throat tightened.
"Then why did he leave me with Vanessa?""
Daniel paused.
"Sometimes people believe they can repair a dangerous situation from within. Sometimes they don't realize how far things have gone until it's too late.""
I looked down at the folder.
"I wish he had told me.""
"So do I.""
That evening, I returned to the house with Eleanor's driver.
I expected Vanessa to be waiting with another accusation.
Instead, the house was silent.
The lights in the downstairs sitting room were off. A single lamp glowed in the hallway, illuminating the framed photographs Vanessa had chosen to replace my father's pictures.
I climbed the stairs carefully.
When I reached my bedroom, I found a white envelope on my pillow.
My name was written across the front.
Inside was a printed photograph of my father leaving a restaurant with Graham Grant.
The date on the photograph was two days before my father died.
On the back, someone had written:
Ask Vanessa what happened at the restaurant.
I stared at the image.
My father looked tired. Graham was holding a thick folder. Neither man appeared to know they were being photographed.
A second sheet of paper slid from the envelope.
It contained a handwritten address.
And a name.
*Victoria Grant.*
Beneath it was a single sentence.
She's alive, Nia. And she knows who really destroyed your mother.
I turned toward the door.
Vanessa stood there.
Her face was pale, and her eyes were fixed on the photograph in my hand.
"Where did you get that?"" she whispered.
I held it up.
"Who put this in my room?""
She took a step toward me.
"Give it to me.""
"No.""
For a moment, she looked almost frightened.
Then her expression hardened into something colder than anger.
"If you contact Victoria Grant, you'll destroy what's left of this family.""
I stared at her.
"You told me she was a stranger.""
Vanessa's lips parted.
Then she made a mistake.
She said, very quietly, "She was never supposed to survive.""
The words hung between us.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Vanessa realized what she had said.
She backed away.
"Nia, I didn't mean—"
But I had already understood one thing.
May you like
The woman who had stolen my dress had just revealed that the secrets surrounding my mother's death were far more dangerous than I had imagined.
And somewhere in Chicago, Victoria Grant was waiting for someone to find her.
