Chapter 8: The Five Flowers
We returned to Mrs. Collins's shop shortly before midnight.
The pink gown lay across the large cutting table.
Its lining was damaged, and the concealed pocket had been emptied, but the five embroidered flowers remained intact.
Mrs. Collins switched on the overhead lights.
“Emily, bring me your original construction photographs.””
I opened my phone and found the pictures from six months earlier.
She placed one beside the gown.
“Look carefully.””
I leaned over the table.
The five flowers were arranged in a small cluster beneath the left side of the bodice.
They looked decorative.
But Mrs. Collins pointed to the center.
“Your father asked me to help you with these.””
I frowned.
“I thought I designed them myself.””
“You designed the flowers. He suggested the arrangement.””
She retrieved a magnifying lamp.
“Look at the petals.””
I bent closer.
The first flower had six petals.
The second had five.
The third had eight.
The fourth had three.
The fifth had seven.
“What does that mean?”” I asked.
Mrs. Collins opened an old notebook.
“Your father used to mark important documents with numerical patterns. He believed passwords should be meaningful rather than random.””
Daniel, who had joined us by phone, spoke through the speaker.
“Could the numbers represent a page reference?””
“Possibly,” Mrs. Collins answered.
I stared at the flowers.
“Six, five, eight, three, seven.””
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, “Ask Margaret whether she remembers the old studio filing system.””
Mrs. Collins frowned.
“I designed that system with Thomas. Every original design was assigned a five-digit archive number.””
She opened a locked cabinet and removed a thick ledger.
The pages were yellowed, but the handwriting was still clear.
“Let's see.””
She ran her finger down the list.
Then she stopped.
“Emily.””
I leaned closer.
There it was.
65837.
The entry read:
*WALKER DESIGN TRUST — ORIGINAL OWNERSHIP ARCHIVE.*
Underneath was an address.
A storage facility on the outskirts of Atlanta.
My heart began racing.
“What's there?””
Mrs. Collins turned another page.
“According to this ledger, the archive contains original sketches, partnership agreements, design patents, and financial records.””
“Why would Dad hide all that?””
“Because he no longer trusted the people who had access to the studio.””
I looked at the gown.
“Is the certificate there?””
Mrs. Collins nodded slowly.
“If your father followed his usual system, the archive should contain the original ownership documents.””
Daniel's voice came through the phone.
“Don't go there alone. I'll arrange access through the estate administrator.””
I checked the time.
It was almost one in the morning.
“We can go tomorrow.””
Daniel paused.
“There's one more thing you need to know. The storage facility has received an access request under your mother's name.””
I felt cold.
“When?””
“Yesterday afternoon.””
Mrs. Collins closed the ledger.
“Then we need to get there before she does.””
The next morning, we met Daniel outside the storage facility.
A manager led us to Unit 214.
The metal door was secured with two locks.
Daniel presented the estate documents.
After verifying everything, the manager unlocked the unit.
The door rolled upward with a metallic groan.
Inside were several cardboard boxes, a wooden desk, and an old garment rack.
A layer of dust covered everything.
I stepped inside.
It smelled like old paper and cedar.
Mrs. Collins went straight to the first box.
“Thomas always labeled everything.””
She removed the lid.
Inside were hundreds of photographs and sketches.
I recognized my father's handwriting immediately.
He had drawn dresses, coats, evening gowns, and intricate embroidered jackets.
Some designs were more beautiful than anything I had ever seen.
I touched one of the sketches.
It showed a pink evening gown with five flowers embroidered beneath the waist.
It was almost identical to mine.
“That's the original inspiration,” Mrs. Collins whispered.
I stared at it.
“My dress was based on Dad's design?””
“Partly. He wanted you to develop your own interpretation.””
I turned the page.
There was a handwritten note.
For Emily. Let her finish what I started.
My eyes filled with tears.
I kept searching.
In the bottom of the box, I found a small wooden case.
Inside were several sealed envelopes.
One was addressed to Daniel.
Another was addressed to Brianna.
The third had my name.
I opened mine carefully.
Inside was a certificate confirming that I was the sole beneficiary of the Walker Design Trust's creative assets.
But there was another document beneath it.
A handwritten statement from my father.
It described the unauthorized sale of his original design and identified the account where the proceeds had been transferred.
I read the account number.
Then I noticed the beneficiary's name.
Linda Walker.
My mother.
Daniel took the paper from me.
His expression grew serious.
“This could be significant evidence.””
I looked at the next page.
It contained a list of subsequent transfers.
One went to a company called LW Events.
Another went to an account under Brianna's name.
I turned toward my sister.
She had come with us that morning after insisting she wanted to tell the truth.
Her face was white.
“Why is my name there?”” she whispered.
Daniel examined the dates.
“These transfers occurred over three years.””
Brianna shook her head.
“I thought Mom was paying my tuition.””
“Some payments may have been legitimate,” Daniel said.
“But we need to establish where the money originated.””
I looked at my sister.
“Did you know about LW Events?””
She nodded.
“It's the company Mom used for the charity gala.””
I stared at her.
“Your gala?””
“Mom said it was funded by donations.””
Daniel placed the statement on the desk.
“Emily, there's another document we need to find.””
He pointed toward the wooden case.
“Your father mentioned an independent audit report.””
Mrs. Collins began searching through the boxes.
I opened another envelope.
Inside was a photograph of my father standing beside a woman I didn't recognize.
She was holding a folder.
On the back, Dad had written:
Margaret knows where the original audit is. If Linda ever tries to claim the studio, this woman can prove everything.
I turned the photograph over again.
A name was printed at the bottom.
*EVELYN PRICE — FORENSIC ACCOUNTANT.*
Mrs. Collins suddenly stopped moving.
“Evelyn,” she whispered.
“What?”” I asked.
“She was the accountant who investigated the missing money.””
“Where is she?””
Mrs. Collins stared at the photograph.
“She disappeared from Atlanta shortly after your father died.””
Daniel picked up the phone.
“I'll see whether I can locate her.””
Before he could dial, Brianna's phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
It was Mom.
She answered hesitantly.
“Hello?””
My mother didn't bother with a greeting.
“Where are you?””
Brianna glanced at us.
“At the storage facility.””
There was a long silence.
Then Mom screamed.
“GET AWAY FROM THOSE DOCUMENTS!””
Brianna flinched.
“Mom, why?””
“Because you have no idea what you're looking at!””
Daniel stepped forward.
“Linda, this is Daniel Reed. We have located the original trust records.””
My mother's voice became very quiet.
“Then you need to listen carefully.””
“What is it?”” I asked.
She paused.
Then she said something that made Mrs. Collins drop the box she was holding.
“Your father didn't die believing I had stolen from him, Emily.””
I swallowed.
“Then what did he believe?””
May you like
Mom began crying.
“He died believing I had sold the company to someone who never existed.””
