Chapter 6: The Man Who Knew Too Much
I couldn't feel my fingers.
Paul Bennett stood in the storage unit doorway, holding evidence that my father had hidden from me for five years.
Jasmine moved closer to my side.
"That's a serious accusation," she said.
"Do you have proof?""
Paul nodded toward the trunk.
"Your mother gave me copies of several documents before she died. I wasn't able to recover everything, and the investigation went nowhere. Then someone began paying me to stop looking.""
"Who paid you?"" I asked.
He hesitated.
"David Carter.""
My father's name sounded different when spoken by a stranger.
Not Dad.
Not the man who used to carry me on his shoulders at the county fair.
Just David Carter.
"Why would he pay you to stay away from this place?"" I asked.
"Because I knew your mother had hidden something here. I didn't know what. Every time I got close, someone warned me off.""
"Did you investigate her accident?""
"I tried. The original police report was incomplete, and the mechanic who examined her car changed his statement twice. He eventually left Georgia.""
Jasmine frowned.
"Did you contact the police?""
"Several times. Without enough evidence to establish a connection between the crash and the stolen designs, the case went cold.""
I looked down at the flash drive.
"What's on this?""
Paul studied it.
"If it's the archive I think it is, your mother preserved the original creation dates, sketches, and correspondence. That could prove Martin stole her work.""
"And my father?""
Paul's expression tightened.
"That depends on what's in the payment records.""
I stepped toward him.
"Tell me everything you know.""
He glanced at his watch.
"I will. But you have a competition meeting this morning, don't you?""
My stomach dropped.
The verification meeting.
Nine o'clock.
I checked my phone.
8:24.
"We need to leave," Jasmine said.
Paul closed his folder.
"Take the drive. Don't give the original documents to anyone. Make copies, and store them somewhere your father cannot access.""
"Why are you helping me now?""
His eyes softened.
"Because your mother asked me to protect her daughter if the truth ever came out.""
He handed me a business card.
"Call me after the meeting. And Nia?""
I turned.
"Don't sign anything Martin Hale gives you.""
We hurried to Jasmine's car.
On the drive downtown, I called the competition office to confirm the meeting location. A receptionist answered and transferred me to Martin Hale's assistant.
"Mr. Hale is expecting you," the woman said.
"Is the meeting still at nine?""
"Yes. Please arrive ten minutes early. Bring your original designs and all supporting documentation.""
"Will I be meeting the other contestants?""
A pause.
"No. This is an individual verification appointment.""
I exchanged a look with Jasmine.
"Why individual?""
"Those are Mr. Hale's instructions.""
The call ended.
Jasmine tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
"This is getting worse.""
"Maybe he wants to intimidate me.""
"Then we make sure he doesn't get the chance.""
She pulled into a parking lot across the street from the competition's office building.
Before I got out, she handed me her phone.
"I've recorded the location, time, and everything Paul told us. If anything happens, my parents know where we are.""
I hugged her.
"Thank you.""
"Don't thank me yet. You're still going to become famous and make me your unpaid assistant.""
I smiled faintly.
Then I walked into the building.
Martin Hale's office occupied the entire top floor. Glass walls overlooked downtown Atlanta, and framed photographs of glamorous models covered the corridor.
In every photograph, the designer received the credit.
I recognized some of the silhouettes from my mother's sketchbooks.
A woman in a charcoal suit greeted me at the reception desk.
"Miss Carter? Mr. Hale is ready for you.""
She led me into a conference room.
Martin stood beside a long table, wearing a navy suit and a silver watch. He was older than he had appeared in the photograph, with gray hair at his temples and the smooth confidence of a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.
"Nia," he said warmly.
"Your mother would be proud of how far you've come.""
I froze.
"You knew my mother.""
He gestured toward a chair.
"Of course. She was exceptionally talented.""
"Then why is my sister entering my designs under her name?""
His smile barely shifted.
"That's precisely what we're here to discuss.""
He opened a folder.
Inside were photographs of my sapphire-blue gown, my unfinished red gown, and several pages from my mother's sketchbook.
My breath caught.
"Where did you get those?""
"Your family provided them for verification.""
"My family stole them.""
"Careful, Nia. Accusations can be damaging when you have no proof.""
I placed the fabric supplier's receipt on the table.
"I have proof that someone deliberately damaged my red gown.""
Martin glanced at it without touching it.
"Unfortunately, fabric can be damaged in many ways.""
"My stepsister registered my sapphire gown as her own.""
"Your stepsister has submitted the necessary documentation.""
"She didn't make it.""
"Can you prove that?""
I pulled out my phone and showed him photographs of my sewing process.
The first displayed the bare pattern pieces.
The next showed the embroidery halfway completed.
The last showed the finished gown hanging beside my worktable.
Martin studied the images.
For the first time, his smile disappeared.
"These photographs are interesting," he said.
"They prove I made the dress.""
"They prove you photographed a dress.""
I stared at him.
He closed the folder.
"The competition requires originality, but it also requires entrants to comply with the committee's decisions. Brianna's registration has been approved.""
"Because you approved it.""
"Because the committee has confidence in her submission.""
"And the scholarship?""
Martin leaned back.
"Your father has already signed the appropriate documents.""
My hands curled beneath the table.
"You can't give away something I earned.""
"You haven't earned anything yet, Nia.""
He stood and walked toward the window.
"Your mother understood that talent alone doesn't build a career. She made a mistake when she challenged the wrong people.""
The room went silent.
I rose slowly.
"What happened to her?""
Martin turned.
For a moment, something cold flickered across his face.
"Your mother was involved in a tragic accident.""
"Was it really an accident?""
His expression hardened.
"This meeting is over.""
He opened the door and called for his assistant.
As I gathered my photographs, he spoke again.
"One more thing, Nia. Your red gown is not eligible for the competition.""
"Why not?""
"Because the design was previously submitted under another creator's name.""
My heart stopped.
"Who?""
Martin slid a document across the table.
It showed my mother's red gown, dated five years earlier.
Beneath the image was a designer's name.
*MARTIN HALE.*
He watched me read it.
"Your mother may have drawn that dress," he said, "but according to the records, I own the collection.""
I took the document.
The signature at the bottom looked like my mother's.
But I knew her handwriting.
And that wasn't hers.
I looked up.
"You forged this.""
Martin's smile returned.
"Prove it.""
I walked out before he could see my hands shaking.
Outside, Jasmine was waiting beside the car.
"What happened?""
I handed her the document.
She read it, then looked at me in disbelief.
"He stole your mother's design, too.""
"Yes.""
"Then we expose him.""
I reached for the flash drive in my pocket.
"We need to check the files first.""
We drove to a public library and borrowed a computer in a quiet study room. I inserted the drive.
A folder opened, filled with photographs, scanned contracts, and audio recordings.
One file was dated three days before my mother's death.
I clicked it.
My mother's voice filled the room.
"If you're hearing this, Martin has gone too far. David says he can make everything disappear, but I don't trust him anymore.""
I covered my mouth.
The recording continued.
"Martin threatened to destroy my career if I exposed the theft. David says I should stop fighting. He says I need to think about Nia.""
There was a pause.
Then my mother's voice dropped to a whisper.
"But if anything happens to me, I need my daughter to know the truth.""
A car horn sounded faintly in the background of the recording.
My mother's breathing became unsteady.
"David, if you're listening to this, please remember what you promised me. You said you would never let them hurt our daughter.""
The recording ended.
I sat motionless.
Jasmine reached for my hand.
"Nia?""
I stared at the computer screen.
My father had known my mother was afraid.
He had known Martin was threatening her.
And he had promised to protect us.
But five years later, he had signed away my future to the same man.
I opened the next file.
It contained a scanned bank transfer dated the day before my mother's accident.
The sender was Martin Hale.
The recipient was David Carter.
The amount was $75,000.
The memo line contained four words.
*Final payment. Project complete.*
I heard my own voice, thin and distant.
"Jasmine, what does that mean?""
She leaned toward the screen.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then another notification appeared.
A new file had been added to the archive remotely.
May you like
Its title was simple.
*WHAT YOUR FATHER DID NEXT.*
