Chapter 13: The Name Hidden Behind the Fortune
The morning after I won the $100,000 scholarship, I woke to twenty-seven missed calls, dozens of messages, and a photograph of myself standing on the academy stage.
Someone had posted my story online.
The caption read: Atlanta Teen Turns Ruined Prom Dress Into Scholarship-Winning Masterpiece After Stepsister Pours Paint Over It.
By breakfast, thousands of people had shared the photograph.
But I barely noticed.
I was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the letter from Bellamy House.
A second beneficiary.
Someone who had helped Patricia take my mother's designs eighteen years ago.
Someone who had remained hidden while Patricia blamed my mother, manipulated my father, and tried to destroy my chance at a future.
Dad entered the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee.
“You haven't slept,” he said.
“Neither have you.””
He placed a mug beside me.
“Fair enough.””
I slid the letter across the table.
“We need to find out who this person is.””
Dad read it again.
“I've already contacted our attorney. Bellamy House agreed to provide the original licensing records, but they want a formal request from the legal team.””
“How long will that take?””
“Possibly several days.””
I shook my head.
“Mom spent years trying to get answers. I'm not waiting another several days while someone hides behind paperwork.””
Dad sat opposite me.
“Emily, we need to do this properly.””
I looked at him.
“That's what you said three years ago.””
He lowered his eyes.
The silence that followed was painful, but I didn't take back my words.
Finally, he nodded.
“You're right. I can't ask you to trust me just because I'm ready to tell the truth now.””
He reached into his pocket and placed an old photograph on the table.
It showed my mother standing beside two people outside the Atlanta Academy of Fashion.
One was Patricia.
The other was a tall man in a dark suit, with silver hair and a familiar smile.
I recognized him immediately.
“That's Richard Cole.””
Dad nodded.
“The head judge?””
“Yes. But before he became the academy's chief evaluator, he worked in the fashion industry. He was involved in the negotiations surrounding your mother's collection.””
I stared at the photograph.
“Why didn't anyone mention that?””
“Because he wasn't listed as a signatory on the settlement. I assumed he'd only attended the original award ceremony.””
I turned the photograph over.
My mother's handwriting was visible on the back.
Eleanor, Patricia, Richard — final meeting, June 2008.
The date sent a chill through me.
“Dad, the academy said the collection was transferred through an arrangement involving another beneficiary. What if Richard knows something?””
“Then we need to ask him.””
Before we could make the call, the doorbell rang.
Vanessa stood on the porch.
She looked exhausted, with dark circles beneath her eyes and a cardboard box held against her chest.
“I brought something,” she said.
Dad stepped aside to let her in.
Vanessa placed the box on the kitchen table.
“I found it in Mom's locked closet. She kept the key on a chain around her neck, but she left it in the bathroom yesterday.””
I opened the box.
Inside were old photographs, bank statements, correspondence from Bellamy House, and a small leather notebook.
The first page contained a list of names.
Eleanor Miller.
Patricia Miller.
Richard Cole.
And beneath them, a fourth name.
*Thomas Bellamy.*
I recognized the surname from the company.
“Who is Thomas Bellamy?””
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don't know. But Mom mentioned him whenever she was on the phone with someone from the company. She always called him Mr. Bellamy.””
Dad picked up a letter.
The paper was brittle, and the ink had faded, but the signature remained clear.
It was dated eighteen years earlier and addressed to Patricia.
The collection will proceed as agreed. The advance has been processed. Richard will ensure that the ownership records remain consistent with the settlement.
I read the sentence aloud.
Dad's expression hardened.
“Richard helped arrange the transfer.””
Vanessa pulled another document from the box.
“This one is different.””
It was a bank statement showing a second payment, made six months after the original $250,000 transfer.
The recipient wasn't Patricia.
It was an account belonging to Thomas Bellamy.
The amount was $500,000.
I stared at the numbers.
“Why would Patricia pay him half a million dollars?””
Dad examined the transaction.
“Perhaps she didn't.””
He turned the statement over.
A handwritten note appeared beside the transaction reference.
Payment released following final authorization.
The initials beneath it were R.C.
Richard Cole.
Vanessa sank into a chair.
“Mom always told me Richard owed her a favor. I thought she meant he'd helped her get into the industry.””
I closed the notebook.
“We need to talk to him.””
Dad reached for his phone.
But before he could dial, mine vibrated.
An email from Dr. Hayes appeared on the screen.
Emily, we have located additional historical correspondence connected to your mother's case. Please come to the academy immediately.
A second line followed.
Richard Cole has requested a private meeting with you and your father.
I looked at Dad.
He was already standing.
Vanessa rose, too.
“I'm coming with you.””
I hesitated.
“You've already given your statement.””
“I know. But if Mom is going to face the consequences of what she did, I need to make sure I haven't hidden anything else.””
I studied her face.
For once, she wasn't asking me to protect her.
She was asking to help.
“Fine,” I said.
“But from now on, no more lies.””
Vanessa nodded.
“No more lies.””
We drove to the academy together.
Richard was waiting in a conference room, his hands folded neatly on the table.
When he saw the leather notebook, his expression changed.
He looked at Vanessa.
Then at Dad.
Finally, his eyes settled on me.
“Where did you get that?””
“From Patricia's private closet.””
Richard closed his eyes.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he stood and locked the conference-room door.
“I suppose the time has come to tell you what really happened to Eleanor's collection.””
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
“Because the person who profited most from your mother's work was never Patricia.””
He placed a thick folder on the table.
“It was Thomas Bellamy's son.””
I stared at him.
“Who is his son?””
Richard opened the folder and turned the first page toward me.
A name appeared beneath the heading Beneficial Owner.
*Michael Miller.*
May you like
My father stopped breathing.
And I realized that the secret we'd spent days uncovering had just become something far more dangerous.
