Chapter 9: The Studio My Mother Hid From Me
"Marcus, tell her.""
Raymond's voice was quiet, but it carried through the room.
My father stood motionless beside the desk.
I looked between them.
"Where is Mom's studio?""
He swallowed.
"It doesn't matter anymore.""
"Why?""
"Because the property was sold.""
I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach.
"Sold?""
Elise picked up the deed.
"When?""
My father looked toward the window.
"Three years ago.""
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Three years ago, I was fifteen.""
"I needed money.""
"For what?""
He hesitated.
Vanessa answered from the doorway.
"To pay off the mortgage.""
I turned.
She had followed us into the office without anyone noticing.
"How much did you get?"" I asked.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"Enough to keep the family from losing our home.""
"That was my mother's studio.""
"It was an unused commercial property.""
"It belonged to me!""
She rolled her eyes.
"You were a child. You weren't going to run a fashion business at fifteen.""
Raymond stepped forward.
"Danielle bought that studio specifically so Nia would have somewhere to work when she grew older.""
Vanessa shrugged.
"Well, she didn't need it.""
I stared at her.
"You sold my future to pay for your house?""
My father finally spoke.
"I thought I was doing what was best for everybody.""
"Everybody except me.""
His voice cracked.
"Nia, I was drowning in debt. Vanessa and I had financial problems. The house was at risk. I made choices I thought I could fix later.""
Elise placed the deed on the desk.
"How much did the studio sell for?""
My father hesitated.
"One hundred and eighty thousand.""
Raymond laughed without humor.
"That's half its current value.""
I looked at him.
"Why do you know that?""
"Because Danielle purchased it through a holding company. I helped her negotiate the contract.""
He removed another document from the cabinet.
"This is the original purchase agreement. And this is the trust's property schedule.""
He placed both documents beside the deed.
The names matched.
The address matched.
The registration number matched.
Then I noticed an unfamiliar signature.
Patricia Wells.
Our former attorney.
She had signed the transfer approval.
"Didn't you say the trustee had to approve the sale?"" I asked Elise.
"Yes.""
Elise examined the document.
"Patricia was not the appointed trustee. She was listed as legal counsel only.""
Raymond nodded.
"Which means she had no authority to approve that transaction.""
My father rubbed his forehead.
"She told me it was legal.""
Elise looked at him.
"Did you receive the sale proceeds?""
"Some of them.""
"Where did the rest go?""
He said nothing.
Vanessa moved closer.
"Marcus, you don't have to answer every question.""
I looked directly at her.
"Why are you protecting him now? You were both spending my mother's money.""
Her face tightened.
"Because he's your father.""
I shook my head.
"He was supposed to be.""
For a moment, the room was completely silent.
Then Raymond opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.
"There is one more thing.""
He removed a blue envelope.
My name was written across the front in my mother's handwriting.
Nia Danielle Carter.
I recognized the letters immediately.
My hands started trembling.
Raymond held it carefully.
"Danielle gave me this envelope six weeks before she died. She said I should only give it to you when you turned eighteen and could understand what was inside.""
I looked at the date.
It was written six years earlier.
"Why didn't you give it to me when I turned eighteen?""
His eyes filled.
"Because Marcus called me two weeks before your birthday. He told me you had signed away your inheritance and wanted nothing more to do with the family.""
My father's face tightened.
Raymond continued.
"I didn't believe him completely, but I didn't know how to reach you. I should have come to your house. I should have checked.""
He placed the envelope in my hands.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart.""
I ran my fingers over my mother's handwriting.
For years, I'd imagined hearing her voice again. I'd imagined her telling me which fabric to use, how to fix a crooked seam, how to handle the world when people treated me unfairly.
Now I was holding something she had written specifically for me.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter and a small brass key.
The letter began:
My darling Nia,
If you're reading this, you're old enough to understand why I kept certain things from you. I wanted you to grow up believing that your future belonged to you, not to the people who might try to control it.
I stopped reading.
Tears blurred the page.
Maya quietly moved beside me.
Elise stood near the window, giving me privacy.
I continued.
Your father loves you, but love without honesty can become something dangerous. If he ever tells you that the money is gone, ask him about the house. If he tells you the designs belong to someone else, ask him about the original collection.
I looked up.
My father was staring at the letter.
He looked terrified.
I returned to the page.
There is something else I need you to know. The butterflies are not simply a design. They are the mark of the original Carter-Monroe collection. Every authentic piece contains a hidden signature that can prove who owns the work.
I glanced down at my gown.
The tiny silver butterflies suddenly seemed more important.
The letter continued.
Elise has the original registration documents. Raymond has the property records. But there is one final piece, hidden where your first dress was made.
I looked toward the old sewing machine.
Beneath the final paragraph was a sentence written in darker ink.
And Nia, if anyone ever claims you are dead, remember this: I prepared a way to protect you.
My breath caught.
I looked at Elise.
"Mom knew this could happen?""
Elise nodded slowly.
"She feared Marcus might eventually gain control over the trust. She made arrangements to prevent that.""
"What arrangements?""
Elise approached the desk.
"Your mother created a secondary protection clause. If anyone fraudulently attempts to remove you as beneficiary, control of the trust automatically transfers to an independent institution.""
I stared at her.
"Which institution?""
Before she could answer, my phone rang.
The caller ID displayed an unfamiliar number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a woman's voice came through.
"Miss Carter? My name is Evelyn Brooks. I'm calling from the Georgia Financial Crimes Division.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Yes?""
"We've been reviewing suspicious transactions involving the Danielle Carter Design Trust.""
I looked at Elise.
She nodded for me to continue.
The woman paused.
"We discovered that the original trustee filed a sealed fraud complaint several years ago.""
I felt my heart stop.
"Who filed it?""
"Danielle Carter herself.""
I looked at my father.
He was slowly backing toward the office door.
The woman continued.
"There is also a sealed witness statement attached to the complaint. It identifies the person who helped your father remove the funds from your mother's account.""
"Who?""
I heard papers turning on the other end.
Then Evelyn spoke three words.
"Your father's first wife.""
My stomach dropped.
I turned toward Raymond.
He looked just as shocked as I felt.
Because Vanessa wasn't the only person my father had married.
And according to the records, the first wife was still alive.
Her name was written at the bottom of my mother's original letter.
*Patricia Wells.*
May you like
The attorney who had supposedly died.
And the woman standing beside the person who stole my childhood.
