Chapter 5: The Secret Inside the Sewing Studio
Rachel didn't allow me to confront Vanessa immediately.
Instead, she requested the original property records and arranged for an independent investigator to examine the studio's ownership history.
Two days later, we drove to an old commercial building on the east side of Atlanta.
The building looked smaller than I remembered.
Its brick exterior was weathered, and the sign above the entrance had lost several letters.
But I recognized the narrow windows.
My mother had spent nearly twenty years working behind them.
The sewing studio.
The place where I'd learned to thread a needle.
The place where she used to let me choose fabric scraps for my dolls.
And the place my father had told me was sold because we couldn't afford to keep it.
Rachel parked beside the building.
"Are you ready?""
I nodded.
A locksmith had accompanied us because the investigator had obtained authorization to inspect the premises.
When the door finally opened, a familiar smell drifted into the hallway.
Dust.
Old wood.
And something faintly floral.
My mother's perfume.
I stepped inside.
The main sewing tables were gone, but several wooden shelves remained. A faded measurement chart still hung on the wall.
I ran my fingers over the edge of the nearest table.
"This is where she used to sit.""
Rachel stayed quiet.
I walked toward the back room.
There was a small cabinet beneath the window. Its brass handle was tarnished, but I recognized the tiny scratch near the lock.
I'd made that scratch when I was nine.
I'd been trying to open the cabinet with a hairpin because Mom had hidden Christmas presents inside.
I knelt.
The locksmith examined the lock.
"Looks original.""
He worked carefully for several minutes.
Then the cabinet opened.
Inside were several old sewing patterns, a bundle of receipts, and a blue leather ledger.
I stopped breathing.
Rachel picked it up.
"Is this it?""
I nodded.
The cover had my mother's initials embossed in silver.
M.C.
The ledger was heavier than I expected.
We opened it on the table.
The first pages contained business expenses and client payments.
Then we reached a section labeled PROPERTY AND TRUST.
Rachel began photographing the entries.
My mother's handwriting was neat and precise.
There were dates, account numbers, names, and amounts.
One entry made Rachel stop.
"Emily, look at this.""
The page was dated six months before my mother died.
It recorded a payment of $85,000 to a company called Carter Development Holdings.
I frowned.
"That's my father's company.""
Rachel checked the next entry.
Another payment.
$42,000.
Then another.
$31,500.
Each transaction had a handwritten note beside it.
Temporary loan. Must be repaid to Emily's trust.
I stared at the numbers.
"How much is that altogether?""
Rachel calculated quickly.
"One hundred and fifty-eight thousand five hundred dollars.""
I felt sick.
"My mother gave Dad money?""
"Apparently, as a temporary loan.""
I turned another page.
The next entry was dated two weeks before my mother's death.
Robert promises full repayment. Vanessa present.
My father's name.
Vanessa's name.
Together.
I kept turning pages.
Then I found something worse.
A photocopy of a check made payable to Vanessa.
The amount was $25,000.
The memo line read:
Purchase of studio equipment.
Rachel examined it.
"Was Vanessa involved in your mother's business?""
"Not that I knew of.""
"Did she ever work here?""
"Never.""
I looked through the remaining pages.
A folded document slipped from the back cover.
Rachel picked it up.
It was a copy of a property transfer agreement.
The studio had been sold to Vanessa six weeks after my mother's funeral.
But the purchase price was listed as only $10.
Ten dollars.
I stared at the document.
"That's impossible.""
Rachel examined the signatures.
"Your father signed as executor of the estate.""
"Was he allowed to sell it for ten dollars?""
"Not without satisfying the requirements of the trust and the estate. We need to examine the original probate records.""
I turned to the last page.
A handwritten note had been added in the margin.
Vanessa requested that Emily's name be removed from all studio ownership records.
My fingers went cold.
Rachel photographed it.
Then she found another envelope tucked inside the ledger.
It contained an old photograph.
My mother was sitting at her sewing table, smiling at the camera.
Beside her stood a woman I didn't recognize.
The woman was holding a baby.
On the back, my mother's handwriting read:
Vanessa and Brianna, Christmas 2007. Before everything changed.
I looked closer.
Brianna was only a toddler.
Vanessa looked younger, but unmistakably herself.
Rachel turned the photograph over again.
"Your mother knew Vanessa before she married your father.""
I frowned.
"That doesn't make sense. Dad said they met years after Mom died.""
Rachel didn't answer.
She was examining the next item in the envelope.
It was a handwritten letter addressed to my mother.
The paper had yellowed around the edges.
The signature at the bottom read:
Vanessa.
Rachel began reading silently.
Then she stopped.
"What?""
She handed me the letter.
The first sentence made my stomach tighten.
Margaret, I know Robert has told you that the money is only temporary, but I need you to understand that I cannot continue protecting him.
I read the sentence again.
Then the next.
He has been using your accounts without your permission. I have seen the statements. If you do not stop him, Emily will lose everything.
My hands trembled.
The letter continued.
I am willing to help you document what happened, but you must promise me one thing. Do not tell Robert that I contacted you.
I looked up.
"Vanessa warned my mother about Dad?""
Rachel nodded slowly.
"That's what the letter appears to say.""
I couldn't understand it.
Why would Vanessa warn my mother about the man she later married?
Why would she marry him after knowing he had taken money from my mother's accounts?
Then Rachel turned the letter over.
There was a second page.
It was dated three days later.
The handwriting was different.
It was my mother's.
Vanessa, I know what you're asking for. I will not give you control of Emily's inheritance. I would rather close the studio than allow you and Robert to decide her future.
At the bottom, my mother had written:
If anything happens to me, the blue ledger will explain everything.
A sudden sound came from the front entrance.
Someone had opened the building door.
Rachel quickly closed the ledger.
A woman's voice echoed through the hallway.
"Emily?""
I recognized it immediately.
Vanessa.
She walked into the room carrying her handbag.
Her eyes went straight to the blue ledger.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then she looked at me.
"You weren't supposed to find that.""
I stood.
"Why did you tell my mother Dad was stealing from her?""
Vanessa's face drained of color.
Rachel stepped forward.
"Mrs. Carter, this property inspection is authorized. Please don't touch anything.""
Vanessa ignored her.
She stared at me.
"Your mother had no idea what she was dealing with.""
"What does that mean?""
Vanessa glanced at the ledger.
May you like
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your mother wasn't the only person who knew where that money came from.""
