Chapter 6: The Box Beneath the Floorboards
Dad locked the front door before Rebecca could leave.
“Until we understand what's happening, nobody is going anywhere,” he said.
Rebecca stared at him as though he'd slapped her.
“You cannot keep me in this house.””
“I'm not keeping you anywhere. But you're not leaving with documents, phones, or anything that might belong to Olivia.””
“You've lost your mind.””
“Perhaps,” Dad replied.
“But at least I'm finally paying attention.””
Eleanor had called the academy's legal department and asked them to preserve the electronic records. The attempted deletion had been blocked, but the person responsible had accessed the archive using Rebecca's old credentials.
Rebecca insisted someone had stolen her login information.
Vanessa sat silently on the couch, twisting a tissue between her fingers.
I stood near the window, staring at the street.
For years, I'd imagined that if Dad ever learned how Vanessa treated me, he'd make everything right. He'd tell Rebecca to stop. He'd make Vanessa apologize. He'd remind them that I was his daughter, too.
Now that he'd finally begun asking questions, I realized how much damage had accumulated beneath the surface.
This wasn't just about a prom dress anymore.
It was about my mother.
And someone had spent years trying to make sure I never discovered what she'd left behind.
“Emily,” Eleanor said gently, “you mentioned that your mother taught you to sew. Did she ever tell you about a blue wooden box?””
I nodded.
“Not directly. I remember a little box in her sewing room. I thought it held buttons and thread.””
“Do you remember what happened to it?””
“Dad says Rebecca threw it away.””
Eleanor looked at Rebecca.
“Do you remember where?””
Rebecca's jaw tightened.
“No.””
Vanessa suddenly sat up.
“That's not true.””
Her mother turned toward her.
“Vanessa.””
“You told me where you put it.””
Rebecca's face went white.
Dad stepped forward.
“Where?””
Vanessa looked at me, then at her mother.
“In the storage room behind the garage. Mom said the box was full of junk, but she didn't want the cleaners finding it.””
Rebecca grabbed her daughter's wrist.
“Stop talking!””
Vanessa pulled away.
“You said it was gone!””
Dad was already moving toward the back door.
“Show me.””
The storage room smelled of damp cardboard and old paint. Dust floated through the beam of Dad's flashlight, illuminating boxes of Christmas decorations, broken lamps, and furniture we'd forgotten we owned.
Vanessa pointed toward a stack of flattened cardboard.
“Mom put it back there.””
We moved the boxes.
Nothing.
Dad searched the shelves while Eleanor examined the corners of the room.
Rebecca stood in the doorway, refusing to come inside.
“Michael, this is absurd. You're tearing apart the house over an old box.””
“Then finding it should settle the matter.””
“There's nothing in there.””
“How would you know if you've never seen it?””
She didn't answer.
I crouched beside an old wooden cabinet. Behind it, something blue peeked through a gap between the wall and the floor.
“Dad.””
He moved the cabinet aside.
There it was.
A small blue wooden box, its paint chipped and its brass latch tarnished. My mother had painted tiny white flowers across the lid. I remembered them now, faintly, from the days when I'd sat beside her sewing machine.
I reached for the latch.
It wouldn't open.
“Let me,” Dad said.
He tried gently, then used a small screwdriver from the shelf to lift the bent metal catch.
The lid creaked.
Inside lay spools of thread, folded fabric, a few old photographs, and a sealed envelope bearing my name.
*For Emily, when she is ready.*
I stopped breathing.
Dad handed me the envelope.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
The letter inside was written in Mom's familiar handwriting.
My sweet Emily,
If you're reading this, something has happened that kept me from telling you the truth myself. I hope you are older now. I hope you have found something you love enough to fight for.
Never let anyone convince you that your talent belongs to them.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
The next paragraph made my eyes sting.
The designs in this box are mine. I created them before I met your father, and I kept the original sketches because I believed they would someday help me build a future for us.
Someone I trusted has been copying my work. I tried to resolve the matter quietly, but the situation has become more dangerous than I expected.
I have kept copies of the original contracts, correspondence, and financial records. They prove who created the collection and who attempted to sell it without my permission.
If I am unable to retrieve these documents, please take them to someone who will protect you.
The letter ended with a sentence that made the room blur.
Your father loves you, Emily. But there are things he doesn't know, and I pray you will never have to discover them the way I did.
I lowered the paper.
Dad looked devastated.
“What does she mean?”” he whispered.
“What didn't I know?””
I shook my head.
“I don't know.””
Eleanor examined the contents of the box.
Beneath the sewing supplies was a small bundle of documents tied with blue ribbon. She carefully untied it and spread the pages across an overturned crate.
The first was a design registration. The second was a licensing agreement. The third was a bank statement.
Eleanor read the documents in silence.
Then she looked at Dad.
“Michael, you need to see this.””
The bank statement showed a payment of $240,000 from Bellamy House to an account registered under Rebecca's maiden name.
The date was nineteen years earlier.
Dad stared at the figure.
“Rebecca, did you receive this money?””
She stood motionless.
“It's not what you think.””
“Then tell me what it is.””
“It was an investment.””
“For what?””
Rebecca swallowed.
“For the collection.””
Dad shook his head slowly.
“You told me your family invested in Bellamy House. You told me you sold your shares before we married.””
“I did.””
“Then why did they pay you two hundred and forty thousand dollars for designs you supposedly never owned?””
Rebecca's eyes filled with tears.
“Because I was the one who negotiated the contract.””
Eleanor's face hardened.
“You negotiated a contract for someone else's designs.””
“I did the work, too!””
“You signed as the creator.””
Rebecca looked at me.
“Olivia was going to get everything. The recognition, the money, the academy position. Everyone treated me like I was lucky to stand beside her. I wanted one thing that was mine.””
“So you stole her work?”” Dad asked.
“I made a choice!””
“You sold my wife's designs without her permission.””
Rebecca's voice rose.
“And what was I supposed to do? Spend my entire life watching Olivia become everything I wanted to be?””
“You could have created your own collection,” I said.
She turned toward me.
“You sound so innocent.””
“I'm not innocent. I know what it's like to be jealous. I know what it's like to feel invisible in this house.
But I never poured paint on Vanessa's clothes. I never stole her work and tried to ruin her future.””
Vanessa flinched at the mention of her name.
Rebecca looked as if she'd been struck.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then Dad picked up the licensing agreement.
“There's another signature here.””
He held the paper closer to the light.
At the bottom was his name.
Michael Walker.
But this time, beneath his signature, was a handwritten note.
Authorization granted under power of attorney.
Dad looked up.
“I never gave Rebecca power of attorney.””
Eleanor turned the page over.
The document attached to the agreement contained a signature authorizing Rebecca to act on Dad's behalf during a period when he was overseas for work.
The signature looked authentic.
Dad's face drained of color.
“That's impossible,” he whispered.
“I was out of the country when this was signed.””
Rebecca backed toward the door.
“Michael, please.””
He stared at her.
“Did you forge my signature?””
She shook her head, crying now.
“I was trying to protect our future.””
“Our future?”” Dad repeated.
“You used my name to sell my first wife's work.””
“I thought I could fix everything before you found out.””
“How?””
Rebecca opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Then Vanessa spoke.
“Mom, tell them about the insurance.””
The room went silent.
Dad turned slowly.
“What insurance?””
Vanessa looked terrified.
Rebecca's tears stopped.
“Vanessa, don't.””
But my stepsister was already crying again.
“You said the money from Olivia's collection wasn't enough. You said the insurance settlement was what kept us safe.””
Dad's face became utterly still.
“What insurance settlement?””
Rebecca stared at him.
Then, from somewhere inside the house, a phone began ringing.
It was Eleanor's.
She answered, listened for a moment, and then looked at Dad with an expression I would never forget.
“Michael,” she whispered, “the academy has just found another document in Olivia's file.””
“What document?””
Eleanor held the phone tightly.
“An insurance policy taken out in Olivia's name six weeks before her death.””
Dad gripped the edge of the crate.
“That makes no sense. Olivia never told me about an insurance policy.””
Eleanor looked down at the report.
“There's a beneficiary listed.””
My heart hammered.
“Who?”” I asked.
Eleanor lifted her eyes toward Rebecca.
“Rebecca Reed.””
Nobody moved.
Then Dad whispered, “My wife died in a car accident. There was no investigation beyond the accident report.””
Eleanor's voice dropped.
“According to the policy records, there was an additional payment made after Olivia's death.””
She paused.
“And the person who authorized the claim used a power of attorney that appears to have been signed by Michael Walker.””
Dad staggered backward.
I reached for his arm.
He stared at Rebecca, his face filled with disbelief.
“You told me Olivia had no insurance.””
Rebecca couldn't look at him.
May you like
Then she whispered the words that shattered what remained of our family.
“Because if you'd known about the policy, you would have asked why I was the beneficiary.””
