Chapter 9: My Mother Finally Told the Truth
I arrived at my parents' house just after eight.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, the living room was a mess.
Papers were scattered across the coffee table. A jewelry box lay open on the floor, and several drawers had been pulled from the cabinet.
My mother sat on the sofa wearing the same clothes she had worn the previous evening.
Her makeup was smeared.
Her hands were shaking.
“Where's Dad?””
She looked up.
“I don't know.””
“Did you call him?””
“He isn't answering.””
I placed my bag on the floor.
“Then call the police.””
She shook her head.
“Nia, please. Sit down.””
“I'm not sitting down until you explain why you received money from the Cole family.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I didn't know how much it was.””
“That's not what I asked.””
She looked toward the staircase.
“Brianna isn't here?””
“No. She's with Margaret.””
My mother closed her eyes.
“Of course she is.””
I stepped closer.
“Tell me the truth.””
For several seconds, she remained silent.
Then she stood and walked toward the dining room.
“Come with me.””
I followed.
She opened a drawer and removed a thick envelope.
Inside were bank statements, old contracts, and a photograph.
She placed the photograph on the table.
It showed my parents standing beside Adrian's father at a formal event.
The date was written on the back.
November 2011.
The year my grandmother had first confronted them about the missing designs.
My mother sat down.
“Your father and I were in debt. We had borrowed money to expand his business. The business failed, and we were close to losing the house.””
I remained standing.
“Go on.””
“Adrian's father offered to help us. He said he would pay our debts if we helped him secure the rights to Evelyn's original collection.””
“Did you agree?””
She nodded.
“How much did you receive?””
“Your father received two million dollars. I received another four hundred thousand.””
I stared at her.
“Four hundred thousand?””
She nodded again.
“What did you do with it?””
“Paid off the mortgage. Settled the business loans. Bought the house back.””
I felt sick.
“So you both sold Grandmother's work.””
My mother covered her face.
“We thought we could fix everything later.””
“You had fifteen years.””
“I know.””
“You watched me struggle to pay for fabric while you were sitting on money stolen from Grandmother.””
She began crying.
“I didn't think of it that way.””
“How did you think of it?””
She looked up.
“I thought it was a family arrangement.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course you did.””
My mother reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
“Don't.””
“Nia, please.””
“You told me fashion was a hobby. You watched Brianna take my work. You let her claim Grandmother's designs. And you registered a company using her name.””
“I was trying to help Brianna.””
“You were trying to help yourselves.””
My mother lowered her head.
For a moment, I thought she might finally admit it.
Then she spoke.
“Your grandmother made me feel like I was never good enough.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
“She always praised your talent. She kept saying you had the hands for fashion. She gave you her sewing machine.
She gave you her sketchbooks. She talked about you as though you were the future of her work.””
I looked at the photograph on the table.
“And?””
“And I was her daughter. I had spent my entire life helping her. I organized her exhibitions.
I answered her calls. I took care of her when she was sick.””
Her voice cracked.
“But she chose you.””
I shook my head.
“She chose me because I worked for it.””
My mother looked up sharply.
“Do you think I didn't work?””
“I think you wanted the reward without respecting the work.””
She flinched.
I continued.
“You could have learned. You could have designed something yourself. You could have built your own business. But instead, you took Grandmother's designs and handed them to people who wanted to exploit her.””
My mother began sobbing.
“I was angry.””
“And I paid for it.””
She looked confused.
“What?””
“You made me feel like I was worthless because you couldn't accept that Grandmother believed in me.””
I walked toward the window.
Outside, the rain had started again.
For a long time, I watched the drops slide down the glass.
Then I turned.
“Where is the original transfer agreement?””
My mother looked at the envelope.
“Your father took it.””
“Why?””
“He said it was dangerous.””
“Dangerous to whom?””
She hesitated.
“Everyone.””
I sat down.
“Mom, did you know Grandmother had left the archive to me?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“After she died.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
She stared at the table.
“Because your grandmother had placed a condition on the inheritance.””
“What condition?””
“You had to establish yourself as an independent designer before you could access the archive.””
I frowned.
“Yes. I know.””
My mother looked up.
“Your father thought you would never make it.””
The words hit me harder than I expected.
I said nothing.
She continued.
“He believed the archive would eventually return to us. He thought you would give up fashion and take a regular job.””
I looked at her.
“And you?””
She wiped her face.
“I thought you would.””
For several seconds, the room was silent.
Then I asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Did Grandmother know you had taken the money?””
My mother nodded.
“She found out in 2011.””
“What did she do?””
“She came to the house. She asked your father to return the original documents.””
“And?””
“He refused.””
My mother swallowed.
“She told us that one day the truth would come out.””
I felt a chill.
“What happened next?””
“She stopped speaking to us for several months. Then she became ill. Before she died, she called me.””
My mother reached into the envelope and removed a handwritten letter.
“She told me to give this to you if you ever came asking about the archive.””
I took it.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Denise,
You have one final opportunity to tell the truth.
Return the money. Return the documents. Stop using my name.
I know you are afraid of losing the life you have built. But a life built on another person's work is not yours to keep.
If you refuse, I will make sure Nia receives everything she needs to protect what I created.
I hope you choose to do the right thing before she has to.
I lowered the letter.
My mother stared at me.
“I didn't give it to you because I was ashamed.””
I looked at her.
“No. You didn't give it to me because you were afraid.””
She nodded.
Then she whispered:
“Your father took the original transfer agreement because Adrian's father had threatened to expose him.””
I froze.
“Expose him for what?””
My mother looked toward the front door.
“Your father didn't just receive the money. He helped create the false company that transferred the designs.””
I felt my stomach drop.
“He forged Grandmother's signature?””
My mother nodded.
“And I helped him.””
I stared at her.
The room seemed smaller.
My mother continued.
“I typed the documents. I arranged the meetings. I knew the signature wasn't hers.””
I stood abruptly.
“You forged her signature?””
She began crying again.
“I was afraid.””
“You were an adult, Mom!””
“I know!””
“You watched her build that collection with her own hands, and you signed away her work!””
My mother covered her ears.
“Please stop!””
I looked at her.
For the first time, I didn't feel the urge to comfort her.
I felt nothing but exhaustion.
Then my phone rang.
Arthur.
I answered.
“Nia, where are you?””
“At my parents' house.””
“Are you alone?””
“My mother is here.””
His voice became urgent.
“I need you to come to the foundation immediately. We have received the original transfer agreement.””
I looked at my mother.
“Where?””
“From a source inside the Cole organization. It was delivered anonymously this morning.””
My heart began pounding.
“Is it authentic?””
“Yes. And it contains something we weren't expecting.””
“What?””
Arthur paused.
“Your grandmother's original signature is genuine. But the transfer was never completed.””
I gripped the phone.
“What do you mean?””
“The document was signed by Evelyn as part of a proposed sale, but the final clause states that the transfer would only become effective after the full payment was received and the original designs were delivered to the buyer.””
I looked at the bank statements.
“Was the payment made?””
Arthur's voice became colder.
“Not to your grandmother.””
I stared at my mother.
Arthur continued.
“The two million dollars and the additional four hundred thousand were paid into accounts controlled by Robert and Denise Carter.””
My mother began shaking.
“There's more,” Arthur said.
“The agreement includes a handwritten amendment. Evelyn added it after discovering the fraud.””
“What does it say?””
He read slowly.
If the funds are diverted, or if the original archive is not delivered to the designated beneficiary, all rights remain with Evelyn Carter and shall pass to Nia Evelyn Carter upon my death.
I closed my eyes.
The collection had never belonged to the Cole family.
My grandmother had never given it away.
Everything my parents had built on that money was based on a lie.
“Arthur, what happens now?””
“We can formally establish that the original collection remained your grandmother's property. The foundation will recognize your inheritance, and we'll refer the fraudulent claims for investigation.””
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at the bank statements as though she had never seen them before.
“There's one more thing,” Arthur added.
“What?””
“The transfer agreement contains a witness signature.””
“Whose?””
“Adrian Cole's father.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Was he involved in the fraud?””
“Yes. But his signature also appears on a separate acknowledgment that he knew the transfer was incomplete.””
I looked at my mother.
She whispered, “Your father knows.””
I lowered the phone.
“Knows what?””
She looked directly at me.
“He knows Adrian's father has kept copies of every original document. And he knows what will happen if those documents become public.””
Before I could answer, headlights swept across the living room.
A car pulled into the driveway.
My mother stood.
“Robert?””
I moved toward the window.
A black sedan stopped outside.
The driver's door opened.
My father stepped out.
He was carrying a small leather briefcase.
But he wasn't alone.
A second man emerged from the passenger seat.
Adrian Cole.
I turned toward my mother.
She looked terrified.
Then the front door opened.
My father entered first.
He looked at me, then at the papers on the table.
His expression hardened.
“Denise. I told you not to show her those documents.””
I stood between him and the envelope.
“It's too late, Dad.””
Adrian closed the door behind him.
“Actually,” he said calmly, “it may not be.””
He placed a folder on the table.
Inside was a document bearing my signature.
My real signature.
The same signature I had used on my original competition registration.
My father smiled.
“Before anyone goes any further, perhaps Nia should explain why she signed over the rights to the entire collection last month.””
I stared at the paper.
I had never signed it.
But the signature looked exactly like mine.
And beneath it was a date from three weeks earlier.
The day Brianna had visited my studio.
The day she spilled red wine on my gown.
The day my grandmother's original sketchbook disappeared.
May you like
My father looked at me.
“Now, sweetheart, let's talk about who really stole what.””
