The Night My Stepsister Destroyed My Dead Mother's Final Gift

The officer didn't let us touch Samantha's phone.

He explained that the device would need to be examined properly, and that the scheduled email might contain evidence relevant to both the university investigation and the possible financial fraud.

But the preview alone was enough to make my hands shake.

Dad stood beside me on the porch while the officer spoke to another investigator on his radio.

"What exactly does the email say?"" Dad asked.

The officer glanced at his notes.

"The subject line reads, 'Final Evidence of Emily Carter's Academic Fraud.''"

Victoria covered her mouth.

I felt sick.

"Can you stop it?""

"We'll contact the university and request that they preserve the message and its delivery information. Whether we can prevent delivery depends on how the account is configured.""

Dad's jaw tightened.

"Then do it now.""

"We're already working on it, sir.""

The officer turned to me.

"Miss Carter, have you ever shared your university login credentials with your stepsister?""

"No.""

"Has she ever used your computer?""

"Not that I know of.""

"Has she had access to your financial records?""

I thought about the papers upstairs.

"The documents in her room included copies of my scholarship application.""

He wrote something down.

"Did you authorize anyone to access your account or submit information on your behalf?""

"No.""

"All right. We'll need a formal statement from you later today.""

I nodded.

He gave us a card and returned to his vehicle.

Dad watched the patrol car leave.

Then he turned toward Victoria.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about this account.""

Victoria looked exhausted.

"I already told you everything.""

"No. You told me what you thought you could explain away.""

She flinched.

"Daniel, please.""

"Did Samantha ever ask you for money?""

"She always asks me for money.""

"Large amounts.""

Victoria looked down.

"Three weeks ago, she asked me for twelve thousand dollars.""

My stomach tightened.

"For what?""

"She said she had an opportunity to invest in a fashion resale business.""

Dad stared at her.

"Did you give it to her?""

"No. I told her I couldn't withdraw that much without explaining it to you.""

"Then what happened?""

"She said she'd found another way to get the money.""

I closed my eyes.

The timing matched the university complaint.

The device records.

The handwritten note about my scholarship.

All of it.

Dad took a slow breath.

"Victoria, did she mention Elena's company?""

Victoria hesitated.

"Once.""

"When?""

"About a month ago. She asked whether your wife had owned any patents or intellectual property.""

I stared at her.

"Why would she ask that?""

"I don't know.""

"You didn't think that was strange?""

"At the time, I thought she was curious because she knew Elena had been a designer.""

Dad rubbed his face.

"She was looking for something.""

Victoria nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I think so.""

For a moment, I felt almost sorry for her.

Then I remembered the photographs in Samantha's room.

The emails.

The threat.

The dress.

And the fact that Victoria had known her daughter was interested in my scholarship but hadn't warned me.

"Why didn't you tell me?"" I asked.

Victoria looked at me helplessly.

"Because I thought I could handle her.""

"You couldn't.""

"I know.""

"No," I said, my voice shaking.

"You don't understand. You kept protecting her from consequences until she started believing there wouldn't be any.""

Victoria lowered her head.

I walked past her into the house.

My graduation cap still sat on the hallway table.

I picked it up.

The tassel brushed against my fingers.

For four years, I'd imagined wearing it while my mother watched from somewhere beyond my reach.

Now I wasn't even sure I'd be allowed into the auditorium.

Dad came inside behind me.

"Emily, the police are contacting the university. We may still have time.""

I looked at him.

"Time for what? The email is scheduled for ten forty-five. The ceremony starts at eleven. If the dean receives another accusation five minutes before I walk onto the stage, they're going to stop me.""

"Not if we get ahead of it.""

"And if we don't?""

He didn't answer.

I placed the cap back on the table.

Then I went upstairs to collect my documents.

Margaret was waiting at the front door when I came back down, carrying the repaired dress in a garment bag.

She took one look at my face.

"What happened?""

I told her everything.

The complaint.

The missing Samantha.

The possible investment account.

The scheduled email.

Margaret listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she set the garment bag carefully on the sofa.

"Your mother would have been furious.""

I let out a broken laugh.

"At Samantha?""

"At the fact that someone thought they could use her work to hurt her daughter.""

Margaret opened the bag.

The dress was not exactly as it had been.

The damaged skirt had been reshaped, and some of the torn satin had been incorporated into a series of delicate panels. Margaret had moved several surviving pearls from the damaged sleeve to the neckline, where they formed a subtle pattern.

The gown was still beautiful.

But now it carried the evidence of what had happened to it.

I touched the altered hem.

"You did this in two hours?""

"I had help from a very good sewing machine and an unreasonable amount of coffee.""

I smiled faintly.

Margaret adjusted the bodice.

"Try it on.""

I hesitated.

"What if I can't graduate?""

"Then you'll wear it somewhere else.""

"What if the university believes Samantha?""

Margaret looked directly at me.

"Then you'll tell the truth, and you'll keep telling it until someone listens.""

She handed me the garment bag.

"Your mother didn't raise you to wait for permission to be proud of yourself.""

I went upstairs and changed.

When I returned, Dad stood in the hallway.

He stopped moving.

For a moment, he looked as though he had seen my mother walk into the room.

Margaret stepped back.

"Well?""

Dad's eyes filled.

"Elena would have loved it.""

I touched the pearls at my neckline.

"I wish she were here.""

"So do I," he whispered.

Then his phone rang.

He answered immediately.

"Yes?""

I watched his expression.

First, relief.

Then concentration.

Finally, anger.

"What do you mean it was sent early?""

He listened.

"Can you forward it to the investigator?""

Another pause.

"Good. Don't delete anything.""

He ended the call.

I gripped the skirt.

"What happened?""

"The email was delivered.""

My heart sank.

Dad stepped closer.

"But the university's IT department intercepted it before it reached the dean's main inbox. They've quarantined the message and preserved the original attachments.""

"Did they read it?""

"An administrator saw the subject line. The dean has been notified.""

I sat down.

"So it's over.""

"No.""

Dad crouched in front of me.

"The message contains a document claiming you falsified your academic record. But the university has also discovered that the file was created after the original application was submitted.""

I blinked.

"What does that mean?""

"It means the document may have been altered.""

Margaret's expression hardened.

"May have been?""

Dad looked at her.

"The university is checking the file history. They haven't made a final determination.""

I pressed my hands together.

"Can they prove who changed it?""

"That's what they're investigating.""

My phone rang.

Professor Bennett.

I answered with trembling fingers.

"Hello?""

"Emily, where are you?""

"At home.""

"Good. I need you to come to campus immediately.""

My heart lurched.

"Why?""

"The dean has reviewed the new information. We need to speak with you before the ceremony.""

"Am I allowed to graduate?""

There was a pause.

"I don't want to promise anything before the meeting.""

I closed my eyes.

"Professor, please. I've worked for this for four years.""

"I know, Emily. That's why I'm calling you directly.""

His voice softened.

"Come now. And bring every original document you have.""

I hung up.

Dad grabbed his keys.

Margaret zipped the garment bag and handed it to me.

"Take the dress with you.""

I stared at her.

"Why?""

"Because if they clear your name, you're walking across that stage today.""

I wanted to believe her.

We drove to campus in silence.

The university auditorium was already filling with families when we arrived. Through the glass doors, I could see rows of black gowns and colorful flowers.

I held the garment bag against my chest.

Dad parked near the administration building, and we hurried inside.

Dean Harris was waiting in the conference room with Ms. Lawson and Professor Bennett.

A university IT specialist sat beside a laptop.

The dean gestured toward a chair.

"Emily, thank you for coming.""

I sat.

Dad remained standing behind me.

Ms. Lawson opened a folder.

"We've reviewed the email and the attached documents. There are significant inconsistencies between the submitted file and the records maintained by the university.""

I held my breath.

"The document appears to have been modified after the original scholarship award was issued.""

My hands began to shake.

"Does that mean you know I didn't change it?""

"We know the version attached to the complaint does not match the university's original file. We're still investigating who made the changes.""

Dad leaned forward.

"Can you clear her graduation status?""

Dean Harris looked at Ms. Lawson.

She nodded slowly.

"Based on the evidence available at this time, we have no grounds to continue withholding Emily's graduation clearance.""

I stared at her.

"What?""

"The hold has been lifted. Your academic record remains intact.""

For a moment, I couldn't speak.

Then I covered my mouth and began to cry.

Dad wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

"You're graduating, sweetheart.""

I laughed through my tears.

"I'm graduating.""

Professor Bennett smiled.

"With honors, exactly as you earned it.""

I looked at the clock.

Ten thirty-eight.

The ceremony began in twenty-two minutes.

I had just enough time to change into my gown.

Dean Harris stood.

"Emily, before you go, there is one more matter.""

My smile faded.

He turned the laptop toward us.

"We traced the original file to a cloud account associated with Samantha's university email. However, the account also contains a second document that appears to have been prepared but never submitted.""

Dad frowned.

"What kind of document?""

The IT specialist opened it.

The screen displayed a scanned contract bearing my mother's name.

Underneath was a clause authorizing the transfer of certain intellectual property rights to a third party.

My eyes moved to the signature.

It looked like my mother's handwriting.

But the date was wrong.

The contract was dated six months after her death.

I felt the room go silent.

"That's impossible," I whispered.

Dad leaned closer to the screen.

His face turned pale.

"No," he said.

Dean Harris looked at him.

"Mr. Carter?""

Dad pointed at the document.

"That signature is forged.""

The IT specialist scrolled down.

At the bottom of the page was the name of the company receiving the rights.

And beside it, the name of the person who had prepared the transfer.

*Victoria Carter.*

I stared at the screen.

Victoria hadn't simply protected Samantha.

She had been involved in something connected to my mother's company.

Dad straightened slowly.

"Where did you find this?""

The IT specialist clicked on the document's metadata.

"It was uploaded to Samantha's cloud account twelve days ago.""

"Twelve days?"" I repeated.

That was before the dress had been destroyed.

Before the scholarship complaint.

Before any of us knew what Samantha was planning.

Dean Harris closed the laptop.

"This is now outside the scope of our academic investigation. We've preserved the document and referred it to the appropriate authorities.""

Dad looked at me.

His expression held something I had never seen before.

Fear mixed with recognition.

"Emily," he said quietly, "we need to find Margaret.""

"Why?""

He looked toward the hallway.

"Because if Victoria has been trying to transfer your mother's intellectual property, then Margaret may be the only person who knows whether that contract is real.""

I clutched the garment bag.

My graduation was twenty minutes away.

My name had been cleared.

But the woman who had spent three years living in our house might have been trying to steal something my mother had left behind.

As we hurried toward the exit, my phone buzzed.

A new message from an unknown number appeared.

Congratulations on getting your graduation clearance.

I stopped walking.

Another message followed.

Enjoy the ceremony, Emily.

Then a third.

Because after today, your mother's secret will belong to me.