Chapter 7: The Empty Studio
“They took the original design your mother made for you.””
Margaret's words echoed through the phone.
For a moment, the hallway outside Westbridge University's auditorium disappeared. I could no longer hear the graduates laughing, the families calling to one another, or the distant announcement asking guests to find their seats.
All I could think about was my mother's handwriting.
Her sketches.
The little notes she had written in the margins.
Someone had broken into Margaret's studio and stolen the last physical connection to the dress my mother had promised to make for me.
And whoever had done it knew exactly what they were looking for.
"Dad," I whispered, "we need to go.""
He was already moving.
"Margaret, don't touch anything else. We're coming.""
He ended the call and turned toward me.
"Your graduation ceremony starts in fifteen minutes.""
I stared at him.
"I can't stand on that stage while someone is stealing Mom's things.""
Dad looked at the garment bag in my arms.
For a moment, I thought he would tell me to go to the ceremony and let the police handle everything.
Instead, he held out his hand.
"Then let's go find out what happened.""
We drove to Margaret's studio on the other side of town.
The building stood on a quiet street lined with old brick storefronts. Margaret had worked there for nearly thirty years, first with my mother and later on her own. The front windows displayed mannequins dressed in elegant coats and evening gowns.
When we arrived, the front door was open.
A strip of yellow police tape hung loosely across the entrance.
Margaret stood just inside, speaking to a uniformed officer. Her silver hair was disheveled, and her hands trembled around a paper cup of coffee she hadn't touched.
The moment she saw me, she hurried forward.
"Oh, sweetheart.""
She wrapped her arms around me.
"I'm so sorry.""
I held her tightly.
"What did they take?""
Margaret pulled back and wiped her eyes.
"The original portfolio. The leather one Elena used for your design.""
I closed my eyes.
"Everything?""
"Almost everything. They left the fabric samples and the unfinished pieces. But the portfolio is gone, along with the patent file.""
Dad's face hardened.
"Did you see anyone?""
"No. I arrived at seven this morning and found the back door forced open. The police believe whoever did it came through the alley.""
The officer approached us.
"Mr. Carter? I'm Officer Lewis. We're documenting the scene.""
Dad introduced me and explained the connection between the stolen materials and the university's investigation.
Officer Lewis listened carefully.
"Has anyone threatened you recently, Ms. Ellis?""
Margaret glanced at me.
"Someone called yesterday pretending to be from the university. They asked about Elena's designs and whether I still had the original documents.""
"Did you recognize the voice?""
"No.""
"Male or female?""
"Male. Young, perhaps. He sounded nervous.""
The officer wrote something down.
"Did you tell him where the documents were kept?""
"No. I told him I wouldn't discuss private client materials over the phone.""
He nodded.
"Good. We may need a formal statement from you.""
While the officer returned to the front counter, Margaret led us into the workroom.
The sight nearly broke me.
Drawers had been pulled open. Fabric rolls lay scattered across the floor. A mannequin had been knocked sideways, its wooden stand cracked. Several boxes of sewing patterns had been dumped onto a cutting table.
But the damage wasn't random.
Whoever had searched the studio had gone directly to the cabinet where my mother's portfolio was stored.
They had ignored a drawer full of expensive jewelry used for runway displays.
They had left cash in an unlocked desk.
They had taken only the documents connected to my mother's work.
Dad crouched beside the cabinet.
"Did Elena keep anything else here?""
Margaret nodded.
"Her notebooks. Design calculations. Early patent applications.""
"Could copies exist somewhere else?""
"Possibly. Elena was meticulous. She believed a design was worth protecting even before it was finished.""
She walked to a metal filing cabinet near the sewing machine.
The top drawer had been forced open.
Margaret stared at it.
"No," she whispered.
Dad stood.
"What is it?""
She pulled out a small, empty folder.
"This contained the correspondence from the company that licensed Elena's technology.""
I looked at her.
"What technology?""
Margaret turned toward me.
"Your mother developed a special construction technique for lightweight, structured fabric. It allowed a garment to maintain its shape without the stiff internal supports normally used in formalwear.""
I blinked.
"She invented that?""
"She worked on it for years. She wanted dresses to move naturally while still holding their shape. She experimented with different fabrics, stitching patterns, and hidden supports.""
Margaret's expression grew distant.
"She was never satisfied with the first solution. She'd stay up until two in the morning, testing another variation. Your father used to bring her coffee and complain that she was going to wear out the sewing machine.""
Despite everything, I smiled faintly.
"That sounds like Dad.""
"It does," Margaret said.
Then her face became serious again.
"Eventually, Elena developed a method that attracted interest from several manufacturers. One company agreed to license the technology. They believed it could be adapted for formalwear, performance costumes, and other types of clothing.""
Dad looked stunned.
"She never told me it had reached that stage.""
"She wanted to surprise you. Then she became ill, and everything changed.""
I touched the edge of the empty cabinet.
"Why would Samantha want this?""
Margaret didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she walked to her desk and opened a small drawer beneath the sewing machine.
Inside lay a photograph.
My mother stood beside Margaret in the studio, smiling at the camera. She wore a simple navy dress, and her hair was tied back with a silk scarf.
Behind them stood a whiteboard covered in sketches.
Margaret handed me the photograph.
"Elena once told me she wanted the licensing income to pay for your education and give you a secure start in life. She never wanted you to feel that you had to depend on anyone.""
I stared at the picture.
"Did she know the technology could be worth millions?""
"She knew it had potential. But the company was still developing it when she died. We didn't know how successful it would become.""
Dad leaned against the table.
"Why didn't you tell me about the royalties?""
"Because Elena asked me to respect the structure she had created. She had arranged for an independent administrator to handle the account. I knew the money was being preserved for Emily, but I wasn't authorized to disclose every detail.""
I looked at Dad.
He seemed wounded.
Not because Margaret had kept the information from him, but because he was realizing how much of my mother's life he hadn't known.
"She wanted to protect Emily," Margaret continued.
"She worried that people might treat her differently if they knew how much money could eventually come from the designs.""
I thought about Samantha's expensive handbag.
The scholarship complaint.
The photographs.
The handwritten note about finding the original before me.
She hadn't simply been jealous of my graduation dress.
She had been looking for money.
And she had found a way to connect my future to my mother's estate.
Officer Lewis returned, carrying a small evidence envelope.
"We've checked the rear entrance. There are signs of forced entry, but the cameras in the alley weren't working overnight.""
Dad frowned.
"Convenient.""
The officer gave him a measured look.
"We're also checking nearby businesses for footage. Ms. Ellis, do you recognize this?""
He showed Margaret a photograph on his tablet.
It depicted a small black device attached beneath the studio's front counter.
Margaret leaned closer.
"That's not mine.""
"Do you know what it is?""
"No.""
The officer glanced at me.
"We found a similar device in the office of the university building where the scholarship complaint was processed. It appears to be a wireless storage device, though our technical team hasn't finished examining it.""
Dad stiffened.
"Are you saying someone planted it?""
"We're not drawing conclusions yet.""
I looked at the photograph again.
The device was tiny, almost invisible beneath the counter.
Someone had been inside the studio long enough to search the filing cabinets, find the portfolio, and possibly leave something behind.
This wasn't a sudden act of jealousy.
It was organized.
My phone rang.
Dean Harris.
I answered.
"Hello?""
"Emily, I understand you've left campus.""
"Yes. There was a break-in at my mother's former designer's studio.""
"I see. I won't keep you long. Your graduation clearance remains valid, and Professor Bennett has confirmed that your academic record is intact.""
I closed my eyes in relief.
"Thank you.""
"However, I need to inform you that the university has received a second complaint. This one concerns alleged financial misconduct involving an external account.""
My relief vanished.
"What?""
"We have not acted on it. Given the ongoing investigation, we've forwarded the material to the appropriate authorities.""
"Who submitted it?""
"The message came from an account that appears to have been created recently. We cannot yet identify its owner.""
Dad leaned toward the phone.
"Dean Harris, this is Daniel Carter. Has the university received any documents concerning Elena Carter's intellectual property?""
There was a pause.
"Yes, Mr. Carter. A document was attached to the complaint.""
"Was it a transfer agreement?""
Another pause.
"That's correct.""
Dad's face went pale.
"Please preserve the original file and all associated records.""
"We already have.""
I swallowed.
"Dean Harris, does this mean I can still graduate?""
"Yes, Emily. Your clearance is not affected by the new complaint. Please report to the auditorium if you still intend to attend the ceremony.""
I looked down at the dress bag.
My mother's dress had survived.
My academic record had survived.
But someone was trying to steal the money and intellectual property she had left behind.
"I'll be there," I said.
After I ended the call, Margaret touched my shoulder.
"Go, sweetheart.""
I stared at her.
"What about the portfolio?""
"We'll find it.""
"What if we don't?""
She squeezed my hand.
"Then we'll find the copies your mother made. She never trusted a single filing cabinet with anything important.""
Dad looked at her sharply.
"What do you mean?""
Margaret hesitated.
Then she walked to an old wooden sewing table at the back of the studio.
Beneath it was a narrow drawer I had never noticed.
She unlocked it with a tiny brass key.
Inside lay a notebook wrapped in faded blue cloth.
My mother's handwriting was visible on the cover.
Margaret lifted it carefully.
"Elena gave me this shortly before she died. She told me to keep it separate from the portfolio.""
I stared at the notebook.
"Why?""
"She said the portfolio contained the designs. This contained the truth about them.""
Dad stepped closer.
"What truth?""
Margaret opened the notebook to a page marked with a ribbon.
A series of numbers had been written in the margin beside a sketch of my graduation dress.
Underneath, my mother's handwriting read:
If anything happens to me, the original rights must remain with Emily. No exceptions. No substitutions. No family member may act on her behalf without independent verification.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I noticed another line beneath it.
If Victoria ever asks about the patent, do not tell her where the original agreement is kept.
Dad looked as if the floor had vanished beneath him.
"Victoria?"" he whispered.
Margaret nodded slowly.
"Elena didn't trust her.""
I stared at the page.
My mother had known something about the woman who would eventually marry my father.
Something serious enough to make her leave instructions specifically warning against her.
"Why didn't you tell us this before?"" I asked.
Margaret's eyes filled.
"Because Elena made me promise that I would only reveal it if someone tried to interfere with your inheritance.""
She looked at the ruined studio.
"That condition has been met.""
Dad took the notebook, careful not to damage the pages.
"Then we need to know exactly what Victoria was trying to do.""
Margaret turned to another page.
There was a photocopy of an agreement, along with a list of names and dates.
At the bottom, my mother had written a final note.
Daniel must never be blamed for what he doesn't know.
My father sat down heavily.
He covered his mouth with one hand.
For the first time, I saw him cry.
Not because of the dress.
Not because of the graduation ceremony.
Because my mother had apparently spent her final months protecting me from someone she believed could hurt us both.
And he had never known.
I knelt beside him.
"Dad.""
He shook his head.
"I should have asked more questions.""
"You couldn't have known.""
"I should have known.""
Margaret closed the notebook.
"Elena loved you, Daniel. She knew you would do anything to protect Emily. That's why she wanted you to have the truth now, when it mattered.""
Dad wiped his face.
Then he stood.
"We're taking this to the police.""
Margaret nodded.
"And Emily?""
I looked at her.
"Your mother left another instruction. One I didn't understand until this morning.""
She turned the notebook around.
On the final page was a short sentence written in dark blue ink.
The person who destroys the dress will eventually reveal who wants the inheritance.
My breath caught.
I thought about Samantha's laughter.
Victoria's excuses.
The stolen portfolio.
The forged contract.
Suddenly, my mother's words didn't feel like a warning from the past.
They felt like a map.
Dad looked at the clock.
The graduation ceremony had already begun.
He took my hand.
"Come on, sweetheart.""
I glanced at the photograph of my mother one last time.
Then I picked up the garment bag.
As we reached the studio door, Officer Lewis called after us.
"Mr. Carter. One more thing.""
Dad turned.
The officer held up his phone.
"We've received preliminary information about the vehicle used near the studio.""
"Whose vehicle?""
The officer looked at me.
"It was registered to a company owned by Victoria Carter.""
My stomach dropped.
May you like
Dad went completely still.
Then the officer added, "And there's a witness who says your stepsister was driving it.""
