Chapter 3: The Money Behind the Cruelty
The amount was $48,600.
I read it once.
Then again.
Forty-eight thousand, six hundred dollars.
My mother's trust had never contained that much money in cash. Some of it was invested, some was reserved for my education, and some was intended to help me buy a home when I was ready.
Dad had told me that the account was secure.
He had told me I didn't need to worry about it.
Now I was standing in the living room, staring at a document that listed a transfer request for nearly fifty thousand dollars.
"Tell me this isn't what I think it is," I whispered.
Dad pulled out a chair.
"Sit down, Emily.""
"I don't want to sit down. I want to know why someone tried to take money from my mother's trust.""
He looked exhausted.
"I don't know the whole story yet.""
"Then what do you know?""
He rubbed both hands over his face.
"Six weeks ago, I received a notice from the bank about a request to change the account's mailing address. I assumed it was a routine security check. I told them to leave everything as it was.""
"And you didn't tell me?""
"I didn't want to alarm you before I knew whether anything had happened.""
I looked at the transfer request again.
"Was money taken?""
"No. The bank flagged the request because the account required additional authorization.""
I exhaled shakily.
Then another thought hit me.
"Why did Samantha say to ask Victoria why she needed the money?""
Dad stared at the papers.
"I don't know.""
"Do you think Samantha was involved?""
"I don't want to accuse anyone without evidence.""
I let out a bitter laugh.
"She just destroyed a dress that belonged to my dead mother. I think we've moved past the point where we need to pretend she would never do anything wrong.""
Dad flinched.
I immediately regretted the sharpness in my voice, but I couldn't take the words back.
He had spent years trying to keep our family peaceful.
Sometimes I wondered whether he understood how much that peace had cost me.
When Samantha borrowed my car without permission, he asked me to be flexible.
When Victoria dismissed my mother's belongings as clutter, he asked me to be patient.
When Samantha made cruel jokes about my mother's death, he told me she was still learning how to be part of a blended family.
I had accepted those explanations because I loved him.
Because he had already lost one woman he loved, and I didn't want to make his second marriage harder.
But that night, with the ruined dress still lying in my bedroom, I couldn't pretend anymore.
"Dad, I need you to tell me something honestly.""
He looked up.
"Anything.""
"Have you been giving Victoria money from Mom's estate?""
His face changed.
"No.""
"Have you paid Samantha's bills with it?""
"No, Emily. Never.""
"Then why would Victoria need to access the account?""
He didn't answer immediately.
That silence frightened me more than anything he had said.
Finally, he stood and walked to the cabinet near the window. He opened a drawer and removed a folder filled with bank statements.
"I started reviewing the accounts after the second request came in," he said.
"I found something I didn't understand.""
He handed me a statement.
I scanned the page.
There were several entries I recognized: tuition payments, investment earnings, and the annual transfer to cover administrative fees.
Then I saw a transaction from eight months earlier.
$7,500.
The recipient was a property management company I had never heard of.
"What is this?""
Dad pointed at the description.
"The bank says it was an attempted transfer. It didn't go through because the authorization didn't match the account requirements.""
"Who requested it?""
"The request came through a service connected to Victoria's email address.""
I stared at him.
"Why didn't you confront her?""
"I did.""
"And?""
"She said she had been researching investment opportunities and accidentally entered the wrong account information.""
I couldn't believe it.
"That doesn't even make sense.""
"I know.""
"Then why did you accept that explanation?""
Dad's shoulders slumped.
"Because I wanted to believe it was a mistake.""
His honesty hurt more than a lie would have.
I sat down at last.
Outside, headlights swept across the front windows as a car passed on the street.
Somewhere upstairs, my mother's ruined dress waited on the floor.
I thought about all the things I had swallowed to keep the family together.
Then I looked at Dad.
"I don't need you to keep the peace anymore.""
He closed his eyes.
"I know.""
"No, I don't think you do. Every time Samantha hurt me, you asked me to be understanding. Every time Victoria crossed a line, you asked me to give her another chance.
And I did. I kept doing it because I thought you needed me to.""
My voice broke.
"But tonight, I watched Samantha destroy the one thing Mom left me that I could actually wear. And she wasn't afraid of what would happen because she knew you'd protect her from the consequences.""
Dad's eyes filled with tears.
"Emily, I'm sorry.""
I shook my head.
"I'm not asking you to feel sorry. I'm asking you to do something.""
He nodded.
"Tell me what you need.""
"Find out what happened to my money. And don't let anyone convince you that protecting me means hurting Samantha. This is about what she did, not who she is.""
Dad reached across the table and took my hand.
"I promise.""
For the first time that evening, I believed him.
Then his phone rang.
The name on the screen was Margaret Ellis, my mother's designer friend.
Dad answered immediately.
"Margaret?""
Her voice was loud enough that I could hear it from my chair.
"Daniel, I'm sorry to call so late, but I need to ask you something about Emily's dress.""
Dad glanced at me.
"What about it?""
"When I delivered the finished gown, I gave Emily the dress and a small package of extra materials. Did she open it?""
I frowned.
"What package?"" I asked.
Margaret heard me.
"Emily, sweetheart, I thought your father explained.""
Dad shook his head.
"Explained what?""
There was a pause.
Then Margaret said, "The package contained the original silk lining your mother had selected, along with the last handwritten note she left with the sketches. I found it tucked inside an old portfolio while I was completing the gown.""
My throat tightened.
"I never received a package.""
Silence.
Margaret's voice became careful.
"Are you sure? I left it with the dress when your father picked it up.""
Dad's face went pale.
"I collected the dress myself. There was no package.""
"Then someone must have removed it.""
I felt a chill move through me.
"Who knew about it?""
"Only a few people," Margaret replied.
"Your father, me, and the person who helped me sort your mother's old materials.""
Dad gripped the phone.
"Who was that?""
"Victoria.""
The room seemed to tilt.
Margaret continued before either of us could speak.
"She came by the studio a few weeks ago. She said she wanted to help organize some of Elena's things as a surprise for Emily. She was very interested in the original sketches.""
I looked at Dad.
He looked as though the floor had disappeared beneath him.
"Did she take anything else?"" he asked.
"I didn't think so at the time. But now that you mention it, one of Elena's old notebooks was missing after she left.""
"What notebook?""
"The one where Elena recorded the details of her unfinished designs. It wasn't valuable in a financial sense, but it contained a lot of personal notes.""
I remembered the sketches in the fireproof safe.
Dad had kept them all these years.
But the notebook Margaret described was different. Mom had used it to record measurements, fabric suppliers, and design details.
And, according to Margaret, personal notes.
"Why would Victoria take that?"" I whispered.
Margaret didn't have an answer.
Dad thanked her and ended the call.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he opened the folder again and searched through the documents.
"What are you looking for?"" I asked.
"The original inventory from your mother's estate.""
He pulled out a page listing the assets that had been transferred into the trust.
I leaned over his shoulder.
There were descriptions of investments, property shares, design copyrights, and a collection of archived work.
At the bottom was a line that made my heart skip.
Elena Carter Design Archive — original sketches, notebooks, and unpublished designs.
"Why is that listed as an asset?"" I asked.
Dad pointed to the note beside it.
"Because your mother retained the rights to her designs. The archive includes unfinished work that could potentially be licensed or developed in the future.""
I stared at the page.
"Are you saying her sketches could be worth money?""
"Some of them, yes. Not all. But your mother had been negotiating with a boutique fashion house before she became ill.""
I remembered the name from childhood conversations.
A company called Bellamy House had once approached Mom about a limited collection.
The deal never happened because she became too sick to finish the designs.
"Did the company ever buy the rights?"" I asked.
"No. The agreement was never completed. The rights remained with your mother, then passed into the trust.""
I felt a strange pressure building behind my eyes.
"So the notebook Victoria took...""
"Could contain information about those designs.""
"And the money?""
Dad looked down at the transfer request.
"I don't know whether the two things are connected. But I intend to find out.""
He picked up his phone and called the bank's fraud department.
I watched as he explained the suspicious requests, the attempted transfer, and the unauthorized address change.
The representative asked him to confirm several details.
Then she put him on hold.
Dad stood beside the window, staring into the dark street.
When the representative returned, his expression changed.
"Can you repeat that?"" he asked.
He listened.
Then he wrote something on the back of an envelope.
"Thank you. Please freeze any pending requests and send me the full record of access attempts.""
He ended the call.
"What did they say?"" I asked.
Dad turned toward me.
"The $48,600 request wasn't the first one.""
My stomach tightened.
"How many were there?""
"Three.""
"Three?""
He nodded.
"The bank blocked two. The third was submitted through a different authorization channel, and they're still investigating it.""
"Was any money taken?""
"No. The account's safeguards prevented the transfers.""
I covered my mouth.
"Who would do that?""
Dad looked toward the hallway.
"I think we need to ask Victoria.""
At that exact moment, the front door opened.
Victoria came inside alone.
Her coat was buttoned crookedly, and her face was pale. She looked at Dad, then at me, then at the papers scattered across the table.
"Daniel," she said, "we need to talk.""
Dad didn't move.
"We're already talking.""
She swallowed.
"Privately.""
"No.""
Her eyes flashed.
"This concerns my daughter.""
"It concerns my daughter, too.""
Victoria glanced at me with open resentment.
"Emily, please go upstairs.""
I stayed where I was.
"No.""
She looked startled.
Dad pulled out a chair.
"Sit down, Victoria.""
She remained standing.
"I didn't take any money.""
Neither of us had accused her yet.
The words fell into the room like a dropped glass.
Dad's face went completely still.
"I didn't say you did.""
Victoria pressed her hands together.
"I know what this looks like, but I can explain everything.""
"Then start with the bank requests.""
She closed her eyes.
"It was a temporary arrangement.""
"What was?""
"I needed money.""
"From Emily's trust?""
"I intended to pay it back!""
My chair scraped against the floor as I stood.
"You tried to take money from my mother's account?""
Victoria turned toward me.
"Don't make this worse than it is.""
"How could I possibly make it worse?""
She took a breath.
"I was going to replace every dollar before you even knew it was gone.""
"But you didn't have permission!""
"I was desperate!""
The room went silent.
For the first time, I heard genuine fear in her voice.
Dad leaned forward.
"Why did you need nearly fifty thousand dollars?""
Victoria stared at the table.
Then she whispered, "Because Samantha is in trouble.""
My chest tightened.
"What kind of trouble?""
Victoria looked at me, and I saw something in her expression that made my skin crawl.
Not shame.
Not remorse.
Fear of what might happen if the truth came out.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded letter.
"I didn't want you to find out this way," she said.
Dad took the letter.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then he looked at Victoria.
"How long has this been going on?""
She began to cry.
"Six months.""
I stared at her.
Six months.
Six months of Samantha walking through our house in expensive clothes, bragging about new purchases, and acting as though the world owed her everything.
Six months of Victoria asking Dad for money while insisting that Samantha was simply going through a difficult phase.
And now this.
Dad placed the letter on the table.
It was a formal notice from a private lender.
The amount owed was $48,600.
The deadline was three days away.
I read the name of the borrower.
Samantha Reed.
Then I noticed the line beneath it.
Collateral pledged: intellectual property and design materials associated with the Elena Carter archive.
I looked up slowly.
"She used Mom's designs as collateral?""
Victoria wiped her cheeks.
"She didn't understand what she was signing.""
Dad's voice dropped.
"Where is the notebook?""
Victoria said nothing.
"Where is Elena's notebook?""
She looked toward the staircase.
Then she whispered the words that changed everything.
"Samantha has it.""
Before Dad could respond, my phone buzzed on the table.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
Emily, if you want to know why your stepsister destroyed your mother's dress, ask her what she found inside the notebook.
A second message followed.
And whatever you do, don't let your father sign anything tomorrow.
I looked at Dad.
He was staring at the same screen.
Then someone knocked three times on the front door.
When Dad opened it, a man in a charcoal suit stood on the porch holding a leather briefcase.
He looked past my father and fixed his eyes on me.
"Emily Carter?"" he asked.
I nodded slowly.
He opened his briefcase.
"I'm sorry to arrive so late. My name is Richard Hayes. I represent the company holding the debt your stepsister incurred.""
May you like
He placed a document on the table.
"And unless we resolve this before tomorrow morning, your mother's unpublished designs may legally belong to someone else.""
