Chapter 4: The Man Who Wanted My Mother’s Designs
Richard Hayes placed the document on our coffee table as carefully as if he were setting down a loaded weapon.
Nobody moved.
My father stood beside the front door, one hand gripping the handle. Victoria sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, her face streaked with tears. I remained beside the table, staring at the signature printed near the bottom of the page.
Samantha Reed.
My stepsister had borrowed nearly fifty thousand dollars and pledged my dead mother's unpublished designs as collateral.
And somehow, she had managed to make that my problem.
"Mr. Hayes," my father said, "you have five minutes to explain why you're standing in my house threatening my daughter.""
The man didn't flinch.
"I'm not threatening anyone, Mr. Carter. I'm explaining the terms of a legal agreement.""
"An agreement Samantha had no authority to make.""
Richard opened his briefcase and removed another document.
"That is precisely what we need to determine.""
I pulled out a chair.
"Start talking.""
Richard glanced at me, perhaps surprised that I had spoken.
Then he sat down.
"I'm an attorney representing Northbridge Capital Partners. Six months ago, your stepsister approached one of our affiliated investment companies seeking a private loan. She claimed she possessed exclusive access to a collection of unpublished fashion designs created by Elena Carter.""
Hearing my mother's name come from his mouth made my stomach tighten.
"She doesn't possess those designs," I said.
"They belong to my mother's estate.""
"That is one of the issues under review.""
"There's no issue. She stole them.""
Victoria suddenly stood.
"Emily, you don't understand what happened.""
I turned toward her.
"Then explain it.""
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Richard continued.
"Ms. Reed represented that she had permission to negotiate licensing rights for the archive. She provided photographs of several original sketches and a handwritten notebook containing design specifications. Based on those materials, the company advanced funds.""
My father leaned forward.
"How did she obtain the notebook?""
Richard looked at Victoria.
"That question should be directed to the family.""
Victoria's face went white.
Dad's voice sharpened.
"You're in my home. You will answer the questions I ask.""
Richard raised a hand.
"I have no intention of concealing anything. However, my client is entitled to protect its contractual position while the facts are established.""
I reached for the loan agreement.
The document was dense with legal language, but one section caught my attention.
The borrower had agreed to transfer certain intellectual property rights if the debt remained unpaid after the deadline.
The description included unpublished sketches, archived patterns, and derivative designs attributed to Elena Carter.
My mother's work.
The work she had created while I sat beneath her table and watched her sew.
The work she had left behind because she believed she would have time to finish it.
"How much time do we have?"" I asked.
"Until ten tomorrow morning," Richard replied.
"At that point, the default provisions become enforceable, subject to any applicable restrictions on the collateral.""
"And if the agreement was based on stolen property?""
"That would complicate matters considerably.""
"Would it invalidate the agreement?""
"Potentially. It would depend on the evidence, the applicable law, and the nature of the rights Ms. Reed purported to transfer.""
My father took the document from me.
"Then there is no reason for us to pay this debt.""
Richard folded his hands.
"Your daughter may still face a claim from the lender. And if the notebook contains proprietary material that was represented as collateral, my client will seek to protect its investment.""
"Your client can seek whatever it wants," Dad said.
"It will not get a dollar from Emily's trust.""
Richard looked at the transfer requests scattered across the table.
"I wasn't aware that the trust had been approached.""
"Now you are.""
"I'll make a note of that.""
I studied him.
He was calm, polished, and almost painfully polite. His suit was expensive without being flashy. His leather briefcase looked old enough to have survived several careers.
But there was something about the way he avoided answering direct questions that made me distrust him.
"Mr. Hayes," I said, "why did you come here tonight instead of sending a letter?""
He paused.
"Because I received information that the collateral may have been obtained improperly. I wanted to give your family an opportunity to address the issue before my client takes further action.""
"What information?""
He looked at me for a long moment.
"An anonymous message.""
My phone seemed to grow heavier in my hand.
The messages I had received.
Ask her what she found inside the notebook.
Don't let your father sign anything tomorrow.
"Who sent it?"" Dad asked.
"I don't know.""
"Then how do you know it was credible?""
Richard closed his briefcase.
"I don't. But the message included details about the loan that were not publicly available.""
He stood.
"My client is prepared to suspend enforcement temporarily if the parties cooperate with an independent review. I recommend that you contact your own attorney immediately.""
Dad didn't offer him a handshake.
"That was already my plan.""
Richard placed a business card beside the contract.
Then he turned toward me.
"Miss Carter, one more thing. Your stepsister told us the archive included a particular design called the Winter Rose Collection. She claimed it was the most commercially valuable part of your mother's work.""
I frowned.
"I've never heard of it.""
"Perhaps you should ask your family why.""
He left before I could respond.
The door closed.
For several seconds, the only sound in the house was the ticking clock above the fireplace.
Then Dad turned toward Victoria.
"Where is Samantha?""
Victoria wiped her face.
"I don't know.""
"Don't lie to me.""
"I'm not lying!""
"Then call her.""
Victoria took out her phone.
She called once.
No answer.
She called again.
Voicemail.
On the third attempt, someone finally picked up.
"Mom, what?""
Samantha's voice sounded distant and irritated.
"Where are you?"" Victoria demanded.
"Out.""
"Come home. Now.""
"I told you I was going out.""
"Samantha, this is serious.""
A pause.
Then Samantha said, "Did Dad find out?""
Victoria closed her eyes.
"Yes.""
"Oh, my God.""
"Come home.""
"I can't.""
"Why not?""
Another pause.
Then Samantha whispered something that made Victoria grip the phone with both hands.
"They're here.""
Victoria stopped breathing.
"Who is there?""
Samantha began crying.
"Mom, I think I made a mistake.""
The call ended.
Victoria stared at the screen.
Dad stepped forward.
"What did she mean?""
She shook her head.
"I don't know.""
"Victoria.""
"I said I don't know!""
For once, there was no rehearsed explanation, no complaint about my attitude, no reminder that Samantha was struggling.
Only fear.
Dad grabbed his keys.
"I'm going to find her.""
I caught his arm.
"Wait.""
He looked at me.
"What if this is connected to the notebook?""
Victoria's eyes darted toward me.
I saw it.
The tiny movement.
The flicker of panic.
"Victoria," I said quietly, "what did Samantha find?""
She pressed her lips together.
"Nothing.""
"Then why are you afraid?""
"I'm not.""
"Look at me.""
She wouldn't.
I stepped closer.
"Did you know she had the notebook before the loan?""
Victoria's shoulders began to shake.
"She showed it to me.""
"When?""
"Months ago.""
Dad went completely still.
"You knew she had your mother's notebook for months, and you said nothing?""
"I didn't know she was going to use it to borrow money!""
"But you knew she had taken it.""
Victoria started crying again.
"I thought she was just trying to understand Elena's designs. She said she wanted to create something of her own.""
"By stealing from my mother?""
"She said she had a right to something in this family!""
I stared at her.
"A right to what?""
Victoria looked toward the stairs.
Then she whispered, "The notebook contained a letter.""
My heart began to pound.
"What letter?""
"I don't know exactly what it said. Samantha wouldn't show me the whole thing.""
"What did you see?""
Victoria swallowed.
"Your mother's handwriting. And a name.""
"What name?""
She looked directly at me.
"Victoria.""
Nobody spoke.
I felt the room shift around me.
My mother had written a letter containing Victoria's name.
A letter Samantha had found inside the notebook.
A letter important enough that she had borrowed nearly fifty thousand dollars and risked losing the designs.
"What did Mom write about you?"" I asked.
Victoria shook her head desperately.
"I don't know.""
"You just said you saw it!""
"I saw my name. I didn't read everything.""
"Why would Mom write your name in a notebook about fashion designs?""
"I don't know, Emily!""
Dad stepped between us.
"Enough. We're not getting anywhere until Samantha comes home.""
He headed toward the door.
I followed him, but before I could leave, my phone vibrated again.
Another message from the unknown number.
This time, there was a photograph attached.
It showed an old notebook lying open on a dark wooden table.
I recognized my mother's handwriting immediately.
Beneath a sketch of an ivory evening gown, she had written:
Winter Rose — final design. Do not release until Emily knows the truth about her birth.
My fingers went numb.
I read the sentence again.
Then I looked at the date written beneath it.
It was three months before my mother died.
May you like
And the last line of the photograph was even worse.
Victoria must never be allowed to tell her first.
