Chapter 2: The Woman Who Recognized My Mother's Signature
Nobody moved.
The auditorium had gone so quiet that I could hear the faint buzzing of the stage lights above me.
Eleanor Whitmore stood beside the microphone, holding the document I had handed her.
My father remained in the front row.
Vanessa was still at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the railing.
"Richard," Eleanor repeated.
"I asked you a question.""
My father swallowed.
"Not here, Eleanor.""
"Not here?"" She looked around at the hundreds of people watching us.
"You should have thought about that before signing your name.""
Vanessa hurried toward her.
"Mrs. Whitmore, please. This is a family misunderstanding.""
Eleanor didn't even look at her.
"Stay where you are, Vanessa.""
The command was quiet but unmistakable.
Vanessa stopped.
I looked between them.
"Can somebody please tell me what's happening?""
Eleanor examined the document again.
Then she turned toward me.
"Amelia, how much do you know about your mother's business?""
"Nothing.""
"Nothing at all?""
I shook my head.
"My mother used to sew clothes at home. She sold a few designs to local boutiques, but she never talked about anything bigger.""
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly.
"That is what your father wanted you to believe.""
My father's face tightened.
"Enough.""
"No, Richard. It has been enough for eight years.""
A murmur moved through the audience.
I stepped closer to the microphone.
"What happened eight years ago?""
Eleanor looked at me.
"Your mother, Claire, was one of the most talented independent designers I ever encountered. We met when she was twenty-six. She had created a collection using recycled silk and hand embroidery. I offered to help her develop it.""
I stared at her.
"Help her how?""
"With funding. Manufacturing. Distribution. Your mother had extraordinary ideas, but she refused to surrender ownership of her designs.""
Eleanor glanced at my dress.
"She believed every garment should carry the personality of the person who made it.""
My throat tightened.
That sounded exactly like Mom.
"She eventually created a small fashion company," Eleanor continued.
"Claire Hart Studio. It became quite successful.""
I looked at my father.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
He rubbed his forehead.
"Your mother didn't want you involved in business matters.""
"She was my mother. I lived with her.""
"Amelia, you're making this more complicated than it needs to be.""
Vanessa finally climbed the stage stairs.
"Richard is right. This is a private matter. We should leave.""
I stepped away from her.
"Don't touch me.""
She stopped, then turned toward the audience.
"Everyone, I apologize for this unfortunate scene. Amelia has been struggling since her mother's death. She's always had an active imagination.""
Eleanor removed her glasses.
"An active imagination?""
She pointed to the document.
"These are legitimate financial records.""
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Then why are you discussing them in front of strangers?""
"Because you have spent years ensuring they were never discussed anywhere else.""
My father suddenly stepped forward.
"That's enough, Eleanor.""
He reached for the document.
She pulled it away.
"Don't.""
For the first time, I noticed something unusual about his expression.
He wasn't merely embarrassed.
He looked frightened.
I turned to him.
"Dad, what was Mom's company worth?""
He didn't answer.
"Was it worth a lot of money?""
"Amelia, please.""
"Did you sell it?""
Vanessa laughed sharply.
"Your mother was not the business genius you seem to imagine. She made some money, but there were debts.""
"Then why are you so afraid of these papers?""
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Because you're embarrassing yourself.""
I reached into the envelope and removed another document.
"This is a transfer authorization dated six months after Mom died.""
I held it up.
"It says $480,000 was moved from Claire Hart Studio into a private account.""
Eleanor's eyes narrowed.
"Where is the account number?""
I handed her the page.
She read it carefully.
Then she looked at my father.
"That's not the account we established for the company's operating expenses.""
My father said nothing.
Eleanor turned to Vanessa.
"Whose account was it?""
Vanessa lifted her chin.
"I don't know.""
I stared at her.
"Your signature is on the authorization.""
"Signatures can be forged.""
"Then we should have no problem investigating it.""
Vanessa's eyes flashed.
"Don't threaten me.""
"I'm not threatening you. I'm asking where my mother's money went.""
The announcer approached the stage manager and whispered something.
The judges were visibly uncomfortable.
A few contestants stood near the curtains, watching.
Eleanor finally handed the documents back to me.
"Amelia, these papers need to be examined by an independent financial investigator.""
"Can you help me?""
She hesitated.
"Yes. But I need to tell you something first.""
My heart began pounding.
"What?""
"Your mother didn't just create a fashion studio. She owned the original designs, the trademarks, and the controlling shares of the company.""
I blinked.
"What controlling shares?""
"All of them.""
I looked at my father.
He stared at the floor.
Eleanor continued.
"Before she died, Claire arranged for her ownership to be held in a trust for you. You were the sole beneficiary.""
My knees weakened.
"Me?""
"Yes.""
I looked down at the silver paint on my dress.
The blue flowers at my waist suddenly seemed heavier.
"How much money was in the trust?""
Eleanor didn't answer immediately.
"That isn't the most important question.""
"It is to me.""
She took a breath.
"At the time of your mother's death, the company and its intellectual property were valued at approximately 3.2 million dollars.""
My mouth went dry.
Three point two million.
I thought of the nights I had skipped dinner to save money for fabric.
I thought of the secondhand sewing machine I had repaired with borrowed tools.
I thought of the tuition forms I had quietly filled out, knowing I probably couldn't afford to attend.
And I thought of Vanessa telling me that my mother had left nothing behind.
I turned toward my father.
"You told me Mom had almost nothing.""
He finally looked at me.
"Things were complicated.""
"You told me we couldn't afford the mortgage.""
"We had expenses.""
"You told me I needed to get a part-time job because you couldn't pay for my college applications.""
He rubbed his face.
"Amelia, I was trying to protect you.""
"From what?""
His silence was worse than an answer.
Vanessa stepped between us.
"Your father has done everything for you. He took you in after your mother died. He gave you a home.""
"A home where you threw away my mother's clothes.""
"Because the house was full of junk!""
"She wasn't junk.""
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
"You are an ungrateful little girl.""
Eleanor stepped closer.
"That's enough.""
Vanessa turned toward her.
"You don't know what happened inside this family.""
"I know enough.""
"No, you don't.""
Eleanor reached into her handbag and removed a folded piece of paper.
"Claire came to see me three weeks before she died.""
My heart stopped.
"What?""
"She was worried about her financial records. She said someone had been accessing accounts without her permission.""
I looked at my father.
He looked away.
Eleanor continued.
"She asked me to keep a copy of her original ownership agreement.""
Vanessa's expression changed.
"What ownership agreement?""
Eleanor looked directly at her.
"The document stating that Claire's company and every design she created would pass to Amelia.""
Vanessa took another step forward.
"That document doesn't exist.""
Eleanor's eyes narrowed.
"Interesting. How would you know?""
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
My father reached for her arm.
"Vanessa. We're leaving.""
She jerked away.
"Not without those papers.""
I instinctively clutched the envelope.
"They're mine.""
"Give them to your father.""
"No.""
Vanessa moved closer.
For a second, I thought she might try to take the envelope by force.
Then the auditorium doors opened.
A man in a dark suit entered, accompanied by a woman carrying a leather briefcase.
Eleanor recognized him immediately.
"Daniel.""
He approached the stage.
"Sorry I'm late.""
Eleanor nodded toward the papers in my hands.
"Amelia found Claire's records.""
The man looked at me.
"I'm Daniel Brooks. I handled the legal administration of your mother's estate.""
I stared at him.
"You knew my mother?""
"Very well.""
"Why didn't anyone tell me about the company?""
He looked uncomfortable.
"I sent several letters to your father. I was informed that you had no interest in inheriting the business.""
I felt something cold move through my chest.
"Who told you that?""
Daniel looked at my father.
"Richard did.""
My father stepped forward.
"Those letters were addressed to me. They were not intended for Amelia.""
Daniel opened his briefcase.
"Actually, Richard, they were addressed to Amelia Hart, care of her legal guardian.""
He removed a thick folder.
"Which brings us to the reason I came tonight.""
He placed the folder on the judges' table.
"Three weeks ago, I received a request to transfer the remaining intellectual property rights of Claire Hart Studio.""
My stomach tightened.
"To whom?""
Daniel looked directly at Vanessa.
"Vanessa Hart.""
The room erupted in whispers.
Vanessa's face turned white.
"That's a lie.""
Daniel calmly opened the folder.
"The request was submitted using documents bearing your signature, Richard.""
My father took a step backward.
I stared at him.
"You were going to give her Mom's company?""
He didn't respond.
Daniel removed one final page.
"There's another problem.""
"What problem?"" I whispered.
He turned the page toward me.
"The transfer request claims Amelia Hart legally surrendered her inheritance when she turned eighteen.""
I frowned.
"I never signed anything.""
Daniel nodded.
"That's exactly why I'm here.""
He placed the document beneath the stage lights.
And there, at the bottom of the page, was a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
May you like
Almost.
But not quite.
