Chapter 4: The Secret Beneath the Sewing Machine
I drove home so fast that I barely remembered the streets between the competition venue and my father's house.
The photograph remained open on my phone.
My mother's sewing machine sat on the workbench in our garage, its wooden base split open, the hidden compartment exposed like a wound. Someone had torn away the small panel I had never known existed and taken whatever my mother had left behind.
For twenty years, that machine had been the most precious thing I owned.
Now someone had broken into it.
And whoever had done it knew exactly what they were looking for.
When I pulled into the driveway, my father's truck was gone. Vanessa's silver SUV stood beside the house, but the front door was locked.
I tried my key.
It wouldn't turn.
I knocked hard enough to make the glass rattle.
"Vanessa! Open the door!""
The curtain beside the entrance shifted.
Then Vanessa appeared behind the glass, holding a mug of coffee.
She looked perfectly calm.
She took a slow sip before unlocking the door.
"Good afternoon, Nia.""
"Where's Dad?""
"Working.""
"Why was my sewing machine opened?""
She glanced toward the garage.
"Perhaps you should ask yourself why you keep old junk in a place where anyone can access it.""
I pushed past her.
Vanessa grabbed my arm.
"Don't you dare storm through my house.""
"Your house?"" I pulled free.
"My mother paid for half of this place before she died.""
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
"Be careful.""
"No. You be careful. Someone broke into the garage, opened my mother's sewing machine, and stole something she left for me.
Dad knows what happened. He told me you threatened him.""
For a fraction of a second, something flickered across her face.
Then she laughed.
"Your father says many things when he's upset.""
"Where is the document?""
"What document?""
"The one hidden inside the machine.""
Vanessa set her coffee mug on the console table.
"I have no idea what you're talking about.""
"Then you won't mind if I check the garage.""
She stepped directly into my path.
"You are not going anywhere near that room.""
I stared at her.
There it was.
The answer she hadn't intended to give.
"You know what's missing.""
Vanessa folded her arms.
"I know you're becoming increasingly unstable. First, you make a spectacle of yourself at a professional event. Then you accuse your family of sabotage. Now you're inventing secret documents.""
"Why did you pay someone to interfere with the competition?""
Her expression hardened.
"Get out of my way.""
"Why did you use Dad's company?""
"I said get out of my way!""
She shoved me backward.
My shoulder struck the wall. A framed family photograph rattled against its hook.
For years, I would have apologized automatically. I would have lowered my eyes, swallowed my anger, and retreated to the garage.
But the girl who had done those things had spent the previous night sewing a dress from the remains of her own destruction.
I wasn't going to retreat now.
"You can insult me," I said.
"You can tell everyone I'm a failure. You can even destroy my clothes. But you don't get to steal the last thing my mother left me.""
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
"Your mother left you nothing worth fighting over.""
"Then why are you so afraid of what was inside that machine?""
She slapped me.
The sound cracked through the hallway.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
My cheek burned. I could taste the metallic edge of blood where my teeth had caught the inside of my lip.
Vanessa stared at me, breathing hard.
Then she straightened her blouse.
"You have five minutes to pack your things," she said.
"You're no longer welcome here.""
I touched my cheek.
"You can't throw me out. This was my home before you arrived.""
"Your father owns the house.""
"And my mother's estate paid for it.""
"Your mother is dead.""
The words landed exactly where Vanessa intended them to.
She leaned closer.
"And unlike you, I understand what it takes to keep a family alive. I won't allow you to destroy everything we've built because you can't accept that your little fashion fantasy is over.""
I looked past her toward the garage.
"Move.""
"No.""
I reached for the doorknob leading to the back hallway.
Vanessa caught my wrist.
"If you enter that garage, I'll call the police.""
"Then tell them why the sewing machine was broken open.""
Her grip tightened.
"You're making a terrible mistake, Nia.""
"So are you.""
I pulled free and walked out through the front door.
I didn't have time to argue with her. If the document was gone, I needed to find out who had taken it and where they had gone.
I drove around the block and parked behind the old grocery store at the end of the street. From there, I could see the side entrance to our garage.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Finally, a black sedan pulled into the driveway.
A man stepped out.
He was in his forties, wearing a charcoal coat and carrying a leather briefcase. He looked around before entering through the garage's side door.
I recognized him from the photograph Denise had shown me.
Robert Ellis.
The contractor who had met Vanessa backstage.
I grabbed my phone and called Denise.
"Do you remember the man from the security photograph?""
"Robert Ellis?""
"He's at my house right now.""
"What? Nia, don't approach him.""
"I'm not planning to. Can you send someone to verify what he's doing here?""
"I'm contacting the event's security liaison. Stay somewhere safe.""
I watched Robert emerge from the garage twelve minutes later.
He was carrying a small brown envelope.
He climbed into his sedan and drove away.
I followed at a distance.
My hands trembled on the steering wheel as he turned onto a commercial road, passed a row of warehouses, and finally parked outside a small office building near the interstate.
He entered through the side door.
I pulled into a gas station across the street and waited.
Five minutes later, my phone rang.
My father.
"Nia, where are you?""
"Near the interstate. I saw Robert Ellis leaving our garage with an envelope.""
"What?""
"He was the man Vanessa met backstage. Dad, who is he?""
My father went quiet.
Then he said, "He's the person Vanessa hired to manage some of her private business arrangements.""
"What arrangements?""
"I don't know everything.""
"Stop saying that! You knew she wanted to stop me from competing. You knew about the payment.
You knew about the document. How much more do you know?""
His breath caught.
"You're right.""
I closed my eyes.
"I should have told you years ago," he continued.
"Your mother left a trust. It wasn't just money. She transferred the rights to her designs, her business name, and the property associated with her sewing studio into it.""
I stared at the building across the street.
"She had a business?""
"She had more than you know.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because the trust was supposed to remain untouched until you turned twenty-five, unless you entered a recognized professional design program or established a qualifying business. Your mother wanted you to have the choice of using it when you were ready.""
I thought of my mother's modest sewing room, her battered notebooks, and the clothes she had made for neighbors who couldn't afford new ones.
"How much was in the trust?""
"I don't know the exact current value. But the property and licensing rights could be worth a great deal.""
"And Vanessa knows.""
"Yes.""
"How?""
"She found some of your mother's old legal correspondence last month. She confronted me about it. She wanted me to help her obtain control of the trust.""
I felt sick.
"Why would she want control over something that belongs to me?""
"Because the trust contains a clause that gives you the controlling interest in Evelyn Carter Designs when it becomes active.""
My mother's name.
A real business.
A legacy I hadn't known existed.
"What does that have to do with my competition?""
My father hesitated.
"Vanessa believes that if you become a successful designer before the trust activates, you could gain access to the assets sooner. She wanted you to fail before the competition could establish your credentials.""
"That's insane.""
"I know.""
"No, Dad. You don't know. You let her treat me like dirt for six years while she was secretly trying to steal my mother's work.""
He didn't answer.
I wiped my eyes angrily.
"Where is the document now?""
"I don't know.""
"Then find out.""
"I'll try.""
"Don't try. Do something.""
I ended the call.
Across the street, the office door opened.
Robert emerged again, this time carrying nothing.
A second person followed him.
A woman in a cream coat.
Vanessa.
My stepmother looked around the parking lot before getting into her SUV.
I took a photograph of both vehicles and sent it to Denise.
Then I watched Vanessa drive away.
My phone vibrated almost immediately.
Denise had replied.
Our security liaison confirmed Robert Ellis accessed the competition's restricted backstage storage area on the night of your presentation. He has been asked to preserve all records and cooperate with the investigation.
Another message arrived.
We also located the original email used to submit the design-theft complaint. It wasn't sent from Maya's account.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I called Denise.
"Whose account was it?""
"We're verifying the owner, but the email address was created using information connected to Carter Design Consulting.""
My father's company.
I stared at the road, feeling as though the world beneath me was slowly breaking apart.
"Could Vanessa have created it?""
"Possibly. We don't know yet.""
"Then there's another question.""
"What's that?""
"Why would she use Dad's company if she was trying to hide what she was doing?""
Denise was quiet for a moment.
"Maybe she thought nobody would investigate the account.""
"Or maybe she wanted the evidence to point at him.""
The possibility made my stomach twist.
My father might have been weak. He might have chosen silence over defending me. But I had never believed he would deliberately frame me for theft.
Vanessa, however, had spent years teaching me how little I knew about her.
I looked toward the office building.
Robert Ellis had carried an envelope inside.
Vanessa had left without it.
What if the document from my mother's sewing machine had never been inside that envelope at all?
What if the envelope contained something else?
Something that could explain why Vanessa was so desperate to keep me from reaching the final round?
I started my car.
I had spent years believing my mother's legacy was a collection of old clothes and a sewing machine.
Now I knew it was something more.
And Vanessa had just given me the first clue that she was willing to hurt anyone who stood between her and it.
Including my father.
Including me.
But as I drove away, my phone buzzed again.
This time, the message came from Robert Ellis.
If you want to know what your mother really left you, meet me alone tomorrow at 8 a.m. Bring no one. And don't tell your stepmother.
Beneath the message was a photograph.
It showed a handwritten page from my mother's notebook.
May you like
At the bottom, in my mother's unmistakable handwriting, were six words:
*If Vanessa finds this, Nia is in danger.*
