Chapter 8: The Night My Mother Lost Everything
My father refused to let me leave the shop.
Not because he wanted to control me.
Because he had recognized something in the message that terrified him.
"The old studio burned down?"" I asked.
He nodded.
"September 2007.""
I searched my memory.
I remembered my mother waking me in the middle of the night. I remembered smoke in the air and a fire truck outside our apartment.
But I had never known what caused it.
"Was anyone hurt?""
"No. Your mother and I weren't there. Arthur had locked the building before leaving that evening.""
"Then how did it catch fire?""
"Officially, an electrical fault.""
He looked at the phone.
"But your mother never believed that.""
Camille pulled a chair closer.
"Why would someone burn down a fashion studio?""
My father walked to the cabinet and removed a newspaper clipping.
The headline read:
*LOCAL DESIGN STUDIO DESTROYED IN OVERNIGHT FIRE.*
The article was short. It mentioned extensive damage, no injuries, and an ongoing investigation.
I read the date.
September 18, 2007.
My seventh birthday had been September 12.
The fire happened six days later.
I looked at my father.
"Was the archive inside?""
"Some of it.""
"Did you lose the original patterns?""
"Not all of them. Your mother had taken several documents home the night before.""
He paused.
"She had discovered that Richard was preparing to register the Angel Collection under his own name.""
My stomach tightened.
"So she tried to protect the documents.""
"Yes.""
"And the studio burned.""
He nodded.
"After that, Denise became frightened. She stopped speaking to certain people. She moved the remaining records between several locations.""
I sat down.
"Why didn't she tell me?""
"Because she wanted you to have a normal childhood.""
I laughed bitterly.
"Normal?""
My father looked at me.
"She wanted you to grow up thinking about school, friends, and your dreams. Not lawyers and stolen designs.""
I stared at the newspaper.
Then I looked at the message from Arthur.
"Where is the old studio?""
My father shook his head.
"There's nothing there anymore.""
"Then why would Arthur ask me to meet him?""
"I don't know. But I want to find out.""
He took his coat from the back of the chair.
Camille stood.
"We're going together.""
My father nodded.
"All right.""
The address was in Queens.
It led to an old industrial building that had been converted into small offices and storage spaces.
The original studio had occupied the second floor.
When we arrived, the hallway smelled of dust and damp plaster.
A single fluorescent light flickered overhead.
My father walked ahead.
"Room 204.""
The door was unlocked.
Inside was a small, empty room with exposed brick walls and a broken wooden table.
A large window overlooked the street.
There was no sign of a fashion studio.
No sewing machines.
No mannequins.
No fabric.
Only an old metal cabinet standing against the far wall.
Arthur was waiting beside it.
He looked exhausted.
"Nia.""
I crossed my arms.
"Why did you send that message?""
Arthur frowned.
"What message?""
I showed him my phone.
He read it.
Then his expression changed.
"I didn't send this.""
My father stepped forward.
"Who has access to your number?""
"Only a few people.""
"Then one of them is helping Richard.""
Arthur looked at me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.""
"Why did you ask me to come here?""
Arthur pointed toward the metal cabinet.
"Because I found something.""
He opened the cabinet.
Inside was a small wooden box.
I recognized it immediately.
My mother's handwriting was carved into the lid.
*For Nia.*
My breath caught.
"How did you find that?""
Arthur removed the box carefully.
"Your mother hid it here before the fire. I discovered it while helping the landlord clear some old storage.""
He handed it to me.
My fingers trembled as I opened the lid.
Inside was a bundle of photographs, several handwritten notes, and a small cassette recorder.
There was also a sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
I sat on the floor.
Camille knelt beside me.
I opened the envelope.
My darling Nia,
If you have found this box, then the truth has finally reached you.
I wish I could sit beside you and explain everything myself. I wish I could tell you why I made certain decisions and why I kept so many things from you.
But I need you to understand that none of it was because I didn't trust you.
I trusted you more than anyone.
I simply didn't trust the people who wanted to take what belonged to our family.
I swallowed.
The letter continued.
Your father made mistakes. He trusted Richard Hayes when he should have trusted his instincts. But he loved you. Never allow anyone to convince you otherwise.
Arthur knows where the original registration records are hidden. If he has brought you here, ask him about the blue envelope.
I looked up.
"Arthur, what blue envelope?""
He stared at the letter.
Then he slowly reached into his coat.
He removed a small blue envelope.
"I've had this for nineteen years.""
I stared at him.
"Why?""
"Denise asked me to keep it safe.""
"What's inside?""
Arthur placed it in my hand.
I opened it.
Inside was a small certificate with an official registration number.
At the top were the words:
*UNITED STATES COPYRIGHT REGISTRATION — ANGEL COLLECTION.*
The authors were listed as:
*Marcus Carter and Denise Carter.*
I looked at my father.
He was staring at the certificate.
For the first time since I had met him, he looked as though he might cry.
"She kept it," he whispered.
Arthur nodded.
"She never gave up.""
I examined the date.
The registration had been completed before the first agreement with Hayes Luxury Group.
It also contained a handwritten note.
*Original creative rights retained by the Carter family.*
I looked at Arthur.
"Does this mean they never owned the collection?""
Arthur nodded.
"It means they acquired certain commercial permissions, but the original copyright remained with your parents.""
My father took the certificate.
"Richard knows this exists.""
"How?""
Arthur looked toward the door.
"Because I told him.""
My father turned sharply.
"What?""
Arthur lowered his eyes.
"I was young. I was frightened. Richard promised he would protect the company and compensate us fairly if I helped him locate the remaining records.""
I stared at him.
"You helped him?""
Arthur nodded.
"I gave him the location of the first archive. I didn't know he planned to use the information to destroy the studio.""
My father grabbed his collar.
"Do you understand what you did?""
Arthur didn't fight back.
"Yes.""
"You helped him steal our work!""
"I know.""
"You let Denise spend years believing she had failed to protect her family!""
Arthur's eyes filled.
"I know.""
My father released him.
I stood between them.
"Stop.""
My father stepped away.
I turned toward Arthur.
"Why are you helping me now?""
He looked at the photograph of my mother.
"Because Denise forgave me. And because I promised her I would never let Richard take the collection from you.""
I studied his face.
"Did you know my father was alive?""
Arthur nodded.
"Yes.""
"Did you know where he was?""
"Not at first. I found out six months ago.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because I was trying to recover the original archive before Richard discovered your father's location.""
I shook my head.
"Everyone keeps deciding what I can handle.""
Arthur lowered his eyes.
"You're right.""
I looked at the certificate again.
Then something caught my attention.
The registration number had been stamped in blue ink.
Beside it was a second number.
A storage reference.
*BOX 17 — CARVER ESTATE RECORDS.*
I pointed at it.
"What does this mean?""
Arthur leaned closer.
His face changed.
"That's the reference to the original pattern archive.""
"Where is it?""
He looked at my father.
"Your mother moved it after the fire.""
My father shook his head.
"I thought she had taken it to Atlanta.""
Arthur tapped the number.
"No. She deposited it with an independent estate custodian in Manhattan.""
I looked at him.
"Who?""
Arthur hesitated.
"Margaret Carver.""
I recognized the name.
"Isn't she one of the judges?""
Arthur nodded.
My stomach tightened.
"Margaret Carver has the original archive?""
"She was your mother's attorney before she retired.""
I stared at the certificate.
The same woman who would be judging my work had been protecting my family's original designs for nineteen years.
And suddenly, the strange behavior I had noticed during the competition made sense.
Margaret had barely spoken to me.
She had watched my gown with an expression I couldn't interpret.
Perhaps she had recognized the bird symbol.
Perhaps she knew exactly who I was.
I picked up the cassette recorder.
"What's this?""
Arthur looked at it.
"Your mother recorded something.""
"Have you listened to it?""
"No. She specifically instructed me not to.""
I pressed the play button.
A click sounded.
Then my mother's voice filled the room.
"Nia, sweetheart. If you're hearing this, I hope you're old enough to understand why I kept our family history from you.""
My knees weakened.
It was her.
Her voice.
The familiar softness.
The little pause she always made before saying my name.
I covered my mouth.
"I need you to listen carefully," she continued.
"Richard Hayes will tell you that your father sold the Angel Collection. He will tell you that I accepted money. He will tell you that the designs belong to his company.""
A pause.
"Some of that is true. Your father signed an agreement. But Richard never received the rights he claims.""
My father closed his eyes.
Then my mother said something I had never heard before.
"There's one more thing you need to know. The original collection wasn't stolen because it was valuable.""
A rustling sound came through the recording.
"It was stolen because the final design contained something Richard couldn't afford to let the world see.""
Arthur leaned closer.
"What is she talking about?""
My mother's voice continued.
"The final gown was designed by Marcus, but I changed the construction after discovering the truth about the Hayes family.""
My father looked up.
"What truth?""
The recording crackled.
Then my mother's voice became quieter.
"The Angel Collection was never just a fashion collection. It was evidence.""
I stared at the recorder.
"Evidence of what?""
My mother answered as if she could hear me.
"Richard Hayes didn't simply steal our designs. He used our original business partnership to hide the transfer of money from a company that was never supposed to exist.""
The recording stopped.
Nobody spoke.
Then my father slowly sat down.
"Now I understand.""
I turned toward him.
"Understand what?""
He looked at me.
"Why Richard has spent nineteen years trying to destroy every copy of the original collection.""
He reached for the certificate.
"Because if Margaret still has the original archive, she has more than proof of ownership.""
Arthur nodded.
"She has the financial records your mother embedded in the original pattern books.""
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
This time, it included a photograph.
Margaret Carver was standing outside the House of Couture.
Beside her was Victoria.
And Victoria was holding the black document case.
The message beneath it read:
*The original archive is gone. Margaret has been paid. Your family has lost.*
I looked at my father.
He stared at the photograph.
Then he whispered,
"That's impossible.""
"Why?""
"Because Margaret would never sell those records.""
He took the phone from my hand and enlarged the photograph.
Then he pointed at Margaret's left hand.
"Look at her ring.""
I frowned.
"What about it?""
"That's not Margaret.""
I stared at the photograph again.
The woman standing beside Victoria had the same hairstyle, the same glasses, and a similar face.
But her ring was different.
My father shook his head.
"That's her sister, Elizabeth.""
And suddenly, I understood.
May you like
The person holding the black case wasn't the woman who had protected my mother's secrets.
It was someone who had spent nineteen years waiting for the chance to steal them.
