Chapter 7
Angela told us not to respond to Richard's threat.
She reported the call, documented everything, and arranged additional security while the investigation continued.
For the first time, I understood why my mother had spent years looking over her shoulder.
The truth was not simply buried.
Someone was actively protecting the people who had buried it.
Over the next several days, Angela's team examined the recovered documents. The handwriting specialist identified inconsistencies in the supposed withdrawal of my mother's custody petition.
The signature appeared to have been copied from another document.
The financial records also revealed a pattern of transfers between Richard's company and a consulting firm that had no employees, no office, and no legitimate business activity.
That firm had received payments shortly before the original designs disappeared.
But we still needed evidence linking Richard directly to the forgery.
Thomas Reed remained missing.
The police found no sign that he had been seriously injured at his house, but his phone had been switched off, and nobody could locate him.
Then, on Thursday evening, Dr. Whitmore received an email from an unfamiliar address.
It contained a single sentence.
I found the recording.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just a photograph of an old digital recorder resting beside a handwritten note.
Dr. Whitmore forwarded the message to Angela.
They spent the next morning tracing the sender through the information available in the email. It led to a public library computer, offering little useful information.
The photograph, however, contained a detail none of us had noticed at first.
A brass key was visible beside the recorder.
It matched the key Thomas had given me.
I called him immediately, even though I knew his phone was still disconnected.
Then my phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Maya?”
It was Thomas.
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I can't tell you that.”
“Are you safe?”
“For the moment.”
I closed my eyes in relief.
“Why did you disappear?”
“Because Richard's men were looking for the original files. I needed to make sure the most important evidence was somewhere they couldn't find it.”
“What recording?”
He was silent for a moment.
“A conversation between Richard and the lawyer who handled Danielle's case. They were discussing the forged withdrawal and how to keep Marcus away from you.”
My hands began to shake.
“Can you send it to Angela?”
“I can. But there's something you need to understand first.”
He took a breath.
“Your mother knew Richard had forged the documents. She had a witness who was willing to testify. But before the hearing, that witness disappeared.”
“Who?”
“Her name was Patricia Lane. She worked in the law office that prepared the withdrawal.”
“Is she alive?”
“I believe so. I found a recent address, but I haven't contacted her.”
“Why not?”
“Because Richard knows where she lives.”
I looked toward Dr. Whitmore, who was listening beside me.
“Send the recording to Angela. Let the police handle the rest.”
“I will. But the recording won't be enough by itself. Patricia's testimony could establish who ordered the forgery.”
He hesitated.
“There's one more thing. The original Blue Promise collection was registered under a company name that Danielle and Evelyn created together. Richard has been receiving royalties from designs that legally belong to their company.”
Dr. Whitmore gripped the edge of her desk.
“That's impossible. We closed the company after the fraud.”
“You closed the office,” Thomas corrected. “The legal entity remained active. Someone has been collecting the royalties through a subsidiary.”
Angela immediately began investigating.
The discovery changed everything.
If the collection remained legally owned by the original company, Richard's control over the designs could be challenged.
But there was a problem.
The company had two original owners.
Danielle Brooks and Evelyn Whitmore.
Danielle was dead.
Her ownership interest had never been formally transferred.
That meant her estate could still hold a claim.
And because I was her only child, I might be the rightful heir.
I sat in stunned silence as Angela explained the possibilities.
“My mother could still own part of the collection?”
“Potentially, yes. We need to review the corporate records and the terms of succession. But if the documents are authentic, you may have inherited her interest.”
I thought of the years my mother spent cleaning offices, sewing alterations for strangers, and telling me we couldn't afford new shoes.
All that time, the designs she created might have been earning money for the man who destroyed her life.
I felt sick.
“I want every dollar traced.”
Angela nodded.
“So do I.”
That afternoon, Patricia Lane agreed to meet us through her lawyer.
She was a retired legal assistant in her sixties, with a careful voice and an expression that suggested she had spent years regretting something.
When Angela showed her the forged withdrawal, Patricia began to cry.
“I knew this day would come.”
She explained that Richard's lawyer had instructed her to prepare the filing using a signature copied from Danielle's earlier paperwork.
She had refused at first.
Then she was told that the document had already been approved by Danielle and that her job was simply to process it.
Patricia had believed the claim until she overheard a conversation revealing that the signature had been copied without permission.
By then, the document had been submitted.
She tried to report what happened, but the law firm warned her that she would be blamed for mishandling confidential records.
She was young, frightened, and worried about losing her job.
So she stayed silent.
“I have regretted it every day,” she whispered.
Angela asked whether she would testify.
Patricia looked at me.
“I will.”
For the first time, the investigation felt as though it was moving toward something real.
Then Brianna contacted me.
Her message was short.
We need to talk. Please don't tell my father.
I stared at the words for several minutes.
I remembered her lifting my dress, laughing while everyone watched, and treating my humiliation as entertainment.
I didn't owe her anything.
Still, I agreed to meet her at a café near school, with Dr. Whitmore waiting outside.
Brianna arrived without her usual entourage.
Her expensive red dress had been replaced by jeans and a plain sweater. She looked smaller without the confidence she usually wore like armor.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“Yes, you do.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I was cruel to you. I thought money made me better than everyone else. My father taught me that people who couldn't afford nice things had nobody to blame but themselves.”
“That doesn't excuse what you did.”
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“When he found out about the ceremony, he told me to make sure you never spoke to Dr. Whitmore again. He said your mother had stolen something from our family.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did he know who my mother was?”
“Yes. He recognized her name years ago. He told me to stay away from you, but I thought it was because he didn't want me getting involved with someone from a poor family.”
She reached into her bag.
“I found this in his study.”
It was a photograph of my mother standing outside Richard's office.
On the back was a date.
The day before the original custody hearing.
Brianna's voice trembled.
“I think my father knew exactly what he was doing.”
I took the photograph.
Then she looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“There is something else. My father has been meeting a man at our house. I heard them talking about the original recording. They said it was the one thing that could destroy him.”
I stared at her.
“Who was the man?”
Brianna hesitated.
May you like
Then she whispered a name.
“Thomas Reed.”
