Chapter 2
My father arrived seventeen minutes after the judges announced my victory.
I saw him pushing through the crowd in his dark brown suit.
His expression was serious.
Almost frightening.
For a moment, I forgot about the envelope in my hands.
"Dad!"
He turned.
When he saw me, his face softened.
"Maya."
I ran toward him.
He opened his arms.
I fell against his chest.
"Dad, I won."
His arms tightened.
I felt him take a shaky breath.
"I know, sweetheart."
I pulled back.
"You know?"
He smiled through tears.
"Chef Brooks called me."
My heart warmed.
Dad looked toward my display.
The little flower-shaped cake pops were almost gone.
Several judges had returned for second samples.
He stared at them.
Then looked at me.
"Your mother would've loved those."
That was enough.
I began crying.
He hugged me again.
My father, Gabriel Carter, was fifty-one years old and owned Carter Family Bakery.
He had built the business with my mother, Naomi, before she died.
For years, he worked beside her.
He handled the accounts.
She developed the recipes.
Together, they turned a tiny neighborhood bakery into one of Atlanta's most respected family businesses.
When my mother passed away from cancer nine years earlier, Dad nearly gave up.
Then he met Evelyn.
She had experience managing restaurants and promised to help him.
At first, I was grateful.
Dad smiled again.
The bakery continued growing.
And for a while, I believed we were becoming a happy family.
But happiness slowly turned into something else.
Evelyn took control of the business office.
Her daughter Vanessa became the face of the bakery.
And I became the girl who worked long hours while everyone else received applause.
I stepped back from Dad.
"Why did you tell me not to mention your visit?"
His smile disappeared.
He looked toward Evelyn.
She was standing across the room.
Watching us.
"Because I needed to speak with you before they knew what I'd found."
My stomach tightened.
"Found what?"
He took my hand.
"Come with me."
We walked toward a quiet hallway near the competition offices.
I kept looking back.
Vanessa followed us with her eyes.
Evelyn began moving toward the door.
Dad noticed.
He gently guided me into a private meeting room.
Then closed the door.
"Maya, I need you to tell me something."
I nodded.
"Anything."
His eyes filled.
"What really happened to your eye?"
My stomach dropped.
I looked away.
"Dad..."
"Please."
I took a breath.
Six weeks earlier, I'd been preparing sugar decorations for a wedding cake.
I needed a tray from an overhead storage shelf.
When I pulled it forward, another tray shifted above it.
A container holding hot sugar syrup spilled.
Some landed on my face.
I screamed.
Vanessa came running.
Then Evelyn.
They took me to urgent care.
Evelyn told everyone I'd ignored safety instructions.
She said I was distracted.
Careless.
Too impatient to work in a professional kitchen.
I had been ashamed.
So I accepted her explanation.
But lately, I'd begun remembering something strange.
The shelf had been rearranged.
And the container hadn't been where it belonged.
I told Dad everything.
He listened without interrupting.
Then he asked:
"Did you move the container yourself?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Did you ask anyone to put it there?"
"No."
He closed his eyes.
I felt frightened.
"Dad, what's wrong?"
He reached into his jacket.
Then removed his phone.
"I had the kitchen security system reviewed."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
He swallowed.
"Because the night before your injury, Vanessa told me the cameras had stopped working."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"She said there had been an electrical problem."
I remembered.
Evelyn had used the same explanation.
Dad continued.
"Last week, our technician found archived footage that hadn't been deleted."
My hands began trembling.
"Did it show the accident?"
He nodded.
"Part of it."
I looked down.
My injured eye began aching beneath the patch.
Dad touched my hand.
"Maya, I want you to understand that we haven't established every detail."
I nodded.
"But someone moved that container before your shift."
My stomach dropped.
"Who?"
Dad looked devastated.
He opened the video.
The recording showed our bakery kitchen.
The evening before my accident.
Vanessa entered.
She looked around.
Then climbed onto a small step stool.
She moved several containers.
One of them was the metal vessel that later spilled.
I stared.
My hands went cold.
Vanessa placed it near the front edge of the overhead shelf.
Then climbed down.
The recording ended.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, I whispered:
"She put it there."
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
I began crying.
My stepsister had moved the container.
That didn't automatically prove she intended to injure me.
But it proved Evelyn's accusation that I'd caused the dangerous placement was false.
I looked at Dad.
"Did you ask her why?"
He shook his head.
"Not yet."
My chest tightened.
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to preserve the recording and speak with you first."
I nodded.
That mattered.
For years, Dad had believed Evelyn whenever she criticized me.
Now he was asking questions.
I looked at him.
"Does Evelyn know?"
His expression changed.
"She knows I requested the security files."
My stomach tightened.
"That's why she's nervous."
Dad nodded.
Then he removed another document.
A bakery financial statement.
I frowned.
"What's this?"
He placed it on the table.
"The competition isn't the only thing I came to discuss."
I stared.
Several payments were highlighted.
Each one came from the bakery's business account.
Recipient: V&E Culinary Holdings.
The total was over ninety thousand dollars.
My stomach tightened.
"Who owns that company?"
Dad swallowed.
"I'm investigating."
I looked at him.
"V&E?"
Vanessa and Evelyn.
He nodded slowly.
Then said something that made my blood run cold.
"The company registered a trademark application for your mother's bakery name."
I stopped breathing.
My mother had spent her entire life building that name.
And someone had apparently tried to claim it without telling us.
Before I could speak, the meeting-room door opened.
Evelyn stood there.
Vanessa was directly behind her.
Both women looked furious.
Evelyn stared at the papers.
Then at my father.
"Gabriel."
Her voice was cold.
"What exactly have you been telling your daughter?"
May you like
Dad stood slowly.
And for the first time in years, he didn't look away.
