Chapter 3
I called my father seventeen times.
He never answered.
By the eighteenth call, my hands were shaking so badly that I could barely hold the phone.
Marcus stood beside me in the competition office.
"Nia, look at me."
I couldn't.
"My dad is alone in that house."
"Then we need to send someone there."
Officer Reynolds was already contacting Atlanta police.
He had explained that the competition security team couldn't investigate a possible crime inside a private residence.
But my father's last words were enough to make everyone concerned.
Don't go home.
Those three words kept repeating in my head.
For years, my father had been the one person I believed could protect me.
Even when Vanessa insulted my mother.
Even when Maya destroyed my sewing projects.
Even when money disappeared from my college savings account.
Dad always told me things would improve.
He was a gentle man.
Too gentle, perhaps.
He hated arguments and believed every family problem could be solved by talking.
Vanessa understood that weakness.
And she used it.
I looked toward the door.
"I'm going."
Marcus stepped in front of me.
"Not alone."
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of his car while Officer Reynolds followed in another vehicle.
My reconstructed gown was still on my body.
The metallic fabric rustled whenever I moved.
I had dreamed of wearing it during a celebration.
Instead, I was riding toward the house where my father's voice had suddenly disappeared.
When we reached our neighborhood, two police cars were already parked outside.
My stomach dropped.
The front door stood open.
I jumped from the car.
"Dad!"
An officer stopped me at the porch.
"Miss Carter, please wait."
"That's my father!"
A familiar voice came from inside.
"Nia?"
I pushed past the officer.
Dad was sitting on the living-room sofa.
His white shirt was wrinkled, and a red mark stretched across his wrist.
But he was alive.
I ran into his arms.
"Oh, Daddy."
He held me tightly.
For several seconds, neither of us could speak.
Then he pulled back.
His eyes were wet.
"I'm so sorry, baby."
I shook my head.
"What happened?"
He glanced toward the hallway.
"Vanessa came home while I was looking through her office."
"What did you find?"
Dad reached inside his jacket.
He removed a small leather notebook.
The cover was cracked and faded.
I recognized it instantly.
My mother's handwriting covered the front.
Evelyn's Designs.
I pressed both hands over my mouth.
"Where was that?"
"In a locked drawer."
He opened the notebook.
Inside were sketches, measurements, fabric samples, and handwritten notes.
My mother's notes.
I touched the first page.
For a moment, I could almost hear her laughing beside me.
Dad turned toward the kitchen, where another officer stood.
"Vanessa caught me holding it," he explained.
"She tried to take it away. We struggled over the notebook, and she knocked the phone from my hand."
"Did she hurt you?"
"She grabbed my wrist. I'm all right."
"Where is she now?"
"She left through the back door before the police arrived."
My father looked ashamed.
"I should have called them years ago."
I sat beside him.
"Years ago?"
He closed his eyes.
"Nia, there's something you deserve to know."
My heart began pounding.
He explained that my mother had been developing a small fashion label shortly before her death.
She had called it Evelyn House.
The label had attracted interest from a boutique owner in New York.
There was even a preliminary agreement to produce a limited collection.
But after my mother died, the project disappeared.
Dad had always believed the business collapsed because the paperwork was unfinished.
"Vanessa told me the designs had no value," he whispered.
"She said the remaining debts were too large."
"Why would you believe her?"
His face crumpled.
"Because I trusted her."
I looked away.
I loved my father.
But love didn't erase the years he had failed to listen.
"She told me my mother's sketches were destroyed."
"I know."
"She sold my sewing machine."
"I know."
"She took the money Grandma left for my fashion school tuition."
Dad's expression changed.
"What money?"
I stared at him.
He looked genuinely confused.
"Grandma left me eighteen thousand dollars. Vanessa said you used it for medical bills."
Dad rose from the sofa.
"Nia, I never touched that money."
Silence filled the room.
Another lie.
Another stolen piece of my future.
Dad opened the notebook again.
Near the final pages, a folded letter slipped onto his lap.
The envelope carried my name.
Nia.
I recognized my mother's handwriting immediately.
My fingers went numb.
I carefully opened it.
Inside was a letter written shortly before her final hospitalization.
My beautiful Nia,
If you're reading this, I hope you've grown into the brave woman I always knew you would become.
There are designs in this notebook that belong to you.
But more important than the drawings is the belief behind them.
Your gift is yours.
Never surrender it to anyone.
I began crying before I reached the bottom.
The final sentence made me stop.
If anyone ever claims I gave away Evelyn House, ask Mr. Samuel Brooks for the original agreement.
I looked up.
"Dad, who's Samuel Brooks?"
My father's face changed.
He whispered the name like he had seen a ghost.
"Samuel was your mother's attorney."
"Where is he?"
Dad swallowed.
"I haven't spoken to him since her funeral."
"Then we need to find him."
My phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice spoke quietly.
"Nia Carter?"
"Yes."
"My name is Grace Holloway. I used to work with your mother."
I stood.
"How did you get my number?"
"I saw the competition video."
Her breathing sounded uneven.
"I've been afraid to contact you for years."
"Why?"
She hesitated.
"Because I know what happened to your mother's business."
I gripped the phone.
"Tell me."
"Not over the phone."
"Please."
"Nia, listen carefully. Your mother didn't lose Evelyn House."
My pulse thundered.
"Then what happened?"
Grace's voice cracked.
May you like
"Vanessa stole it before your mother was even buried."
And the line went silent.
