Chapter 8
Richard Vale didn't want to speak to us.
Samuel called his former office.
No answer.
Lauren sent a formal letter.
It was returned.
Grace tried an old number.
Disconnected.
For three days, I felt like we were chasing a shadow.
Then Marcus called with an idea.
"I know someone who worked with Richard at a fashion investment firm."
His contact was a retired executive named Charles Whitmore.
Charles agreed to meet us at Samuel's office.
He was tall, silver-haired, and visibly uncomfortable.
"I don't want publicity," he said immediately.
Lauren nodded.
"We're interested in facts."
Charles looked at me.
"Your mother was exceptionally talented."
My throat tightened.
"Did you know her?"
"Only through her work."
He explained that Richard Vale had represented investors who wanted to support Evelyn House.
The original proposal involved funding a small production facility and distributing my mother's first collection.
But the transaction fell apart after Mom became ill.
At least, that was the official explanation.
Charles placed a folder on the table.
"Richard told our company Evelyn had transferred her intellectual property to an independent holding entity."
"Vanessa?" Samuel asked.
Charles nodded.
"I later learned she was involved."
I leaned forward.
"Did you know the signature was forged?"
"No. I didn't."
He hesitated.
"But I became suspicious when Richard refused to release the original documents."
Lauren asked what happened next.
Charles explained that several investors questioned the ownership records.
Richard left the firm soon afterward.
The investment partnership dissolved.
Vanessa continued negotiating with other companies.
"And the money?" I asked.
Charles looked at me sadly.
"Your mother's designs were valuable, Nia. More valuable than you were ever told."
I thought about all the nights I spent counting coins to buy fabric.
"How valuable?"
"I can't provide a reliable figure. That would require reviewing years of contracts and sales."
I nodded.
At least he wasn't pretending to know what he couldn't prove.
Charles then gave us Richard's last known mailing address.
It was in Charlotte, North Carolina.
Lauren contacted an investigator to verify whether Richard still lived there.
Two days later, we received an answer.
He did.
And through his lawyer, he agreed to provide records to investigators.
I didn't expect the next development.
Richard wasn't trying to protect Vanessa.
He was trying to protect himself.
His attorney informed authorities that Richard possessed copies of several disputed documents and had received instructions from Vanessa to conceal the true source of the designs.
He offered to cooperate in exchange for consideration in any potential prosecution.
Lauren warned us that cooperation didn't automatically make him truthful.
Everything would need independent verification.
But his records could be important.
When Samuel received the first legally obtained copies, he called me into his office.
Dad came with me.
Maya insisted on joining us.
She had spent the previous week sleeping in the guest room because she was afraid Vanessa would come after her.
I wasn't ready to treat her like a sister.
But I didn't want her facing threats alone either.
Samuel spread the documents across his desk.
There were invoices, meeting notes, scanned contracts, and emails.
One email was dated shortly after my mother's death.
Vanessa had written to Richard:
Daniel believes the business has failed. Proceed with the transfer.
I felt my hands begin to shake.
Another email referred to my mother's design archive.
Keep the original drawings secured until the ownership questions disappear.
Then a third message caught my attention.
It was sent nearly two years later.
Vanessa wrote:
I am now married to Daniel. Access to the remaining materials is no longer an issue.
I looked at Dad.
He stared at the page in horror.
She had married him while continuing to collect and control my mother's work.
Whether she had any other reason to marry him, I couldn't know.
But those emails made her financial motives impossible to ignore.
Dad lowered himself into a chair.
"She used me."
My heart ached for him.
Then I remembered every time he told me Vanessa cared about our family.
I wondered how he could bear the truth.
Maya was trembling.
"She told me Daniel was the love of her life."
Dad looked toward her.
For a moment, their pain was the same.
Both had loved a woman who lied to them.
Samuel placed another document on the table.
"This is important."
It was a record of a storage-unit lease.
The unit had been rented under Vanessa's consulting company.
The original lease began nine years earlier.
Just months after my mother's death.
The inventory listed design archives, sewing equipment, and business records.
My mother's missing belongings.
I reached for the paper.
"Are they still there?"
"We don't know."
Lauren said investigators were pursuing lawful access to the storage facility.
I could barely contain my excitement.
For years, I believed my mother's belongings had been destroyed.
Now I might be able to touch them again.
Three days later, investigators executed a search warrant at the storage facility.
I wasn't allowed inside.
We waited nearby while the officers worked.
Time seemed to crawl.
Then Detective Harris approached.
He carried a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a small wooden box.
A hand-painted letter E decorated the lid.
My mother's jewelry box.
I covered my mouth.
"That's hers."
He nodded.
"We found several containers that may contain her property."
I started crying.
Not because of the value.
Because I remembered sitting on Mom's bed while she fastened a little silver necklace around my neck.
She kept that necklace in the wooden box.
After her death, it vanished.
Now it was back.
Detective Harris continued.
"There are also design books, correspondence, and original pattern materials. They'll need to remain in evidence while we document their provenance."
I nodded.
"I understand."
Then his expression became serious.
"There's something else."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"We found records suggesting the disputed design transfers may be part of a larger financial fraud investigation."
I stared at him.
"Does that mean Vanessa will be arrested?"
"I can't promise that. The prosecutor will review the evidence."
He paused.
"But we're no longer looking at a single forged signature."
I looked toward the storage building.
For the first time, justice felt possible.
Not guaranteed.
May you like
But possible.
And I was ready to fight for it.
