Chapter 5: The $420,000 Secret
At eight the next morning, I was sitting in Laura Mitchell's office with my mother's trust documents spread across her desk.
Laura was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a neat bun and a habit of reading every page twice.
She didn't interrupt.
She didn't offer sympathy.
She simply examined the evidence.
After nearly twenty minutes, she removed her glasses.
“Olivia, I want to separate three issues.””
She held up one finger.
“First, ownership of your original design.””
A second finger.
“Second, the authenticity and enforceability of the document your stepmother presented.””
A third.
“And third, the transfer of money from your mother's business.””
I leaned forward.
“Can they be connected?””
“Possibly. But we need records before drawing conclusions.””
I showed her the photograph of the $420,000 transfer.
Laura studied it.
“Where did this come from?””
“An anonymous number.””
“Do you know who sent it?””
“No.””
She zoomed in.
“It's a transaction confirmation, not a complete bank statement. We need the underlying records.””
“Can you get them?””
“If the trust has authority over the accounts, we can make a formal request. Depending on the account structure, we may need additional legal steps.””
She turned to the trust agreement.
“This document appears important. Did your mother leave anything else?””
I told her about the letter and the blue sewing box.
Laura nodded.
“Your mother may have anticipated a dispute.””
I swallowed.
“She knew someone would try to take my work.””
“Perhaps. But I don't want to put words in her mouth.””
She opened her laptop.
“Let's start with the design. When did you create the first sketch?””
“Seven months ago.””
“Do you have the original file?””
“Yes.””
“Construction photographs?””
“Hundreds.””
“Video footage?””
“Yes.””
She smiled slightly.
“Good. That's a strong starting point.””
I felt my shoulders relax for the first time in days.
Then she looked at the competition's complaint.
“They've received a document claiming your stepmother's company owns the design. Did you sign any assignment?””
“No.””
“Did you authorize anyone to submit your work under Madison's name?””
“Never.””
“Then we respond with a formal ownership dispute and preserve every piece of evidence.””
I nodded.
“What about my father?””
Laura's expression became serious.
“Your father is not automatically entitled to your intellectual property simply because he's your parent. But the trust documents and the alleged assignment need to be examined carefully.””
She paused.
“And Olivia, don't sign anything your family sends you.””
“I won't.””
When Hannah and I left the office, my phone rang.
Madison.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
“What?””
“Where are you?””
“Why?””
“Dad wants you home.””
“I have plans.””
She laughed.
“Still playing lawyer?””
“Something like that.””
Her voice became colder.
“Listen, Olivia. I know you're trying to make this difficult, but the presentation is happening Saturday. The dress is mine, and everyone knows it.””
“Everyone knows what you've told them.””
“Don't be ridiculous.””
“Tell me something, Madison. Did you know about the $420,000 transfer?””
Silence.
Then she said, “What transfer?””
I closed my eyes.
“You tell me.””
“Dad handles the company money.””
“So you knew the company existed.””
“Obviously.””
“And Patricia owns it?””
Madison laughed nervously.
“Why are you asking me these questions?””
“Because I want to know how much you knew before you stole my dress.””
Her voice sharpened.
“I didn't steal anything! Dad gave it to me.””
I stopped walking.
“What?””
“He said it belonged to the family. He said Mom had arranged everything before she died.””
I looked at Hannah.
She mouthed, Keep her talking.
I lowered my voice.
“Did Dad tell you where the original designs were kept?””
Madison hesitated.
“Why?””
“Because someone photographed the inside of my dress.””
She sighed.
“Patricia took those pictures.””
I felt a chill.
“Why?””
“I don't know. She said she needed them for the registration.””
“Registration for what?””
Madison didn't answer.
Then she snapped:
“Look, I don't have time for this. I have fittings.””
She hung up.
I stood motionless on the sidewalk.
Hannah took my arm.
“Did you hear that?””
“Yes.””
“Madison just admitted Patricia photographed the dress.””
“And Dad told her it belonged to the family.””
Hannah shook her head.
“Keep that call record.””
I saved the call details and wrote down everything Madison had said.
Then another notification appeared.
This time, it was from the unknown number.
If you want the truth about the money, come to Bennett Atelier tomorrow at noon. Ask for Evelyn.
I stared at the message.
Bennett Atelier.
My mother's old studio.
It had been closed for years.
The following afternoon, Hannah drove me to the address.
The building was tucked between a florist and a small accounting office.
Its old sign was still above the entrance, although the gold lettering had faded.
BENNETT ATELIER.
I stood outside for several seconds.
I remembered coming here as a little girl.
My mother used to let me sit on the counter while she pinned fabric.
The place always smelled of steam, perfume, and fresh cotton.
Now the windows were dusty.
The door was unlocked.
Inside, an older woman was arranging boxes behind the counter.
She looked up.
“Can I help you?””
“I'm looking for Evelyn.””
Her expression changed.
“I'm Evelyn.””
I swallowed.
“My name is Olivia Bennett.””
She stared at me.
Then she slowly walked around the counter.
“Catherine's daughter?””
I nodded.
She took both my hands.
“Oh, sweetheart.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“You look just like your mother.””
I couldn't speak.
Evelyn led us into the back room.
It was smaller than I remembered, but the old cutting table was still there.
She pointed toward a chair.
“Sit down. We have a lot to talk about.””
I placed the photograph of the bank transfer on the table.
“Did you send this?””
She nodded.
“I did.””
“Why?””
“Because I kept hoping your father would tell you the truth himself.””
My chest tightened.
“What happened to the business?””
Evelyn took a deep breath.
“Your mother had a successful studio. Not enormous, but profitable. She had loyal clients, several wholesale agreements, and a collection of original designs she intended to license.””
“What happened after she died?””
“Your father came here with Patricia. They told us the business would be reorganized.””
I frowned.
“Patricia was involved?””
“Very involved.””
Evelyn opened a drawer and removed a folder.
“Your mother had asked me to maintain copies of certain business records. I kept them because something about the transfer never felt right.””
She placed several documents in front of me.
The first showed the studio's balance before my mother's death.
The second showed a series of payments after the funeral.
The third listed a licensing agreement with Harrington Creative.
I scanned the page.
The company had acquired the rights to several of my mother's designs for a fraction of their estimated value.
“Who approved this?””
Evelyn pointed to the signature.
Richard Bennett.
My father.
I felt sick.
“Did Mom agree to this?””
Evelyn shook her head.
“Not according to the instructions she gave me.””
She opened another folder.
Inside was a handwritten note from my mother.
It was dated six months before she died.
Evelyn,
If anything happens to me, please make sure Liv receives the original design archive. Richard has been asking questions about transferring the studio's rights, and I don't want her work tied to anyone else's business.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Evelyn.
“Why didn't you give me this before?””
“Your father told me the estate had been settled. He said you wanted nothing to do with the business.””
“I never said that.””
“I know that now.””
She wiped her eyes.
“I'm sorry.””
I looked at the records.
“Is there more?””
Evelyn hesitated.
Then she opened a locked cabinet.
She removed a thick envelope.
“Your mother left this with me shortly before she became seriously ill.””
My heart began racing.
“What is it?””
“A copy of the original design archive inventory. And something else.””
She slid a small photograph across the table.
It showed my mother standing beside Patricia.
They were in the studio.
Both were smiling.
On the back, my mother's handwriting read:
Patricia's final visit. Keep this photograph. I want to remember the day I finally understood.
I stared at the words.
“Understood what?””
Evelyn shook her head.
“I don't know. But the day after this photograph was taken, your mother asked me to change the locks on her private archive room.””
I looked up.
“Why?””
“Because she discovered that someone had been copying her designs.””
A terrible thought entered my mind.
“Who?””
Evelyn lowered her voice.
“Patricia.””
That evening, I returned home carrying copies of the records.
My father was waiting in the kitchen.
He looked at the folder in my hands.
“Where did you get those?””
“From Evelyn.””
His face drained of color.
“You had no right to involve her.””
“She worked for Mom.””
“She has no idea what she's talking about.””
“Then explain the $420,000.””
He froze.
Patricia appeared in the doorway.
“What is she talking about?””
I placed the bank transfer on the table.
“Your company received $420,000 from Mom's business.””
Patricia glanced at the page.
Then she looked at my father.
“Richard?””
He didn't speak.
I stepped closer.
“Where did the money go?””
My father finally looked at me.
And instead of denying it, he said:
“Your mother wanted me to have that money.””
I stared at him.
“Then why did she create a trust to protect the business?””
His jaw tightened.
“Because she changed her mind.””
“Before or after you transferred the money?””
Patricia grabbed the paper.
“That's enough!””
I pulled it away.
“No. I'm finished being told to stay quiet.””
My father slammed his fist against the table.
“You have no idea what your mother promised me!””
I stared at him.
“What did she promise?””
He looked toward Patricia.
For one brief second, they exchanged a glance.
Then he whispered:
“She promised that the entire company would eventually belong to me.””
I felt my blood turn cold.
“Then why did she leave it to me?””
My father said nothing.
May you like
Patricia's expression changed.
And I realized there was another secret they were desperately trying to hide.
