Chapter 3: The Empty Apartment
My apartment was on the fourth floor of a narrow brick building in Queens.
The hallway always smelled faintly of laundry detergent and someone's cooking.
I'd lived there for two years.
It was small, cold in winter, and constantly cluttered with fabric samples.
But it was mine.
Or at least, it had been.
Adrian's black SUV stopped outside at 11:42 p.m.
Two bodyguards exited before the driver had even turned off the engine.
I climbed out behind them.
"Wait here," the broad-shouldered one instructed.
His name was Marcus.
I folded my arms.
"I'm not waiting in a car while someone destroys my home.""
Marcus glanced at Adrian.
Adrian nodded.
"Stay behind me.""
We entered the building.
The front door was unlocked.
That was the first warning.
The second was the smell.
My apartment always smelled like coffee, starch, and fabric.
Tonight, it smelled like smoke.
Not a fire.
Something electrical.
Marcus reached for his radio.
"Possible forced entry. Fourth floor.""
We climbed the stairs.
At the top, my door stood open.
The lock had been broken.
My stomach twisted.
"Don't touch anything," Adrian said.
But I was already moving.
The living room was destroyed.
My sewing machine lay on its side. Fabric had been pulled from the shelves. Sketchbooks were scattered across the floor, their pages torn out.
My grandmother's old wooden sewing box had been smashed.
I stepped over a broken picture frame.
It contained the only photograph I had of my mother and father together.
I picked it up.
The glass had shattered across my father's face.
A strange sound escaped my throat.
Adrian approached.
"Evie.""
I hated that he called me that.
It was my father's nickname for me.
Somehow, hearing it from a stranger made everything worse.
"They did this because of me," I whispered.
Marcus moved toward the bedroom.
"Clear.""
The second bodyguard checked the kitchen.
"Clear.""
I went straight to the closet.
The blue box.
It was a small wooden case my father had given me when I was fifteen. Dark blue paint. Brass hinges. A tiny phoenix carved into the lid.
I'd kept it on the top shelf.
Now it was gone.
I turned toward Adrian.
"It's missing.""
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Your father was right.""
"What is inside it?""
"I don't know.""
"You're lying.""
"I'm not.""
"You knew about my mother's agreement. You knew about the design. You knew someone was looking for it. What else are you hiding?""
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"My father trusted you. I don't.""
Before Adrian could respond, Marcus called from the bedroom.
"Sir.""
His voice sounded different.
Adrian walked over.
I followed.
The mattress had been pulled off the bed. The drawers were open. My clothes were scattered across the floor.
But Marcus wasn't looking at the mess.
He was staring at the wall.
Someone had written a message in black marker.
*STOP LOOKING FOR WHAT YOUR MOTHER LEFT BEHIND.*
I felt my legs go weak.
Below the message was a small symbol.
A phoenix with its wings cut off.
Adrian studied it.
"Do you recognize that?"" he asked.
I shook my head.
But I recognized something else.
The handwriting.
Patricia's capital letters had always been unusually narrow. She wrote the letter S with a sharp downward hook.
The message wasn't written in her handwriting.
But whoever had written it knew exactly what my mother had left behind.
I backed away.
"I want to call the police.""
Marcus nodded.
"We've already contacted them.""
"Then I want to go somewhere safe.""
Adrian looked at me.
"That's why we're here.""
I grabbed my handbag.
Then something caught my attention.
A small envelope was wedged beneath the broken leg of my sewing table.
My name was written on it.
I crouched and picked it up.
"Don't open that yet," Adrian said.
I looked at him.
"Why?""
"It could be contaminated.""
Marcus produced a pair of gloves and carefully took the envelope.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother stood in front of a sewing machine, holding a blue silk dress.
She was smiling.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a handwritten note.
Evelyn, if they have found the phoenix, look beneath the place where your father first taught you to sew.
I stared at the words.
My father had taught me to sew in the basement of our old family house.
The house Patricia still lived in.
The house she'd inherited after my father's death.
I felt sick.
"What's beneath the place?"" Adrian asked.
"I don't know.""
"Can you find out?""
I swallowed.
"Maybe.""
A sound came from the hallway.
Marcus immediately moved toward the door.
"Stay back.""
We heard footsteps.
Then a woman's voice.
"Evelyn?""
My blood turned cold.
Patricia.
She stood in the doorway wearing the same cream-colored dress she'd worn to the competition.
Her hair was perfectly arranged.
Her makeup was flawless.
She looked at the destruction around her.
Then she looked at me.
"Oh, sweetheart.""
I almost laughed.
"Don't call me that.""
She sighed.
"Look at what you've done.""
I stared at her.
"What I've done?""
"You've made a spectacle of yourself. You've humiliated Vanessa. You've dragged our family into a public scandal.""
"Someone broke into my apartment.""
Her expression flickered.
"How terrible.""
"You have a key.""
"I haven't been here.""
"Then how did you know where I was?""
She glanced at Adrian.
For the first time, I noticed fear in her eyes.
Not surprise.
Fear.
"Who told you?"" she asked.
Adrian stepped between us.
"That isn't important.""
Patricia's gaze hardened.
"Mr. Blackwood. I didn't realize you were involving yourself in family matters.""
"Your family matters became my business when someone attempted to steal protected intellectual property.""
She laughed nervously.
"That's absurd.""
"Then you won't mind answering a few questions.""
"I've already spoken to the event organizers.""
"I'm not an event organizer.""
Patricia looked at me.
"Evelyn, come home.""
I stared at her.
"Home?""
"Yes. We need to settle this privately.""
"You mean you want me to stop talking.""
"I mean you need to think about your future.""
"My future is the reason I'm standing here.""
She stepped closer.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with.""
"Then explain it.""
She glanced at Marcus.
Then at Adrian.
Finally, she lowered her voice.
"Your father made a terrible mistake before he died. He left things unfinished. Things that could ruin all of us.""
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
"What things?""
Patricia's eyes filled with tears.
For one moment, she looked almost human.
Then she said something that changed everything.
"Your mother wasn't the innocent woman you remember.""
I stepped forward.
"Don't you dare.""
"She stole from people, Evelyn. She made promises she couldn't keep. Your father spent years cleaning up her mess.""
"You're lying.""
"Am I?""
She reached into her handbag.
And pulled out a photograph.
It showed my mother standing beside a man I'd never seen before.
He was older, perhaps in his fifties, with silver hair and a thin scar along his jaw.
On the back, someone had written:
Claire Hart and Victor Sloane. Private signing, 2002.
Adrian took the photograph.
His face changed immediately.
"Where did you get this?""
Patricia smiled.
"Ask your father.""
"He is dead," I snapped.
"Exactly.""
She placed her handbag over her shoulder.
"Come home, Evelyn. Bring the box when you find it.""
I stared at her.
"How do you know about the box?""
For the first time, she looked genuinely uncomfortable.
Then she turned toward the door.
Adrian's voice stopped her.
"Patricia.""
She paused.
"If you leave, I will have my security team preserve every recording from this building.""
Her smile returned.
"Then perhaps you should ask your assistant what happened to the original security footage.""
She walked away.
Marcus immediately followed her into the hallway.
But when he reached the stairwell, he stopped.
"She's gone.""
Adrian looked toward his phone.
A message had arrived.
He read it.
Then he showed me.
It was from his head of security.
*SLOANE'S PEOPLE HAVE IDENTIFIED THE GIRL. THEY'RE MOVING TONIGHT.*
I looked up.
"Who are Sloane's people?""
Adrian slipped his phone into his pocket.
"People who don't usually leave witnesses.""
My hands went cold.
"Are you saying they're going to kill me?""
He didn't answer.
Instead, he turned toward Marcus.
"Take her to the penthouse.""
I shook my head.
"No. I'm going to the police station.""
Adrian stepped closer.
"Listen carefully, Evelyn. Your mother left something behind that several powerful people have spent twenty years trying to obtain. Your father hid it.
Patricia knows where it is. And now they know you might be able to find it.""
"Why me?""
"Because your mother trusted you.""
"She died when I was eight!""
"She left instructions.""
I stared at him.
"What kind of instructions?""
He handed me the photograph of the blue silk dress.
"Your mother designed a key into her final collection.""
I frowned.
"A key?""
"Not a physical key. A pattern. Something that could only be understood by someone who knew how to read her embroidery.""
My mouth went dry.
I looked at the photograph again.
Then at the phoenix.
The stitches.
The copper threads.
The tiny imperfections.
My mother had taught me those techniques when I was a little girl.
I had incorporated them into Phoenix Rising without knowing why.
Adrian watched me carefully.
"Can you recognize the pattern?""
I nodded slowly.
"Yes.""
His expression tightened.
"What does it mean?""
I looked at the dress.
Then at the handwritten note.
And suddenly, I remembered something.
My father had once told me that my mother never finished anything in the ordinary way.
She always left one stitch undone.
One tiny opening.
One place where the pattern could continue.
I looked at Adrian.
"I think I know where the box is.""
He reached for his phone.
"Where?""
May you like
I swallowed.
"In the house my father left Patricia.""
