Chapter 4: The Man Who Knew My First Name
I couldn't speak.
The shop's old refrigerator hummed behind me. A truck passed outside. Somewhere in the front room, the bell above the door rattled in the wind.
But all I could hear was Adrian Vale's voice.
The night you disappeared from a hospital seventeen years ago.
“That's impossible,” I whispered.
“I'm sorry,” Adrian said.
“I know this is a lot to hear over the phone.””
“My father raised me.””
“I know.””
“He died when I was nine.””
“I know that, too.””
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped across the floor.
“Who are you?””
“My name is Adrian Vale. Your father and I knew each other long before you were born.””
“Then why have I never heard of you?””
“Because there are things Daniel wanted to keep from you until you were old enough to understand them.””
My throat tightened.
“Don't talk about my father like you knew him.””
“I understand why you're angry.””
“You don't understand anything.””
I ended the call.
My hands shook so badly that I dropped the phone onto the table.
Mrs. Alvarez came around the counter.
“What did he say?””
I stared at the photographs of my father.
“He says he knew my father. He says something happened when I was a baby.””
Her face went pale.
“Oh, Nia.””
“You knew?””
“No. Not the details.””
“Then what do you know?””
She sat beside me.
“Your father came to the shop several times after you were born. He was frightened, though he tried to hide it. He said someone had been asking questions about you.””
“Who?””
“I don't know.””
I thought of Vanessa.
Her carefully controlled expressions.
The way she had managed every part of my life after my father's death.
The way she had always acted as if I owed her for being allowed to exist in her house.
“Did my father ever say anything about Adrian Vale?””
Mrs. Alvarez nodded slowly.
“He told me Adrian had helped him once. He also said that if anything happened to him, I should make sure you knew how to protect yourself.””
I looked down at the photograph.
My father had been smiling.
I had no memory of the world before he became my entire world.
But now a stranger was telling me that there had been a world before him.
A world that had somehow lost me.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Adrian.
I won't ask you to trust me. But please let me show you the records. You deserve to know the truth.
Another message followed.
I can arrange for an independent attorney to review your father's trust and the complaint against your design. You don't have to meet me until you're ready.
I read the messages twice.
Then I typed:
I want proof.
His reply came almost immediately.
Of course.
The meeting took place the following afternoon in a small conference room at a law office in downtown Boston.
I arrived with Mrs. Alvarez, carrying my sketchbook and the copy of my father's trust document.
Adrian was already there.
He stood beside the window, wearing a charcoal suit and a dark blue tie. He looked older than the photographs I had seen online, perhaps in his late forties, with silver beginning to show at his temples.
When he turned toward me, his expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for me to notice.
His shoulders stiffened. His lips parted. For a second, he looked as though he had forgotten every word he had prepared.
Then he took a careful breath.
“Nia,” he said.
I remained near the door.
“You said you knew my father.””
“I did.””
“Prove it.””
He nodded.
On the table lay a thick folder, a photograph album, and several official documents.
He did not ask me to sit.
He simply opened the folder.
The first photograph showed my father standing beside a younger Adrian in front of a small design workshop.
They were both laughing.
My father had one arm around Adrian's shoulders, and Adrian held a little girl in a yellow dress.
The child was me.
I touched the photograph.
“Where was this taken?””
“At my first atelier,” Adrian said.
“Your father helped me repair the original worktables. He was an extraordinary craftsman.””
“Why would my father repair furniture for a fashion designer?””
“Because we were friends before I became a fashion designer.””
He turned another page.
A photograph showed my father sitting beside a hospital bed. A newborn lay wrapped in a white blanket, only the top of her face visible.
My heart pounded.
“That baby is you,” Adrian said.
I stared at the picture.
“How do you know?””
“Because I was there.””
The words settled over the room.
Adrian sat opposite me.
“Your birth mother was a close friend of mine. She died shortly after you were born. Before her death, she asked me to help protect you if anything happened to her family.””
“My birth mother?””
I had always known Vanessa wasn't my biological mother.
But I had never been given much information about the woman who had given birth to me. My father had told me she died when I was very young, and I had been too small to ask the right questions.
“What was her name?”” I whispered.
“Eleanor.””
The name meant nothing to me.
Yet seeing it written on the hospital records made my chest ache.
“Why did I disappear?””
Adrian looked down at his hands.
“Because someone changed the records after your mother died. You were moved from one hospital ward to another during an emergency. By the time I arrived, you were gone.””
“Who took me?””
“We don't know for certain. Your father believed you had been moved for your safety, but he never explained everything to me. He spent years trying to reconstruct what happened.””
“And then he died.””
“Yes.””
I looked at the papers.
There were hospital records, letters, and a copy of a missing-child report. Several pages had been marked with handwritten notes.
One document listed my date of birth.
Another contained a photograph of a tiny silver charm shaped like a bird.
I reached for it.
“What is this?””
Adrian's face tightened.
“Your mother wore it. She gave it to you shortly after you were born.””
“Where is it now?””
He opened a small velvet box.
Inside lay a silver bird pendant, its wings spread as if it were about to fly.
I knew it.
Not because I remembered wearing it.
Because I had seen the same design before.
The tiny bird engraved on the thimble he had sent me.
My breath caught.
“Why did you send me that thimble?””
Adrian looked at the box.
“Because I wanted to see whether you recognized the bird.””
“I didn't.””
“I thought you might not.””
“Then why send it?””
His expression softened.
“Because when your father brought you to my workshop, you used to draw birds on every scrap of paper you could find. He said they were your favorite thing.””
A memory stirred.
My father at the kitchen table.
A pencil in his hand.
A tiny bird sketched beside my name.
I had forgotten that.
Or perhaps I had buried it so deeply that I could no longer reach it.
I looked at Adrian.
“What do you want from me?””
“Nothing.””
“Everyone wants something.””
“Then let me be the first person who doesn't.””
I almost laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“You've been searching for me for seventeen years. You can't expect me to believe this is nothing.””
He nodded.
“You're right. I want to know what happened to you. I want to understand why your father was afraid. And I want to make sure no one uses your trust or your talent to control you.””
He paused.
“But those are my reasons. You don't owe me anything in return.””
For the first time since the phone call, I believed he might be telling the truth.
Not because I trusted him.
Because he wasn't asking me to.
The attorney, a woman named Rebecca Shaw, reviewed the trust document while we spoke.
She was direct, precise, and unimpressed by the size of Adrian's company.
“Your father's trust contains restrictions on how the guardian may use the funds,” she explained.
“If the document is authentic, Vanessa Hayes cannot simply claim ownership of your designs because she provided household support.””
“Can she stop me from entering the championship?””
“Not on the basis of this document alone.””
“Can she take my money?””
“Not without proper authority.””
I felt something loosen inside my chest.
For years, Vanessa had spoken as though every decision she made was law.
Now a professional was telling me that she might have been lying.
Rebecca continued.
“We should obtain the original trust records and review the estate accounts. If there has been misuse, we can determine what remedies are available.””
I looked at Adrian.
“Did you know Vanessa?””
“Only by reputation,” he said.
“I never trusted her involvement in your affairs, but I didn't have enough information to challenge it.””
“Why didn't you contact me earlier?””
His eyes dropped.
“Because for years, we didn't know whether you were alive. When we finally found a possible match, your father was already dead. The records were incomplete, and I couldn't risk approaching you with a story I couldn't prove.””
I studied him.
“You found me through the championship?””
“Yes. Your registration listed your father's name and date of birth. An old investigator connected the records. Then we verified the photographs.””
“So you were watching me?””
“From a distance, while we confirmed your identity. I never entered your home or contacted your school without your permission.””
I thought of the envelope outside my bedroom.
The package of shears.
The feeling that someone had been standing in the hallway.
“Did you send the warning?””
“Yes.””
“Did you know Brianna had stolen my design?””
“I knew there was a dispute. I didn't know every detail until you told me.””
I folded my arms.
“You could have just said that.””
“I should have.””
His answer was so simple that it left me without an argument.
Rebecca gathered the documents.
“I recommend we notify the championship that Nia has independent legal representation and that her evidence should be reviewed before any decision is made.””
My heart lifted.
“Can you do that today?””
“Yes.””
I looked at Adrian.
“I'm still going to compete.””
He gave a small nod.
“I expected you would.””
“I'm not taking money from you.””
“Then don't.””
“I don't want special treatment.””
“You won't receive any. The judges will evaluate your work.””
I held his gaze.
“And if I lose?””
“Then you lose on your own merits. But no one should be allowed to make you lose by stealing your work or falsifying a complaint.””
I looked down at the sketchbook in my lap.
For the first time, an adult had offered me help without demanding obedience in exchange.
I didn't know what to do with that.
That evening, I returned home with a copy of the legal notice Rebecca had prepared.
Vanessa was in the dining room, reviewing bills.
Brianna sat beside her, scrolling through her phone.
I placed the notice on the table.
“What's this?”” Vanessa asked.
“An attorney's letter. The championship has been informed that my design records must be reviewed independently.””
Her face went pale.
Then she read the second paragraph.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
“Who hired this attorney?””
“I did.””
“With what money?””
“My own.””
“That's impossible.””
“No, it isn't.””
Brianna looked up.
“Mom, what's happening?””
Vanessa pushed the letter away.
“Nothing. Your sister is trying to intimidate us.””
I took the notice back.
“You can tell the judges whatever you want. I have the original sketches, the photographs, and the dates. You can't make those disappear.””
Vanessa stood so abruptly that her chair scraped backward.
“You have no idea what you're doing.””
“Then explain it to me.””
She stared at me.
For a moment, I thought she might slap me again.
Instead, she leaned close and spoke softly.
“You think some rich man in New York is going to save you? You think he cares about you?””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“How do you know about Adrian Vale?””
Her expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
She knew his name.
She had recognized it before I ever mentioned him.
Brianna lowered her phone.
“Mom?””
Vanessa straightened.
“Go upstairs, Nia.””
I didn't move.
“How do you know Adrian Vale?””
“Because I read the news, unlike you.””
“Then why did you look frightened when I said his name?””
Her jaw tightened.
“You are imagining things.””
I picked up my bag.
As I turned toward the stairs, Brianna called after me.
“Enjoy your little lawyer, Nia. It won't change anything.””
I kept walking.
But halfway up the stairs, I heard Vanessa whisper something to her daughter.
“Get the trophy before she does.””
I stopped.
The championship trophy had not yet been awarded.
There was no trophy to get.
Unless they meant something else.
Something my father had left behind.
I turned slowly toward the dining room.
May you like
Vanessa had already closed the door.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the stolen dress had ever been the real target.
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