Chapter 6: The Name in My Grandmother's Notebook
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The photograph Victoria had sent remained open on my phone.
My grandmother's notebook.
The familiar cream-colored pages.
The handwritten floral patterns.
And at the top of one page, the name that had followed me through the worst two years of my career.
Victoria Hale.
I turned the phone toward my mother.
"Explain this.""
Denise looked at the screen, then at the photograph lying on the table.
Her lips trembled.
Brianna stepped closer.
"Mom, what is going on?""
My mother pulled out a chair and sat down.
For the first time in my life, she looked older than I remembered.
"Your grandmother and Victoria worked together," she began.
"How long?"" I asked.
"Almost fifteen years.""
Adrian folded his arms.
"That is a significant professional relationship. Why wasn't it disclosed in the collection's original submission?""
My mother looked at him.
"Because their relationship ended badly.""
"That doesn't answer the question," I said.
She pressed her palms against the table.
"Eleanor met Victoria when she was young. Victoria had studied fashion design in London. Your grandmother had the technical skills, the embroidery knowledge, and the ability to turn an idea into something extraordinary.""
"So they were partners?""
"Yes.""
"Who designed the floral collection?""
My mother looked down.
"They both contributed.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Then why did Grandma leave the collection to me?""
"Because she wanted you to have it.""
"That's not an explanation.""
My mother sighed.
"Victoria wanted to commercialize everything. Your grandmother wanted the collection preserved. They argued over ownership, money, and the direction of the business.""
Adrian pulled the photograph closer.
"Who owned the original designs?""
"Eleanor," my mother replied.
"Was there a written agreement?""
"I don't know.""
I stared at her.
"You don't know?""
"I was young.""
"How young?""
"Twenty.""
Brianna looked confused.
"But you always said Grandma never wanted you involved in fashion.""
My mother flinched.
"That's what I wanted you to believe.""
I stepped closer.
"Why?""
She rubbed her forehead.
"Because after the partnership ended, Victoria threatened to sue your grandmother. She claimed she had contributed most of the original designs.""
"Did she?""
My mother looked at me.
"Some of them.""
The room seemed to tilt.
I remembered the countless nights I had spent studying my grandmother's sketches, trying to understand the tiny changes in her handwriting.
Some pages contained precise measurements.
Others contained rough drawings with notes in the margins.
I had always assumed every line belonged to Eleanor.
Now I wondered how much of the collection had been created by two women who had eventually become enemies.
Adrian spoke carefully.
"Mrs. Carter, do you have any surviving contracts or correspondence?""
My mother shook her head.
"Not with me.""
"Where are they?""
She hesitated.
"Your grandmother kept everything in an old storage room at the family house.""
I frowned.
"What storage room?""
"The room behind the kitchen.""
I stared at her.
"That room has been locked for years.""
"Yes.""
"Why?""
My mother didn't answer.
Then Brianna whispered, "Because you told us Grandma's belongings had been donated.""
My mother looked at her.
"I lied.""
The admission landed harder than any accusation.
Adrian stood.
"Miss Carter, I recommend that we preserve the original documents before anyone has an opportunity to alter or remove them.""
I nodded.
"I'll go to the house.""
Maya immediately stood beside me.
"I'm coming.""
My mother rose too.
"There's no reason for everyone to come.""
I looked at her.
"Actually, there is.""
We left the foundation together.
During the drive, Maya sat beside me while my mother and Brianna followed in Denise's car.
I couldn't stop looking at the photograph.
My grandmother and mother stood together in front of a sewing machine.
My mother looked happy.
Not the polished, carefully controlled woman I knew.
She looked young.
Excited.
Proud.
I wondered when that version of her had disappeared.
When we reached the house, my mother walked directly toward the kitchen.
The storage-room door was hidden behind a tall wooden cabinet.
She moved the cabinet aside, revealing a narrow door with an old brass lock.
"Where's the key?"" I asked.
My mother opened her handbag.
She produced a small key attached to a faded blue ribbon.
I recognized the ribbon.
It had belonged to my grandmother.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
A smell of dust, old paper, and cedar drifted into the hallway.
Inside were shelves of cardboard boxes, old fabric rolls, and several wooden trunks.
My mother switched on the light.
"Everything is still here.""
I walked inside.
At the far end of the room stood a large wooden desk.
On it rested a framed photograph of my grandmother.
Beside it was a leather-bound notebook.
I approached slowly.
My name was written across the cover.
*For Nia, when she is ready.*
My throat tightened.
I opened it.
The first page contained a handwritten letter.
My dearest Nia,
If you are reading this, then someone has finally told you about Victoria.
I stopped breathing.
Maya moved closer.
"What does it say?""
I continued.
There are things about our family that I could never explain while you were growing up. Some were mistakes. Some were betrayals. And some were secrets I kept because I believed I was protecting you.
I turned the page.
The collection you have been reconstructing was never meant to make us rich. It was meant to tell the story of two women who loved the same craft but wanted different things from it.
My fingers trembled.
Then came another paragraph.
Victoria designed the original floral framework. I developed the embroidery techniques and the final garment structures. We were equal partners until she decided that the business should belong to her alone.
I looked at my mother.
"Is that true?""
She nodded faintly.
"Yes.""
I returned to the letter.
When I refused to sign over the collection, Victoria threatened to destroy my reputation. I walked away, taking the original sketches and technical patterns with me.
The next page contained a list of dates.
There were photographs, invoices, letters, and handwritten agreements.
One document was especially important.
A partnership agreement dated thirty-one years earlier.
Both women had signed it.
Eleanor Carter.
Victoria Hale.
The document clearly stated that the collection was jointly created, with each woman retaining rights to her individual contributions.
But a separate agreement, signed years later, showed that Victoria had transferred her remaining interest in the final collection to Eleanor in exchange for a substantial payment.
I looked at the signature.
It was genuine.
Maya exhaled.
"So Victoria sold her rights.""
I nodded.
My mother looked at the document.
"She took the money. Then she came back years later and claimed Eleanor had stolen everything.""
"Why didn't Grandma expose her?""
My mother lowered her eyes.
"Because Victoria threatened to reveal something about me.""
I turned.
"What?""
My mother didn't answer.
I looked back at the letter.
The final page was different.
It contained a small envelope taped to the paper.
My name was written across it.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph.
My grandmother stood beside a young woman holding a newborn baby.
The woman had copper-red hair.
My mother.
But on the back, Eleanor had written:
Denise and Nia, the two people I loved most, even when I failed to protect them.
I frowned.
"Why would Grandma write both our names?""
My mother began crying.
"Because Victoria knew something about your birth.""
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?""
My mother covered her mouth.
Then she finally said the words.
"Victoria was the woman who helped deliver you.""
I felt cold.
"She was a midwife?""
"No.""
My mother shook her head.
"She was the one who took you to the hospital.""
I looked at the photograph again.
My mother continued.
"Your biological father disappeared before you were born. Victoria was there when I went into labor. She helped your grandmother get me to the hospital.""
"Why is that a secret?""
"Because Victoria told me something afterward.""
"What?""
My mother looked directly at me.
"She said your father had left behind a letter. A letter that could have changed everything.""
My heart began pounding.
"Where is it?""
My mother pointed toward the wooden desk.
"Your grandmother kept it.""
I searched the drawers.
The first contained old receipts.
The second contained photographs.
The third was locked.
Maya found a small key taped beneath the desk.
I inserted it.
The drawer opened.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
My name was written on the front.
But beneath it was another name.
The sender.
*Daniel Hale.*
I stared at the paper.
Then I looked at my mother.
"Who is Daniel Hale?""
Her face turned completely white.
May you like
And for the first time that day, I realized Victoria hadn't returned because she wanted my grandmother's designs.
She had returned because she wanted to control what I would discover about my own family.
