Chapter 6: The Deal My Father Never Told Me About
I read the document three times.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
My father had been dead for six years, yet his name appeared beside a payment that could have changed everything about my life.
“That's impossible,” I whispered.
Alexander pulled out a chair.
“Please sit down.””
I didn't.
“What intellectual property?””
“The original agreement refers to a collection of designs developed by Bennett Tailoring. It specifically mentions a bridal collection and several textile innovations.””
My father's unfinished sketches.
The patterns he had kept in his desk.
The designs I had spent years completing.
I felt suddenly sick.
“Who signed the agreement?””
Alexander looked at the screen.
“Your father signed the initial proposal. Your mother signed the subsequent transfer documents.””
I shook my head.
“Dad wouldn't have sold his designs without telling me.””
“Perhaps he intended to complete the transaction before he died.””
“He died suddenly. He never finished anything.””
Alexander remained quiet.
I looked at the date.
The payment had been made seven weeks after my father's funeral.
My mother had told me the family had no money.
She had told me the shop was barely surviving.
She had told me we needed to sell the old sewing machines to cover Olivia's education.
And all along, she had received a quarter of a million dollars.
I felt the room spinning.
“Where did the money go?””
Alexander examined the record.
“Some was transferred into personal accounts. Some went toward university expenses. The remaining funds were distributed through several smaller transactions.””
“Can you tell me whose accounts?””
He nodded.
“But I need to verify the records before making any accusations.””
I looked at the document again.
Then I noticed something.
The intellectual property transfer listed four design collections.
The Eleanor was among them.
I pointed to the screen.
“This agreement included my gown?””
Alexander nodded.
“According to the description, yes.””
“But I created that gown after Dad died.””
He looked at me.
“Then we have a serious problem.””
Dr. Raymond returned with another administrator.
“We've secured the original email records. Charlotte, we also need a formal statement regarding the unauthorized use of your business account.””
I nodded.
“Of course.””
Alexander closed his phone.
“I'll arrange for our legal department to review the Whitmore agreement. If your father transferred ownership before his death, the estate records should clarify what rights were included.””
I looked at him.
“Why is your family involved in my father's business?””
He hesitated.
“Because my grandfather, Edward Whitmore, knew your father personally.””
I frowned.
“My father never mentioned him.””
“He was a private investor. He supported several small businesses in the Boston area.””
“And he bought my father's designs?””
“Apparently, he intended to establish a design development company with him.””
I sat down slowly.
The room felt colder.
Alexander continued.
“My grandfather died three years ago. The business records were reorganized afterward. I only discovered the Bennett agreement during a review of our intellectual property portfolio.””
I looked at him.
“Does Olivia know?””
He shook his head.
“I don't believe so.””
“Then why was she wearing my dress?””
Alexander looked toward the conference room door.
“That's what we need to establish.””
A few minutes later, Olivia returned with my mother.
My mother looked composed again. Her lipstick had been reapplied, and her hair was perfectly arranged.
She sat down as if nothing had happened.
“Are we finished?”” she asked.
Alexander turned his phone toward her.
“Margaret, do you recognize this agreement?””
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“Where did you get that?””
“From our archived business records.””
She reached for the phone.
Alexander moved it away.
“Please don't touch it.””
My mother looked at me.
“Charlotte, I can explain.””
“Then explain.””
She sighed.
“Your father was a dreamer. He had beautiful ideas, but he wasn't a businessman. He made a deal with the Whitmore family because he needed money.””
“How much?””
“That's none of your concern.””
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?””
She looked down.
I felt my heart pounding.
“You told me we couldn't afford my tuition. You told me the shop was failing. You made me work two jobs while you had a quarter of a million dollars.””
My mother raised her voice.
“The money wasn't mine to spend however I wanted!””
“Then where did it go?””
She didn't answer.
I leaned forward.
“Did you use it for Olivia?””
Olivia looked up.
“Mom?””
My mother turned toward her.
“Don't start.””
Olivia's voice trembled.
“Did you pay for my university with that money?””
My mother rubbed her forehead.
“Your father wanted you to have a future.””
I looked at her.
“And what did he want for me?””
“He knew you were strong.””
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“So you decided I could survive without help?””
“You had the shop.””
“I had a dying business, unpaid bills, and two jobs!””
“You managed.””
“Because I had no choice!””
My mother finally lost her composure.
“You think I enjoyed watching you struggle? Your father was gone! Someone had to make decisions!””
“Then why didn't you tell me about the agreement?””
“Because you would have wasted the money on fashion school!””
The words hung in the air.
I stared at her.
She had just admitted it.
My mother had concealed the money because she didn't believe my dream deserved investment.
Olivia began crying.
“Mom, you told me Dad left us nothing.””
My mother looked at her.
“I told you what you needed to know.””
“You told me Charlotte was taking care of the shop because she didn't want to study!””
My mother said nothing.
Alexander stood.
“Margaret, I think we need to stop this discussion until the legal documents are reviewed.””
But I wasn't finished.
I took out my father's letter.
There was a second folded page inside the envelope, one I hadn't noticed before.
It was smaller, tucked behind the photograph.
I opened it carefully.
At the top was my father's handwriting.
To my daughter Charlotte.
My breath caught.
The letter was dated three days before his death.
I began reading.
If you're reading this, it means I wasn't able to finish what I promised you. I know your mother believes Olivia needs more help than you do, but I want you to understand something.
I stopped.
My eyes blurred.
Alexander quietly waited.
I continued.
Your talent is not a hobby. It is your future. I have made arrangements to ensure that the designs you create after my death remain yours. No one should be able to sell your work, license it, or claim it without your written permission.
My fingers trembled.
I read the next paragraph.
I have also placed the original design rights in a protected trust. Your mother knows about the arrangement, but she does not have authority to transfer the rights on your behalf.
I looked up.
My mother was staring at the letter.
For the first time, she looked genuinely frightened.
I continued reading.
If anyone tells you that you must sacrifice your future to protect someone else's, remember this: I never wanted one daughter to disappear so the other could shine.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
My father had known.
He had known exactly what might happen.
Alexander reached for the document.
“Charlotte, may I examine the trust details?””
I handed it to him.
He read the final paragraph.
Then his expression changed.
“Margaret, this agreement appears to establish Charlotte as the sole beneficiary of the design trust.””
My mother stood abruptly.
“That document is invalid!””
“Why?””
“Because your grandfather's company purchased the designs!””
Alexander looked at her.
“The company purchased rights that your husband was legally permitted to transfer. This letter indicates that future work and certain original designs were explicitly excluded.””
My mother shook her head.
“No. That's not how it happened.””
I looked at her.
“What did you sign?””
She stared at me.
Then, slowly, she said:
“Your father didn't know everything about the agreement.””
Alexander frowned.
“What does that mean?””
My mother looked at Olivia.
Olivia began shaking her head.
“Mom, don't.””
But my mother continued.
“Your father agreed to sell the collection. I only completed the paperwork after he died.””
Alexander's eyes narrowed.
“Without the beneficiary's authorization?””
My mother said nothing.
He turned toward his phone.
“I need the original contract, not the summary.””
Then he made a call.
“Get me the full Bennett acquisition file. Every page. Including the amendments signed after Edward Whitmore's death.””
He listened.
His expression hardened.
“What do you mean there are two versions?””
I looked at him.
“Two versions?””
Alexander slowly lowered the phone.
Then he turned the screen toward me.
There were two agreements.
The first preserved my father's original terms.
The second transferred the entire design collection to Whitmore Holdings.
And beneath the second agreement was a signature dated six weeks after my father's funeral.
My mother's signature.
But beside it was another name.
Mine.
Charlotte Bennett.
I stared at it.
I had never signed that document.
Alexander looked at me.
“Charlotte, if this signature is fraudulent, someone has been using your identity to transfer the rights to your work for six years.””
My mother began backing toward the door.
And Olivia whispered something that made everything worse.
“Mom, you said Charlotte would never find out because the original papers were burned.””
I turned toward her.
“Which original papers?””
Neither of them answered.
Then Alexander opened the final attachment.
It was a scanned photograph of the original contract.
And in the bottom corner, written in my father's unmistakable handwriting, was a note that changed everything.
The buyer must never be told about the second beneficiary.
I looked at Alexander.
“Who is the second beneficiary?””
He stared at the page.
May you like
Then he looked at Olivia.
And my sister finally understood that the secret my father had left behind wasn't just about me.
