Chapter 6 - The Name Hidden In My Father’s Records
The message stayed on my screen.
I know what he did.
Four words.
That was all Evelyn Carter sent.
But somehow, they felt heavier than the entire bill sitting on the table.
I looked at my father.
He was watching my phone.
Not casually.
Not curiously.
Fearfully.
And that was when I knew.
He wasn’t afraid of being exposed.
He was afraid of what came next.
“Who is Evelyn Carter?” I asked.
Nobody answered.
My father looked toward the restaurant entrance.
Like he was checking whether someone else had arrived.
“Amber.”
His voice was softer now.
Too soft.
“Please.”
I hated that word.
Not because it was wrong.
Because I had spent my entire life hearing it only when he wanted something from me.
Please understand.
Please be realistic.
Please stop fighting.
But never:
Please tell me what you want.
Please let me know how you feel.
Please let me see who you are.
I held up the phone.
“She knows.”
My father closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
But I saw it.
A reaction.
A confirmation.
“You knew she would contact me.”
It wasn’t a question.
My father looked at Victoria.
Then at me.
“She should have stayed out of this.”
Victoria stepped forward.
“You mean she should have stayed quiet.”
My father’s expression hardened.
“You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
Victoria laughed quietly.
“No, Jason.”
She shook her head.
“I understand exactly what’s at stake.”
She pointed toward the contract.
“Her entire future.”
I looked down again.
The document felt unreal.
A legal agreement.
My name.
My artwork.
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
My fingers moved across the page.
“This isn’t my signature.”
My father said nothing.
Connor looked closer.
“Wait.”
He pointed at the bottom.
“There’s a second signature.”
I followed his finger.
A representative signature.
Mitchell Holdings.
My father’s company.
My stomach dropped.
“You transferred my artwork through your company?”
My father finally spoke.
“I was trying to protect it.”
I stared at him.
“Protect it?”
My voice shook.
“You took ownership of something I created.”
“I preserved it.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You controlled it.”
The silence after that was painful.
Because nobody argued.
Not even him.
My father sat down slowly.
For the first time that night, he looked old.
Not powerful.
Not untouchable.
Just tired.
“I thought you would fail.”
The honesty hurt.
More than anger.
More than cruelty.
“I thought if you saw how difficult that world was, you would eventually understand.”
I looked at him.
“So you made sure I never had the chance.”
He looked away.
“I was trying to save you from disappointment.”
I almost smiled.
“You became the disappointment.”
My father flinched.
A tiny movement.
But I saw it.
Connor stepped back slightly, giving us space.
Victoria remained beside me.
“You need to show her the rest.”
My father looked at Victoria.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Her voice became firm.
“Because Evelyn already knows.”
That got his attention.
My father looked at my phone again.
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing.”
I answered.
“But she doesn’t need to.”
I held the contract.
“You’re the one who needs to explain.”
My father stayed quiet.
Then he reached into his jacket.
Not for another photograph.
Not for another excuse.
For his phone.
He unlocked it.
Scrolled through several files.
Then turned the screen toward me.
There were folders.
Hundreds of them.
My name appeared on each one.
Amber Artwork.
Amber Collection.
Amber Exhibition.
My breath caught.
“How long?”
My father didn’t answer.
“How long have you been keeping these?”
“Six years.”
Six years.
Six years of believing nobody cared.
Six years of thinking my work wasn’t good enough.
Six years of hiding my drawings in my room while my father secretly stored them somewhere else.
“Why?”
My father looked at me.
“Because people started asking questions.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
Then said:
“Investors.”
The word meant nothing to me.
Until Victoria spoke.
“Your father discovered your artwork had value.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She nodded.
“Much more than he expected.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t make this sound worse than it was.”
Victoria turned toward him.
“It was worse.”
She looked back at me.
“After Daniel Carter died, Evelyn inherited his company records.”
My chest tightened.
“Daniel died?”
Victoria nodded.
“Two years ago.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The man beside my younger self.
The man who believed in me.
Gone.
“And Evelyn found something.”
My father’s expression changed.
Victoria continued.
“She found documents proving your father had been contacted by Daniel.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
Victoria answered:
“To create a partnership with you.”
My father looked away.
“He wanted to use her talent.”
“No.”
Victoria’s voice was sharp.
“He wanted to support her talent.”
The two of them stared at each other.
And I realized something.
This wasn’t just about my drawings.
It was about two people who had fought over my future without ever asking me what I wanted.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
From Evelyn.
This time, there was an attachment.
A photograph.
I opened it.
My breath stopped.
It was a picture of a warehouse.
Rows and rows of framed artwork.
My artwork.
Thousands of hours of my life.
Stored away.
Hidden.
Below the image was one sentence.
Your father didn’t destroy your career.
He built another one without you.
I looked up.
“Where is this?”
My father immediately stood.
“No.”
The reaction was instant.
Too instant.
I looked at him.
“You know where it is.”
“Amber, listen to me.”
“No.”
I stepped back.
“You listen to me.”
The restaurant had gone completely silent.
“I spent years thinking I wasn’t talented.”
My voice cracked.
“I thought everyone who believed in me was just being nice.”
I looked at the photograph.
“But you knew.”
My father’s eyes filled with something I had never seen before.
Regret.
“I knew.”
“Then why?”
He didn’t answer.
Because he couldn’t.
Again.
Victoria took out her phone.
“There’s something else.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She showed me an email.
The sender was Evelyn Carter.
The subject line made my heart stop.
TRANSFER OF ORIGINAL OWNERSHIP RECORDS.
I read the first line.
Then the second.
Then I looked at my father.
Because the document wasn’t just about my artwork.
It was about who legally owned it.
My father stepped toward me.
“Amber, you need to understand something.”
I backed away.
“What?”
His face went pale.
“Your artwork isn’t the only thing Evelyn found.”
I stared at him.
“What else?”
He looked at the restaurant doors.
Then at Victoria.
Then at me.
And whispered:
“She found the person who originally created the contract.”
My phone buzzed one more time.
A new message.
From Evelyn.
May you like
Only five words.
The person who signed was your mother.
