They Stole My Halloween Crown—But They Had No Idea Who They Were Stealing From

The signature on the document looked exactly like mine.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not the date. Not my father's name printed beneath it. Not the paragraph authorizing the transfer of my mother's intellectual property to a company I had never heard of.

My signature.

The same long curve beneath the C. The same sharp angle in the V. Even the tiny upward flick at the end, a habit I had developed in high school after my mother teased me for making my name look like a doctor's prescription.

I had never signed that document.

Yet there it was, photographed inside the metal box hidden behind the wall of my mother's old studio.

"Tell me that's a mistake," I whispered.

Julian Mercer stood beside me in the nearly empty ballroom, his face illuminated by the screen of his phone.

"I would like to tell you that," he replied.

"But the document appears to have been prepared by an attorney.""

"My father signed it three days ago.""

"Yes.""

"And someone forged my signature.""

"That is what we need to establish.""

I looked toward the ballroom doors through which Vanessa and Brielle had disappeared.

Only minutes earlier, Brielle had been standing beneath the spotlights, pretending to be the creator of my gown. Vanessa had been threatening the foundation. My father had confessed to transferring twelve million dollars belonging to my mother.

Now there was a document bearing my name that could mean I had unknowingly surrendered everything my mother had left me.

"Who owns the company listed on that document?"" I asked.

Mercer enlarged the photograph.

"Autumn Crown Holdings.""

The name sounded almost theatrical.

"Who owns it?""

"We don't know yet. The company was registered offshore, but its legal representative is based in New York.""

"Who?""

He hesitated.

I looked at him.

"Julian.""

"Vanessa Whitmore.""

For a moment, I heard nothing but the distant clink of glasses being collected by waiters.

Vanessa had stolen my dress.

She had claimed my mother's designs.

She had apparently arranged a transfer of twelve million dollars.

And now my signature had appeared on a document granting her company ownership of the work that had been passed from my mother to me.

I took the phone from Mercer and examined the image again.

"When was this signed?""

"Three days ago.""

"Where was I three days ago?""

"You tell me.""

"I was at my studio. I have security footage, receipts, messages. I didn't meet with any attorneys.""

Mercer nodded.

"Good. Preserve all of it.""

"I intend to.""

A familiar voice interrupted us.

"Camille.""

My father stood a few feet away, still wearing his black tuxedo. His bow tie had loosened, and his expression made him look older than he had an hour earlier.

"Please," he said.

"We need to talk.""

I handed the phone back to Mercer.

"We're talking.""

"Not here.""

"Why? Afraid someone might hear you tell the truth?""

He flinched.

"I deserve that.""

"That's not an answer.""

Daniel glanced at Mercer.

"Could you give us a moment?""

"No," I said.

My father looked at me.

"Camille, please.""

I had spent six years waiting for him to ask me for something without making it sound like an inconvenience.

Now that he was finally asking, I found that I had nothing left to give him.

"Whatever you have to say, say it here.""

He looked toward the stage, where the enormous photograph of my mother still glowed on the screen.

"I didn't know Vanessa would use your signature.""

"But you knew about the transfer.""

"Yes.""

"You knew Mom's money was missing.""

"Yes.""

"And you knew Vanessa was claiming her designs.""

He closed his eyes.

"Not at first.""

"How convenient.""

"I found out after your mother died.""

The words stopped me.

I stared at him.

"What?""

Daniel rubbed his forehead.

"Vanessa told me Eleanor had agreed to sell the rights to the collection. She said the money had been transferred as part of a private settlement.""

"Then why did you tell me nothing?""

"Because I believed the agreement was legitimate.""

"And when did you stop believing that?""

He looked down.

"Two months later.""

I felt the room tilt.

Two months.

For two months after my mother's death, I had cried myself to sleep in a bedroom that still smelled faintly of her perfume. I had begged my father to let me keep her sketchbooks. I had watched Vanessa pack her belongings into boxes and label them for donation.

And all that time, my father had known there was a chance that the woman he had married had stolen from my mother.

"What did you do when you found out?"" I asked.

"Nothing.""

The answer came so quietly that I almost wished I hadn't heard it.

"Why?""

"Vanessa showed me a document stating that Eleanor had authorized the transfer. She said that if I challenged it, the company would collapse. Hundreds of employees depended on us.""

"So you chose the company.""

"I thought I could fix it later.""

"You thought you could wait until everyone forgot.""

"No.""

"You waited six years, Dad.""

He had no response.

I turned away, pressing my fingertips against the cool edge of the table.

The photograph of my mother stared down at me from the screen.

I remembered the way she used to sit at her drafting table late at night, humming softly while she worked. She had never seemed afraid of anything. Even when money was tight, even when clients rejected her ideas, even when people told her that a woman with an unusual vision would never succeed in fashion, she kept creating.

She had taught me that work carried a piece of its maker.

That was why stealing a design was more than taking fabric or ink from a page.

It was taking a person's hours. Their memories. Their imagination.

And my father had allowed someone to take all of that from her.

"What was in the box?"" I asked.

Daniel's face changed.

"I don't know.""

"You've seen it?""

"No.""

"Then why do you look frightened?""

He glanced toward the ballroom doors.

"Because I know what Vanessa was searching for.""

Mercer stepped closer.

"Mr. Whitmore, I strongly advise you to explain.""

Daniel shook his head.

"Not here.""

I laughed bitterly.

"That seems to be the family motto.""

"Camille, the document with your signature may not be the only one.""

"What does that mean?""

He looked at me, and for the first time that evening, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.

"Your mother kept records of every design she created, every payment she received, and every agreement she signed. She didn't trust Vanessa. She didn't even trust me by the end.""

"Why?""

"Because she believed someone had been selling her work before she had a chance to register it.""

Mercer stiffened.

"To whom?""

Daniel shook his head.

"I don't know.""

"You expect us to believe that?"" Mercer demanded.

"I know how it sounds.""

"It sounds like you're withholding information from the people trying to establish what happened to Eleanor Vale.""

Daniel's shoulders slumped.

"I may have been.""

I stepped toward him.

"Then stop.""

He looked at me.

"Tell me everything.""

Before he could answer, a woman in a black suit hurried toward us. She carried a tablet and wore an identification badge from the foundation's legal department.

"Mr. Mercer, we've confirmed the storage unit has been secured. The box and all its contents are being transferred to our legal office.""

"Who has access to the unit?"" Mercer asked.

"At present, only the storage manager and the two officers we dispatched.""

"Good. No one else is to enter.""

The woman glanced at me.

"Miss Vale, there's something you should see.""

She held out her tablet.

A security photograph showed the corridor outside my mother's old studio.

A man in a dark coat stood beside the door, his face turned away from the camera.

The timestamp read 6:42 p.m.

Tonight.

"Who is he?"" I asked.

"We don't know. He entered the building using a key, then left four minutes later.""

"Did he go inside?""

"The door sensor confirms that he did.""

My stomach tightened.

"Was anything taken?""

"We're checking.""

Mercer examined the image.

"Can you enlarge his hand?""

The woman zoomed in.

The man was carrying a slim leather folder.

My father's face went white.

I turned toward him.

"You recognize him.""

"No.""

"Don't lie to me again.""

He swallowed.

"His name is Richard Hale. He used to work for your mother.""

"Used to?""

"He was her accountant.""

Mercer looked sharply at him.

"Why would Eleanor's accountant be visiting her old studio six years after her death?""

Daniel shook his head.

"I don't know.""

I studied the photograph.

The man's face was mostly obscured, but I could see a silver ring on his right hand.

A ring with a black maple leaf engraved into the surface.

The same emblem that had appeared on the black envelope.

"Find him," I said.

The legal officer nodded.

"We're already working on it.""

"No. I want to know who he met, where he went afterward, and what was inside that folder.""

"Miss Vale, we have to follow procedure.""

"Then follow it faster.""

She left to make a call.

I turned back to my father.

"Did Richard Hale handle the twelve million dollars?""

Daniel hesitated.

"Yes.""

"Did he arrange the transfer?""

"Yes.""

"And you still claim you don't know what happened?""

"I know what I signed. I know what Vanessa told me. I don't know what happened to the money afterward.""

"Did you ever ask?""

His silence answered.

I looked at Mercer.

"I want a copy of every document connected to Autumn Crown Holdings.""

"We'll obtain them.""

"And I want the original portfolio from my mother's studio.""

"We'll make sure it is secured.""

I nodded.

Then my father reached for my arm.

"Camille, there's one more thing.""

I stepped away before he could touch me.

"What?""

He took a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

"I found this in my desk yesterday. I think Vanessa intended to destroy it, but she forgot I had moved it.""

He handed it to me.

The paper was a photocopy of a letter dated two days before my mother's death.

It was addressed to Daniel.

If anything happens to me, you must tell Camille what we agreed.

The original designs belong to her.

The money was never meant for Vanessa.

And the person who has been sending the threats is not the person you think.

At the bottom was my mother's signature.

Below it was a second signature.

Daniel's.

My father watched me read it.

"I made a promise to your mother," he whispered.

"I promised I would protect you.""

I lifted my eyes.

"Then why didn't you?""

His face crumpled.

"I was afraid.""

I folded the letter and put it in my handbag.

"Then you should have been afraid of what would happen when I found out.""

I walked away from him.

Behind me, the orchestra began playing again, but the ballroom had lost its earlier excitement. Guests were whispering in clusters, checking their phones, and watching the stage as if expecting another revelation.

At the entrance, a security guard approached Mercer with a message.

Mercer read it once.

Then his expression hardened.

"Camille.""

I stopped.

"What now?""

He held out his phone.

A new message had arrived from the storage company.

The metal box had been secured.

The documents were intact.

But the silver key was missing.

And beneath the photograph of the empty compartment was a note written in block capitals.