Chapter 5: The Judge Who Knew My Stepmother
I barely slept that night.
At 7:12 the next morning, my phone buzzed.
An unknown number had sent a message.
Stop looking into the company. You don't understand what you're getting yourself involved in.
I read it twice.
Then I forwarded it to Eleanor.
Her response came less than a minute later.
Do not reply. Preserve the message. We need to know who sent it.
At school, I couldn't concentrate.
Every time someone walked past my locker, I wondered whether they knew about the competition scandal.
By lunchtime, everyone did.
Someone had posted a video of Brielle presenting A.R.I.A. before the robot identified me.
The clip had been shared hundreds of times.
The comments were brutal.
Imagine stealing your sister's robot and getting exposed in front of everyone.
The stepmom's face when the robot started talking.
This is better than reality TV.
I closed the app.
I didn't want strangers deciding what had happened to my family.
I wanted my invention back.
And I wanted to know why Martin Reeves had signed a document he claimed not to know existed.
At 2:30 p.m., Eleanor arranged a meeting with the school principal.
Dad came with me.
Mr. Reeves was already sitting in the conference room when we arrived.
He wore the same navy suit he'd worn at the competition.
His hands were folded neatly on the table.
"Miss Carter," he said.
"I'm sorry about yesterday.""
I sat opposite him.
"Did you sign this?""
Eleanor placed a copy of the agreement in front of him.
Mr. Reeves glanced at the page.
His expression remained neutral.
"I've never seen that document.""
I pointed to the witness signature.
"Then why is your name here?""
He adjusted his glasses.
"Someone may have copied my signature.""
Dad leaned forward.
"Do you know Vanessa Carter?""
Mr. Reeves looked toward the principal.
"I know her through the school's technology sponsorship program.""
I frowned.
"What sponsorship program?""
The principal cleared her throat.
"Vantage Intelligent Systems has been discussing a partnership with Westbridge for several months. They offered to fund our new robotics laboratory.""
I looked at Dad.
He looked equally surprised.
Eleanor opened her notebook.
"Was there a signed agreement?""
The principal nodded.
"An initial sponsorship proposal.""
"Who approved it?""
"Mr. Reeves handled the technical evaluation.""
I turned toward him.
"You were evaluating my project while your name was on a document transferring it to my stepmother's company?""
Mr. Reeves stiffened.
"That's a serious accusation.""
"It's a question.""
He looked uncomfortable.
"Mrs. Carter presented the company as an independent technology business. I had no reason to believe there was a conflict.""
"Did you inspect Brielle's project before the competition?""
"Yes.""
"Did you know it was mine?""
"No.""
"Then why did you recommend her for the advanced presentation category?""
He didn't answer immediately.
Eleanor leaned forward.
"Mr. Reeves, we'd appreciate a direct answer.""
He finally sighed.
"Mrs. Carter sent me a technical proposal. She said Brielle had developed a prototype using a proprietary system. The school was interested in the possibility of future sponsorship.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"So you already knew about Vantage before the competition?""
"Yes.""
"Did you know they were using my mother's money?""
"No.""
"Did you know my father had signed a transfer agreement?""
"No.""
Eleanor slid another document across the table.
"Then perhaps you can explain this.""
It was a copy of an email.
The sender was Vanessa.
The subject line read:
*CONFIRMATION OF INVENTORSHIP — WESTBRIDGE PRESENTATION*
The message stated that Brielle was the original developer of A.R.I.A. and that all technical materials had been prepared under her supervision.
Attached was a photograph of the robot.
But there was something else.
A second attachment contained a scanned certificate.
It bore the school's official logo.
And beneath it was a declaration that Brielle had independently created the technology.
The certificate was dated six weeks earlier.
I stared at Mr. Reeves.
"Did you issue this?""
He looked at it.
Then his face went pale.
"No.""
The principal snatched the page.
"That's our official certificate template.""
Eleanor pointed toward the bottom.
"Whose signature is this?""
Mr. Reeves leaned closer.
The signature belonged to the school principal.
She shook her head.
"I never signed this.""
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Mr. Reeves slowly stood.
"I think I need to speak with my solicitor.""
Eleanor nodded.
"That's your right.""
He gathered his papers.
But as he reached the door, I heard him mutter something under his breath.
"She told me it was only for the sponsorship application.""
I turned.
"Who told you?""
He stopped.
His hand tightened around the doorknob.
Then he looked directly at me.
"Your stepmother.""
That evening, Eleanor called.
"We have a problem.""
I sat on the edge of my bed.
"What happened?""
"The company has filed a formal ownership claim. They've also submitted the certificate from Westbridge.""
"But the principal says she never signed it.""
"Exactly. Which is why we need the original school records.""
"Can they still take my invention?""
"Not if we establish the truth. But we need more than your development files. We need to trace the money and the company's ownership structure.""
I looked at the wall.
"How?""
"Your mother may have left additional trust documents. We should locate the original estate records.""
I remembered a wooden box in my father's study.
Mom had kept important papers there.
After she died, Dad moved the box into a locked cabinet.
I told Eleanor.
"Don't touch anything until we know what we're looking for," she advised.
"I'll request the records through the appropriate channels.""
After the call, I went downstairs.
Dad was sitting alone in the living room.
A football game played silently on television.
"Can I ask you something?""
He muted the screen.
"Of course.""
"Where are Mom's original trust papers?""
His expression changed.
"In my study.""
"Can I see them?""
He hesitated.
"Why?""
"Because the lawyer needs them.""
He looked toward the hallway.
"Vanessa keeps the key.""
I stared at him.
"Why?""
"She said she'd organize the estate documents after we got married.""
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"You're telling me she controls the papers my mother left me?""
Dad rubbed his jaw.
"I'll get them.""
He walked upstairs.
I waited.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Finally, I heard raised voices.
Vanessa.
"You're not opening that cabinet!""
Dad answered, "They're my daughter's documents.""
"You don't know what you're looking for.""
"Then show me.""
A door slammed.
Dad returned carrying a small metal key.
His hands were shaking.
"Come with me.""
We entered the study.
The cabinet stood behind his desk.
He unlocked it and removed a wooden box with a brass handle.
It was my mother's.
I recognized the small engraved initials on the lid.
*E.C.*
Mom had always called it her little treasure chest.
Dad placed it on the desk.
I opened it.
Inside were folders, photographs, an old watch, and several envelopes.
One envelope had my name written across the front in my mother's handwriting.
I stopped breathing.
The paper was yellowed at the edges.
Dad stared at it.
"I've never seen that.""
I carefully opened the envelope.
A handwritten letter fell into my lap.
My dearest Maya,
If you're reading this, something may have happened that prevents me from explaining everything myself.
My eyes filled with tears.
I continued.
There is something about your future that I need you to understand. The money I set aside for you is only one part of what I wanted to protect.
I turned the page.
The next paragraph mentioned a company.
A company my mother had founded years before she died.
*Carter Advanced Robotics.*
I looked at Dad.
"What is this?""
His face had gone completely white.
He stared at the letter.
May you like
Then he whispered:
"Vanessa told me that company never existed.""
