Chapter 4 - THE BUSINESS MY SISTER BUILT WITH MY MONEY
“What business?”
My mother lowered herself into the office chair.
“Layla started an event company.”
I stared at her.
“She already works here.”
“She wanted something of her own.”
“So she started another flower shop?”
“Not exactly. Event design. Private parties. Corporate arrangements. Wedding coordination.”
I folded my arms.
“Where?”
Mom hesitated.
“An old storefront on West Cary Street.”
I knew the area.
Expensive renovated buildings.
Boutiques.
Small restaurants with twenty-dollar appetizers.
Rents that made no sense unless your business was already successful.
“How much did it cost?”
“Tessa—”
“How much?”
Mom looked down.
“The lease and renovations were more expensive than we expected.”
I waited.
“Almost thirty-two thousand dollars.”
The number seemed to settle into the room.
“Where did Layla get thirty-two thousand dollars?”
“She saved some.”
I almost laughed.
Layla had borrowed three hundred dollars from me in August because she couldn't pay her electric bill.
“Mom.”
My mother rubbed her forehead.
“I helped her.”
“With whose money?”
She didn't answer.
I looked toward the old filing cabinet against the wall.
Dad used to keep everything in that cabinet.
Supplier invoices.
Delivery schedules.
Carbon-copy receipts.
He always said numbers told the truth even when people didn't.
“Show me the shop accounts.”
Mom stood.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is still my business.”
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I picked up my purse.
“Fine. I'll find another way to understand where my money went.”
She followed me toward the door.
“Tessa, please don't punish your sister for trying to build something.”
I turned.
“I'm not punishing Layla for starting a business. I'm asking why you financed it with money you took from me.”
Mom's expression changed.
“She's never had your confidence.”
“Confidence doesn't pay rent.”
“She wanted to prove herself.”
“Then she should have proved herself with money she earned.”
I left before she could turn that into another argument about how I never understood my sister.
The storefront on West Cary Street wasn't difficult to find.
A cream-colored sign hung above the entrance.
SUNDAY TABLE EVENTS
Through the large windows, I could see velvet chairs, gold-framed mirrors, sample centerpieces, and a beautiful wooden consultation table.
It looked like the kind of place people photographed for magazines.
Layla stood behind the counter, arranging ivory roses.
She looked up when I entered.
Her expression collapsed.
“Mom told you.”
“Some of it.”
I walked past a display of expensive candles.
“How long has this place been open?”
“Since May.”
Seven months.
“So you started it after you began sleeping with Grant.”
She winced.
“Please don't say it like that.”
“How would you prefer I say it?”
She looked away.
I noticed a framed photograph on the wall.
Layla and Mom stood beneath the store sign, smiling at a ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Grant stood beside them.
His arm rested around my sister's waist.
I remembered that day.
Grant had told me he was attending a work conference.
I stepped closer.
Layla followed my gaze.
“He helped us move furniture.”
“Apparently he was very helpful.”
“Tessa, I never wanted you to find out like this.”
“You didn't want me to find out at all.”
She couldn't deny it.
I walked to the consultation table.
A sample wedding arrangement stood in the center.
White roses.
Ivory ribbons.
Small blue flowers.
Exactly the flowers I had chosen for my wedding.
My throat tightened.
“Are those my wedding arrangements?”
Layla followed my gaze.
“They were just samples.”
“You used my design?”
“Mom said we could use the extra flowers from the trial order.”
I touched the blue ribbon.
My father had always included a tiny blue flower in arrangements he made for people he loved.
He called it his signature.
For my wedding, I had asked Mom to continue that tradition.
Now my sister was using it to advertise her business.
I pulled my hand away.
“Show me your invoices.”
Layla's expression sharpened.
“No.”
“Then explain the fourteen thousand four hundred dollars.”
She went pale.
“That money went to Mom.”
“For what?”
“To cover obligations at Willow & Stem.”
“What obligations?”
She looked at the table.
“Client deposits.”
I stared at her.
“What happened to the deposits?”
Layla began speaking too quickly.
“The businesses shared suppliers at first. Mom thought the event work would bring new customers. We used one payment system for a while, and some expenses got mixed together.”
“Mixed together?”
“Temporary cash flow problems.”
That phrase made my stomach turn.
I'd heard it in dental offices when someone wanted to explain why payroll didn't match the bank balance.
“Were customers' wedding deposits used to renovate this place?”
Layla said nothing.
I didn't need her to.
I walked toward the door.
She hurried after me.
“Tessa, please. If people find out, Mom could lose everything.”
I turned.
“Did either of you consider that before you spent the money?”
Her face crumpled.
“I thought I could make it work.”
For the first time, she sounded less like a spoiled little sister and more like a frightened business owner.
But fear didn't erase responsibility.
I stepped outside.
Then something caught my eye.
Beside the entrance stood a polished brass sign listing the company's professional contacts.
At the bottom, beneath the words Business Operations and Financial Coordination, was a name.
Tessa.
My name.
My job title.
And my personal email address.
I turned back toward Layla.
“Why am I listed as your financial contact?”
She looked at the sign.
May you like
Then at me.
“Mom said you wouldn't mind.”
Related Stories
