Chapter 2: The Designs That Weren't Hers
The ballroom had gone so quiet that I could hear the clicking of a photographer's camera.
I looked at the envelope in my hand.
Inside was a printed photograph of a design registration document, along with several screenshots of emails.
I hadn't planned to reveal them that evening.
I had planned to win first.
Then, when I had enough credibility to stand on my own, I would confront the people who had been stealing from me.
But Vanessa had just forced my hand.
Eleanor Hartwell extended her palm.
"May I see what you have, Miss Carter?""
I hesitated.
Vanessa stepped forward.
"This is ridiculous. She's trying to sabotage Brielle because she can't accept that my daughter is successful.""
Eleanor didn't look at her.
"Mrs. Carter, I haven't asked you to speak.""
A few guests exchanged uncomfortable glances.
I walked toward the judges' table and handed Eleanor the envelope.
She removed the documents carefully.
Her eyes moved across the first page.
Then she stopped.
"Where did you obtain this?""
"An anonymous email. It arrived three days ago.""
Brielle shook her head.
"She's making things up.""
I turned toward her.
"Then you won't mind if everyone sees the designs.""
Her lips parted.
I took the remote control from the host and approached the large presentation screen.
The first image appeared.
A black evening gown with silver feathers along the shoulders.
My gown.
The second image showed the original pencil sketch I had drawn six months earlier.
My signature was visible in the bottom-right corner.
M.C.
The third image showed a nearly identical design, submitted under Brielle's name to a private fashion showcase two months earlier.
A murmur moved through the ballroom.
"That's my dress," I said.
"Or at least, it was my dress before someone copied it.""
Brielle shook her head violently.
"No. That's impossible.""
I clicked to the next image.
It showed a photograph of my original sketchbook lying open on the dining table at home.
I recognized the small coffee stain near the binding.
I also recognized the date written at the top.
January 12.
Brielle's showcase submission was dated February 3.
Eleanor adjusted her glasses.
"Miss Carter, are you saying the other contestant submitted your work?""
"Yes.""
"Do you have evidence that she had access to your original designs?""
I nodded.
"She lives in the same house.""
Brielle laughed nervously.
"That doesn't prove anything!""
I looked at her.
"You photographed my sketchbook while I was at work.""
Her expression changed.
"You're insane.""
"I saw the photograph on your phone.""
"Then why didn't you say anything?""
"Because I didn't know how much you'd stolen.""
Vanessa finally reached the judges' table.
"Enough. This is a family matter. We will discuss it privately.""
Eleanor closed the folder.
"Mrs. Carter, the competition takes intellectual property allegations seriously. This is no longer a private family discussion.""
Vanessa's cheeks flushed.
"You have no idea who you're dealing with.""
Eleanor calmly removed her glasses.
"I have a very good idea. I'm the chairperson of this competition.""
Several people in the audience laughed quietly.
Vanessa turned toward me.
"You ungrateful little girl. After everything we've done for you—"
"Everything you've done?"" I interrupted.
My voice shook, but I continued.
"You took my mother's sewing machine. You gave my fabric to Brielle. You told Dad I was wasting his money. And now you've been helping her sell my designs.""
Brielle suddenly stepped toward me.
"Mom didn't help me!""
The words came out too quickly.
Vanessa snapped her head around.
"Brielle!""
The room went still.
I looked at Brielle.
"Then why did you say that?""
She looked from me to her mother.
Her hands began trembling.
"Because you don't understand.""
"Then explain.""
Brielle swallowed.
"Mom said your sketches were just ideas. She said you weren't doing anything with them.""
I stared at her.
"And that made them yours?""
She lowered her eyes.
Vanessa grabbed her arm.
"Stop talking.""
But Brielle pulled away.
"You told me Maya would never find out!""
The audience erupted into whispers.
Eleanor signaled for security.
"Please escort Mrs. Carter to the side. Nobody is removing anyone from the building, but we need this discussion to remain orderly.""
Vanessa looked genuinely stunned.
Two security staff members approached.
She turned toward me one last time.
"You think you've won?""
I said nothing.
She leaned closer.
"Your father will never believe you.""
That sentence followed me long after she was escorted away from the stage.
Because Vanessa was right about one thing.
My father had never believed me before.
And I wasn't sure he would now.
An hour later, I sat in a small interview room behind the ballroom.
My silver makeup was beginning to crack around my cheekbones. My shoulders ached from holding myself upright for so long.
Eleanor sat opposite me with the competition's legal adviser, a woman named Patricia.
Patricia examined the documents.
"We'll need the original files, timestamps, and any correspondence you have.""
"I have everything backed up.""
"Where?""
"My laptop. And an external drive.""
Patricia nodded.
"Good. Don't alter anything. We'll arrange an independent review.""
Eleanor leaned forward.
"Regardless of the outcome of the investigation, your runway presentation was extraordinary.""
I looked down.
"Thank you.""
"Your transformation was technically interesting. You turned an accident into a design language. That takes instinct.""
I smiled weakly.
"I didn't have another choice.""
Eleanor studied me.
"Sometimes the best designers don't have the luxury of perfect conditions.""
A knock interrupted us.
The door opened.
My father stood there.
Richard Carter.
His tie was loose, and his face looked pale.
"Maya.""
I stood immediately.
"Dad.""
He looked at my silver-stained dress.
Then at the folder on the table.
"What happened?""
I wanted to run into his arms.
I wanted him to tell me that he believed me.
Instead, he looked at the documents and frowned.
"Vanessa says you've accused Brielle of stealing designs.""
I swallowed.
"She did.""
"Do you have proof?""
I felt something inside me sink.
I reached for the folder.
"Yes. Dad, look.""
He scanned the first few pages.
His jaw tightened.
But before he could speak, his phone rang.
Vanessa's name appeared on the screen.
He answered.
"Where are you?""
Her voice was loud enough for me to hear.
"Richard, you need to come home immediately. Maya has humiliated us in front of hundreds of people.""
"Vanessa, I'm with her now.""
"She's manipulating you. You know how she gets.""
I watched my father's expression change.
Then he turned away from me.
"Let's not discuss this over the phone.""
He ended the call.
I stared at him.
"Do you believe me?""
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me about the competition problems earlier?""
"I tried.""
"When?""
"Every time I brought you my sketches. Every time Vanessa told you I was wasting money. Every time you said we'd talk later.""
His eyes lowered.
For a moment, I thought he might apologize.
Then he said something that broke my heart.
"Maya, you know how difficult things have been for this family since your mother died.""
I stepped back.
"Please don't use Mom to excuse this.""
He flinched.
Eleanor quietly closed the folder.
"Mr. Carter, I suggest you review the evidence before making any judgments.""
My father nodded stiffly.
"I will.""
He left without hugging me.
I sat down.
The room suddenly felt enormous.
Patricia gathered the documents and gave me a sympathetic look.
"You should be proud of what you accomplished tonight.""
I nodded.
But I couldn't stop thinking about my father.
At eleven thirty, the competition results were announced.
I had won the audience choice award.
The judges had postponed the main title pending the intellectual property investigation.
I didn't mind.
For the first time in years, people were looking at my work without Vanessa standing behind me telling them what to think.
Outside the ballroom, reporters asked questions.
I answered carefully.
I didn't want to turn the night into a public family fight.
I simply said that I hoped the investigation would establish the truth.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
*You shouldn't have shown those documents. Vanessa isn't the only person involved.*
I frowned.
Another message arrived.
*Your mother knew what they were doing. That's why she started keeping records.*
My fingers went cold.
I typed:
*Who is this?*
The reply came almost immediately.
*Someone who worked for your father. Check the locked drawer in your mother's old sewing room.*
I stared at the screen.
My mother had been gone for eight years.
Her sewing room had remained untouched since her funeral.
Vanessa had always insisted that everything inside was worthless.
I looked toward the ballroom entrance.
Then at the message again.
May you like
One final notification appeared.
*And Maya? Don't tell Richard you're going there.*
