Chapter 10: The Aunt Who Accused Me
The name at the bottom of the complaint looked like a threat.
Lydia Carter.
My mother's sister. The woman who had disappeared from Elena's life, whose photograph had been hidden in an old studio, and whose existence nobody had thought to mention until I started asking questions.
Now she was accusing me of stealing a design I had created with my own hands.
Mrs. Bell read the complaint twice.
"This doesn't make sense," she said.
"Lydia left the fashion industry years ago.""
Claire remained motionless beside the worktable.
"Not entirely. She worked as a freelance consultant for several labels. But I haven't heard from her in nearly six years.""
"Did she ever design Starfall?"" I asked.
Claire shook her head.
"She contributed ideas to early discussions. Elena developed the collection. I witnessed the licensing agreement myself.""
"Then why is Lydia claiming I stole her work?""
Claire's eyes returned to the complaint.
"Because someone has given her a reason to believe that.""
I looked at the email again.
The competition committee had attached a photograph of an older design. It showed a midnight-blue gown with gold stars scattered across the bodice and skirt.
At first glance, it looked almost identical to mine.
But the details were different.
The neckline was square instead of curved. The stars were arranged in rigid diagonal rows. The skirt had a stiff outer layer that would barely move when the wearer walked.
My design had a fitted, asymmetrical bodice, a flowing skirt, and gold embroidery that curved naturally with the fabric.
I had photographs of every stage of its construction.
Still, the resemblance was close enough to frighten me.
"They'll disqualify me," I whispered.
Mrs. Bell placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Not if we can establish the history of both designs.""
Claire was already reaching for her phone.
"I'm calling Lydia.""
The first call went unanswered.
The second went directly to voicemail.
On the third attempt, someone finally picked up.
A woman's voice came through the speaker.
"Claire?""
"Lydia, it's been a long time.""
Silence.
Then Lydia said, "I wondered how long it would take you to call.""
Claire put the phone on speaker.
"Your complaint has put Elena's daughter at risk of being disqualified from a competition.""
"Then perhaps she shouldn't have used my design.""
I stepped forward.
"I didn't.""
There was a pause.
"Who is this?""
"Nia Carter.""
Another silence.
When Lydia spoke again, her voice was colder.
"You have your mother's talent for making people believe whatever you want them to believe.""
The words hurt, though I didn't understand why.
"I designed my gown independently. I have dated sketches, construction photographs, and a record of every change I made.""
"Then you should have no difficulty defending yourself.""
"Why are you accusing me?""
"Because I recognize my own work.""
Claire interrupted.
"Lydia, the design you're claiming predates the Starfall licensing agreement. Elena's sketches establish that she was developing the collection years before your alleged ownership date.""
"Elena copied my original concept.""
Mrs. Bell stepped closer to the phone.
"That's not true.""
"You weren't there for every conversation, Margaret.""
"No, but I was there when Elena created the first Starfall gown. I watched her draw the original pattern. I helped her source the fabric. And I was present when she embroidered the first gold stars.""
Lydia laughed bitterly.
"You were always loyal to Elena.""
"Because she was my friend.""
"Because she made you feel important.""
Mrs. Bell's face tightened, but she kept her voice steady.
"Lydia, if you genuinely believe the design belongs to you, show us your original sketches and the dates on which they were created.""
"I will not hand over private documents to people who have already decided I'm lying.""
"Then why file a formal complaint?""
"Because your little protégé needs to understand that stealing has consequences.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"I'm not your protégé. I'm your niece.""
The line went quiet.
For one moment, I thought the word might mean something to her.
Then Lydia said, "You should have stayed out of this family business.""
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
My own aunt had just accused me of stealing from her, and she hadn't even asked to see my evidence.
Claire sat down heavily.
"Something is wrong.""
"Something?"" Maya said.
"She just tried to get Nia expelled from the competition.""
"I know.""
"Then tell us what you suspect.""
Claire rubbed her forehead.
"I suspect someone has shown Lydia an incomplete version of the history. But I also know she can be stubborn enough to turn a suspicion into a war.""
I looked at the old design photograph again.
"Can we prove when that dress was made?""
"Perhaps," Claire replied.
"The image was included in the complaint, but it doesn't establish who created it or when. We need the original.""
Mrs. Bell walked to a cabinet and retrieved an old binder.
"Elena kept records of the early Starfall development. If Lydia contributed anything, her work should appear here.""
We spent the next two hours going through the binder.
There were sketches from six years before my mother's death, fabric samples, production notes, and photographs from early fittings.
One page showed the first midnight-blue gown.
The drawing was unmistakably my mother's.
In the margin, she'd written:
Gold stars should appear to drift with the movement of the skirt. Avoid rigid patterns. The garment must feel alive.
Beneath it was a date.
Four years before the design Lydia had submitted.
Maya photographed the page.
"That's the proof we need.""
"Part of it," Claire said.
"We still need the original materials and a proper record of their provenance.""
She took out her laptop and began drafting a statement for the competition committee.
I returned to the worktable and opened my sketchbook.
The gown I'd created was still hanging beneath its protective cover. I had less than thirty hours before the showcase.
I couldn't spend the entire time defending myself.
I needed to finish the dress.
Mrs. Bell helped me adjust the hem while Maya organized the evidence. We worked until the shop windows turned black with evening.
At nine thirty, my phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?""
A woman spoke in a low, urgent voice.
"Nia Carter?""
"Yes.""
"My name is Lydia Carter. I need to speak with you privately.""
I looked at Claire.
She motioned for me to put the call on speaker.
"You're already speaking to me," I said.
"Not like this. I want to meet you tomorrow morning.""
"Why?""
"Because I have something that proves Elena stole my work.""
Claire leaned toward the phone.
"If you have evidence, send it to the lawyers.""
"I won't send anything to lawyers who have already chosen sides.""
"Then meet us with your documents," Mrs. Bell said.
"We'll examine them together.""
Lydia ignored her.
"Nia, listen to me. Your mother wasn't the person you think she was.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"What does that mean?""
"It means she took something from me before you were born, and everyone around her helped cover it up.""
I glanced at the photograph of my mother and Lydia.
"What did she take?""
Lydia exhaled shakily.
"The original Starfall pattern. The one I designed before Elena ever touched it.""
"Then why does Mom's name appear on the earliest sketches?""
"Because she copied my work.""
"How could she copy it if you were sisters?""
"That's exactly what I want to explain.""
For the first time, Lydia's anger seemed to crack, revealing something beneath it.
Grief.
Or guilt.
I couldn't tell which.
"Meet me at the old train station tomorrow at eight," she said.
"Come alone.""
Claire shook her head emphatically.
I answered, "I'll meet you with someone I trust.""
Lydia hesitated.
"Then bring one person. No lawyers. No reporters.""
"Fine.""
"And Nia?""
"Yes?""
"If you want to know why your mother really created Starfall, ask your father what happened the night she died.""
The line went dead.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Maya took my hand.
"You're not going alone.""
I looked at the unfinished gown.
At the photographs proving I'd created it.
At the documents that might restore my mother's legacy.
And at the phone that had just connected me to the one person who could either destroy everything or finally explain it.
May you like
Tomorrow morning, I would meet Lydia Carter.
And I would ask her why my mother had spent six years being remembered as a woman who left nothing behind.
