Chapter 2: The Secret Beneath the Lining
I sat on the floor with my back against the sewing table.
The garment bag lay open beside me.
“I'm sorry,” I said.
“What did you just say?””
Margaret Bellamy repeated herself.
“Your grandmother, Evelyn Carter, won the Bellamy Foundation's inaugural design competition forty-two years ago.””
I stared at the silver thimble.
“That isn't possible.””
“Why not?””
“Because nobody in my family ever mentioned it.””
Margaret was silent for a moment.
Then she asked, “Do you have your grandmother's original sketchbooks?””
“Yes.””
“Her sewing machine?””
“Yes.””
“An old silver thimble with a small engraved rose on the side?””
My fingers tightened around it.
“Yes.””
“Then I believe we need to meet.””
I looked at the clock.
It was almost nine.
“Why?””
“Because your grandmother left something in our archives, and we have been trying to locate you for several weeks.””
I felt a chill move through my body.
“Why me?””
“Because she named you.””
Before I could ask another question, someone knocked on the bedroom door.
“Nia!””
My mother's voice.
I flinched.
“Who are you talking to?””
I covered the phone.
“Work.””
“It's almost nine. Come downstairs.””
“I'll be there in a minute.””
“Don't make me ask twice.””
I heard her heels retreat.
Margaret lowered her voice.
“Are you alone?””
“Yes.””
“Good. Miss Carter, I need you to understand something. Your grandmother's relationship with this foundation was complicated. She specifically requested that certain documents remain sealed until you entered the competition.””
I looked at the gown.
“What documents?””
“I can't discuss the contents over the phone.””
“Then why call me?””
“Because someone contacted our office this afternoon claiming to represent the designer of your gown.””
My blood turned cold.
“Who?””
“Brianna Carter.””
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
My sister had already started making calls.
“What did she tell you?””
“She said she had designed the gown herself and intended to enter it under her name.””
I gripped the edge of the sewing table.
“She didn't design it. I did.””
“We know.””
“How?””
“Because we received your original application, including the sketches and dated progress photographs.””
I exhaled shakily.
Margaret continued.
“However, there's another problem. Your sister requested a change to the designer information associated with the dress.””
“Can she do that?””
“No. Not without authorization. But we wanted to notify you immediately.””
I looked toward the bedroom door.
My family wasn't just borrowing my dress.
They were trying to steal my future.
“Please don't approve anything,” I said.
“We won't. But I strongly recommend you come to our Manhattan office tomorrow morning.””
“I'll be there.””
“And Miss Carter?””
“Yes?””
“Don't remove the original lining until we have examined it.””
My eyes moved toward the tiny opening I had already created.
“Why?””
“Because your grandmother left specific instructions about that dress.””
The call ended.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I heard Brianna laughing downstairs.
I folded the gown carefully and placed it inside my wardrobe.
I wasn't going to tell my mother about Margaret.
Not yet.
I needed to know what my grandmother had hidden.
But first, I had to survive the night.
At ten fifteen, I went downstairs.
My mother was sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through her phone.
Brianna sat opposite her, eating strawberries from a crystal bowl.
“Finally,” Denise said.
She pushed a garment bag toward me.
“Put the dress in here properly. Brianna needs to take it tomorrow.””
I stared at the bag.
“I thought she was taking it tonight.””
“She has changed her mind. Adrian wants to see the dress before the photoshoot.””
I frowned.
“Why?””
Brianna smiled.
“He has connections.””
“Connections to what?””
“Fashion people.””
I nearly laughed.
My sister had spent the past hour posting pictures of herself in my gown, and now she was pretending she had professional fashion connections.
Denise noticed my expression.
“Don't be jealous, Nia.””
“I'm not jealous.””
“Then stop looking at her like that.””
Brianna took another strawberry.
“Adrian says the dress could be worth a lot of money.””
I went still.
“What did you say?””
She looked up.
“He thinks it's beautiful. He wants to know whether I'd consider selling it after the shoot.””
I stared at her.
“It's not for sale.””
“Everything has a price.””
“Not my work.””
Denise placed her phone on the counter.
“Your sister is trying to build something. You should be proud.””
“Proud of what? Wearing a dress she didn't make?””
Brianna dropped the strawberry into her bowl.
“Keep talking like that, and maybe Adrian will decide you're too difficult to work with.””
I looked at her.
“Why would Adrian work with me?””
She shrugged.
“He's interested in the gown. Not necessarily the person who stitched it.””
My mother's expression changed.
“Brianna, that's enough.””
But she wasn't defending me.
She was protecting Brianna from saying too much.
I noticed.
And for the first time, I wondered whether my sister had already promised someone something.
I picked up my glass of water.
“I'm going upstairs.””
Denise frowned.
“Don't forget the garment bag.””
“I won't.””
I walked away.
Behind me, Brianna whispered something.
My mother laughed.
I didn't turn around.
At eleven thirty, I was still awake.
My apartment was a twenty-minute walk from my parents' house, but I had stayed with them that week because my mother's kitchen was being renovated and she had asked me to help organize the house.
It had been a mistake.
I sat at the old desk in my childhood bedroom and opened Grandmother Evelyn's sketchbook.
The pages smelled faintly of lavender and old paper.
Her handwriting was delicate.
Some pages contained measurements.
Others held detailed illustrations of gowns that looked impossibly modern for their time.
I turned to the back.
A small photograph fell out.
It showed my grandmother standing beside a tall woman in a white suit.
Behind them was a sign.
BELLAMY FASHION FOUNDATION — FIRST ANNUAL DESIGN AWARD.
My grandmother wore a midnight-blue dress.
Across its skirt were embroidered red flowers.
I picked up the photograph.
My breath caught.
It was almost identical to the gown I had created.
Not copied.
Not exactly.
But the same visual language.
The same flowers.
The same silver leaves.
I flipped the photograph over.
Written in my grandmother's handwriting were the words:
The dress that started everything.
Below that was a date.
June 14, 1984.
And beneath it, another sentence.
If they ever try to take your work, remember that the truth is already written.
I stared at the words.
Then I looked at the silver thimble.
Something about its engraved rose bothered me.
I had seen the same symbol somewhere before.
I opened the sketchbook again and began flipping through the pages.
Near the middle, I found a drawing of a small metal emblem.
A rose inside a circle.
Beside it, my grandmother had written:
The Evelyn Carter Trust.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
I had never heard of a trust.
I reached for my phone and searched the name.
A result appeared.
A small charitable foundation established in New York in 1985.
Its stated purpose was to fund scholarships for young women studying fashion design.
The founder was listed as Evelyn Carter.
I stared at the screen.
My grandmother had founded a scholarship organization.
And nobody in my family had ever mentioned it.
I opened the website.
The foundation was still active.
Its most recent annual report listed a fund balance of more than $3.8 million.
My hands went cold.
There was a contact number.
I called.
A recorded voice answered.
I almost hung up.
Then a woman picked up.
“Evelyn Carter Trust. This is Patricia.””
“Hi. My name is Nia Carter.””
The woman stopped typing.
“Carter?””
“Yes. My grandmother was Evelyn Carter.””
A long silence followed.
Then the woman asked, “Are you her granddaughter?””
“Yes.””
“Oh, sweetheart.””
Her voice softened.
“We've been expecting you.””
I sat upright.
“Expecting me?””
“Yes. Your grandmother left instructions that you should be contacted when you reached the final stage of the Bellamy competition.””
My mouth went dry.
“How do you know I'm in the competition?””
“Because she established a special award for her descendants, but only one person can qualify. Someone who demonstrates original creative work and submits it independently.””
I looked at the gown.
“There's an award?””
“Yes. But that's not the only thing she left.””
“What else?””
Patricia took a breath.
“Your grandmother arranged for a sealed legal document to be delivered to you on the day you became a finalist.””
I closed my eyes.
“I haven't been named a finalist yet.””
“Actually, you have.””
My heart stopped.
“What?””
“The Bellamy Foundation notified us this morning. Your entry passed the preliminary review.””
I covered my mouth.
For the first time, I had received good news without someone immediately finding a way to diminish it.
I wanted to cry.
Instead, I whispered, “Thank you.””
Patricia chuckled softly.
“Don't thank me. Your grandmother worked very hard to make sure this day would come.””
Then her voice became serious.
“There's something else you need to know, Nia.””
“What?””
“Your grandmother's trust contains a clause concerning the ownership of her original designs.””
I looked at the gown again.
“What clause?””
“Any person who knowingly submits, sells, or claims ownership of an original Carter design without permission may lose any financial benefit they would otherwise receive from the trust.””
My stomach tightened.
“Why would someone do that?””
Patricia didn't answer immediately.
Then she asked, “Has anyone in your family attempted to claim one of your designs?””
I thought about Brianna.
The photoshoot.
Adrian.
The call to the Bellamy Foundation.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Patricia sighed.
“Then I think you should come to New York tomorrow.””
The next morning, I arrived at the Bellamy Foundation's Manhattan headquarters at 9:15.
The building stood on a quiet street lined with glass office towers.
I wore a simple black dress and carried my grandmother's sketchbook.
At the reception desk, a woman checked my identification.
“Miss Carter?””
“Yes.””
“Ms. Bellamy is waiting for you.””
I followed her down a long hallway.
Photographs of previous competition winners covered the walls.
Designers.
Models.
Fashion editors.
People who had built entire careers from one opportunity.
At the end of the corridor, a silver-haired woman stood beside a glass conference room.
Margaret Bellamy.
She extended her hand.
“Nia.””
“Thank you for seeing me.””
Margaret studied my face.
“You look very much like Evelyn.””
I smiled faintly.
“People used to say that.””
“They were right.””
She opened the conference room door.
Inside, a large display screen showed my competition gown.
My sketches appeared beside it.
Margaret pointed to the screen.
“Your work is extraordinary.””
I swallowed.
“Thank you.””
“Especially the red embroidery. Tell me why you chose those flowers.””
I explained the wine spill.
How Brianna had ruined the original silk.
How I had transformed the damage into a deliberate design element.
Margaret listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she nodded.
“Your grandmother did something similar in 1984.””
She walked to a cabinet and removed an old photograph.
It showed Evelyn's original gown.
The same midnight-blue silk.
The same red flowers.
The same silver leaves.
I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
“Why did she never tell me?””
Margaret placed the photograph on the table.
“Because she believed some things should be discovered rather than inherited.””
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?””
Margaret opened a leather folder.
Inside were several legal documents.
At the top was a photograph of my grandmother standing beside the foundation's original board members.
Below it was a handwritten note.
Margaret pushed it toward me.
“Your grandmother asked us to give you this when you became a finalist.””
I picked it up.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
My darling Nia,
If you're reading this, you've done something I always hoped you would do. You've created something with your own hands and refused to let anyone tell you that your dreams are too small.
My vision blurred.
I kept reading.
But there is something I never told you about our family.
I stopped.
Margaret watched me.
“Go on.””
I swallowed and read the final line.
The people who are supposed to protect your talent may be the first ones to steal it.
I looked up.
“What did she know?””
Margaret closed the folder.
“That's what I hoped we could discuss.””
Before she could continue, her assistant entered the room.
“Margaret, I'm sorry to interrupt.””
“What is it?””
The assistant placed a tablet on the table.
“Brianna Carter just posted a promotional announcement.””
I looked down.
A photograph filled the screen.
Brianna was wearing my midnight-blue gown.
Beside her stood Adrian Cole.
The caption read:
Introducing my first original couture creation. Three months of hard work. My debut collection is coming soon.
I stared at the words.
My hands began to shake.
But it was the next line that made my stomach turn.
Special thanks to Adrian Cole for believing in my vision.
Margaret slowly removed her glasses.
“That's unfortunate.””
I looked at her.
“Can she do that?””
Margaret didn't answer.
Instead, she turned the tablet toward herself and examined the photograph.
Then she noticed something.
Her face changed.
“Where did she get that necklace?””
I frowned.
“What necklace?””
Margaret zoomed in on the photograph.
A silver pendant hung from Brianna's throat.
A rose enclosed in a circle.
The exact symbol engraved on my grandmother's thimble.
Margaret looked at me.
“Miss Carter, that pendant belonged to Evelyn.””
My blood ran cold.
“That isn't possible.””
“Are you certain?””
I stared at the screen.
Then I remembered the small jewelry box my mother had taken from my grandmother's bedroom after her funeral.
A box she had claimed contained nothing valuable.
A box I had never been allowed to open.
Margaret leaned forward.
“Nia, I need you to answer one question.””
“What?””
“Does your mother have access to your grandmother's original documents?””
I couldn't speak.
Because suddenly, I realized this wasn't simply about Brianna stealing my gown.
May you like
My family had been hiding something for years.
And they might have known exactly what was inside that dress.
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