Chapter 7: The Girl Who Claimed My Mother's Legacy
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the blood rushing through my ears.
Brianna had filed a claim against my mother's design rights.
The same girl who had laughed at my sewing machine. The same girl who had poured paint over three months of my work. The same girl who had watched her mother slap me and then carried my dress downstairs.
Now she wanted my mother's legacy, too.
"How is that even possible?"" I asked.
My father sat down heavily on Mrs. Alvarez's porch.
"I don't know. The attorney said someone filed paperwork claiming Brianna was the rightful successor to Elena's creative estate.""
"But she's not even related to Mom.""
"I know.""
"Then how could she claim anything?""
Dad rubbed his face with both hands.
"Apparently, the claim is based on documents submitted by Vanessa. They're arguing that your mother transferred certain rights before she died and that those rights eventually passed to the family.""
"Which family?""
He looked at the ground.
"That's what the attorney is trying to establish.""
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I took the documents from him and began reading.
Most of the language was confusing, filled with legal terms and references to contracts I'd never seen. But one phrase appeared repeatedly.
Assignment of intellectual property rights.
Someone had allegedly transferred ownership of my mother's designs to a company connected to Vanessa.
The document included a date.
Six months after my mother's death.
And at the bottom was a signature that supposedly belonged to Elena Carter.
I stared at it.
The signature looked almost convincing.
Almost.
"My mother never signed this.""
Dad looked up.
"How can you be sure?""
"Because she was dead.""
He closed his eyes.
"Yes.""
I pointed at the date.
"She couldn't have signed anything six months after she died.""
"I know, Nia. That's why the attorney is investigating.""
I looked at the next page.
The document had been witnessed by someone named Richard Whitmore.
Vanessa's brother.
I had met Richard twice. Both times, he had arrived in an expensive car, spoken to my father about investments, and treated me as though I were a piece of furniture that had been placed in the wrong room.
Now his name was attached to a document that appeared to transfer my mother's work to his sister.
"Did Dad know about this?"" I asked.
Dad's face crumpled.
"No. I swear to you, I never saw that document before yesterday.""
I wanted to believe him.
But believing someone and trusting them were no longer the same thing.
"Did you ever sign anything Vanessa gave you without reading it?""
He didn't answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
I returned to Mrs. Alvarez's workroom and called Vivienne Laurent.
She listened while I explained everything.
When I finished, her voice had become noticeably colder.
"Send me a photograph of the document.""
I did.
A few minutes later, my phone rang again.
"Where did you get this?"" she asked.
"My father gave it to me. His attorney found it.""
Vivienne took a slow breath.
"Nia, this document contains a reference to an agreement that Elena and I never signed.""
"What agreement?""
"A proposed transfer of certain design rights. We discussed it years ago, but your mother rejected it. I remember because she was furious that anyone would suggest she surrender ownership of her original collection.""
"So the document is fake?""
"I cannot make that determination from a photograph. But the version I have in our archives is clearly marked as a draft. It was never executed.""
I gripped the phone.
"Can you prove that?""
"Yes. We have the original draft, correspondence about the negotiations, and records showing that the transfer was abandoned. I'll provide them to the attorney.""
I closed my eyes.
For the first time in days, I felt something close to relief.
Then Vivienne added, "There's another concern.""
Of course there was.
"What now?""
"The company named in the document was incorporated by Richard Whitmore. It appears to have been created shortly before the alleged transfer.""
I stared at the wall.
"Why would he do that?""
"I suspect the company was intended to hold the rights if the agreement had gone through. But I won't speculate beyond the records we have.""
"Can you help me get the rights back?""
"If the trust is valid and the transfer was never executed, there may be a strong basis for challenging the claim. Your attorney will need to review the full record.""
I looked at the unfinished edges of my new dress.
"What about Brianna's competition?""
Vivienne paused.
"That is a separate issue. The organizers have agreed to hear your evidence before announcing the final result. I suggest you attend.""
"I don't have the original gown.""
"You have something more important, Nia.""
"What?""
"Proof of your work. And the courage to stand behind it.""
The next morning, I arrived at the competition venue wearing Unbroken.
The building was a converted theater with glass doors, marble floors, and enormous photographs of fashion models covering the entrance hall.
A row of young designers stood near the registration desk, each carrying garment bags and portfolios.
Brianna stood among them in my stolen gown.
She had styled her hair in a sleek bun and added diamond earrings. The train swept behind her as two assistants arranged the fabric for photographs.
When she saw me, her smile spread slowly.
"Oh, you actually came.""
I stopped several feet away.
"Give me my dress.""
She tilted her head.
"You look cute.""
"I said give it back.""
"You're embarrassing yourself.""
She turned toward a photographer.
"Can we get a few more pictures? I want the judges to see the details.""
The photographer moved closer.
I watched as Brianna placed one hand on her hip and angled the gown to show the sculpted shoulders.
Then she spoke loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.
"I designed this piece after spending months studying the movement of water. I wanted the colors to represent resilience and transformation.""
My hands curled into fists.
Those were my words.
I'd written that exact explanation in my original submission.
Brianna had copied it.
When the photographer moved away, I approached her again.
"You stole my design description, too?""
She laughed under her breath.
"Everything you submitted is just a bunch of words and pictures. You can't own an idea.""
"That's not what the foundation's lawyer thinks.""
Her smile flickered.
Then Vanessa appeared beside her, dressed in a cream suit and carrying a leather portfolio.
"Hello, Nia.""
I looked at her.
"You knew about the claim.""
"Of course I did.""
"Why?""
"Because Brianna deserves an opportunity to establish herself.""
"Using my mother's work?""
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
"Be careful what you accuse people of.""
I took out my phone and showed her the photograph of the alleged transfer agreement.
"Your brother witnessed this.""
She glanced at the screen, and for the first time, I saw genuine panic.
Then she recovered.
"That is a private legal matter.""
"It's a document claiming my dead mother signed away her rights.""
"You have no idea what you're talking about.""
"Then why are you frightened?""
She stepped closer.
"Listen carefully. If you turn this into a public spectacle, you could damage your father's reputation, Brianna's future, and your own chances of ever working in this industry.""
I stared at her.
"You're the one who made it public when you helped Brianna claim my dress.""
Vanessa's lips pressed together.
She lowered her voice.
"Your father has already suffered enough. Don't force him to choose between his wife and his daughter.""
I looked past her at Dad.
He had arrived with Daniel Brooks, the attorney, and was standing near the registration desk.
He had heard the last sentence.
For a moment, I thought he might retreat as he had done so many times before.
Instead, he walked toward us.
"I've already made my choice," he said.
Vanessa turned.
"Marcus, don't be ridiculous.""
"I've spoken to the attorney. I've provided every financial record I could find, and I've asked him to investigate the transfer.""
Her face hardened.
"You would betray your own family?""
Dad looked at her steadily.
"You keep using that word as if family means doing whatever you demand.""
Brianna stepped between them.
"Dad, please. This is my competition. Can we not do this here?""
He looked at her.
"You entered a dress that Nia made and told the judges you designed it.""
"I improved the presentation!""
"You stole her work.""
Brianna's eyes filled with tears.
"I knew you would take her side!""
Dad shook his head.
"I'm taking the side of the truth.""
Vanessa grabbed Brianna's arm.
"We're leaving.""
A staff member approached before they could move.
"Ms. Whitmore? Ms.
Carter? The review panel is ready to meet with you.""
Brianna stiffened.
Vanessa's expression became composed again.
"Of course.""
She turned to me.
"Enjoy your little performance, Nia. When the judges finish reviewing the evidence, we'll see who really has a future in fashion.""
She walked into the conference room with Brianna.
I followed with Dad, Vivienne, and Daniel.
Three judges sat behind a long table. A representative from the foundation stood beside a screen displaying the photographs submitted by both sisters.
The first image showed my original sketch.
The second showed the dress before the paint incident.
The third showed the finished gown.
Then the screen displayed Brianna's competition entry.
The similarities were undeniable.
One judge adjusted her glasses.
"Ms. Whitmore, can you explain why your submission contains a design description that is nearly identical to the one submitted by Nia Carter three days earlier?""
Brianna swallowed.
"We developed similar concepts.""
"Who is 'we'?""
She looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa answered smoothly.
"Brianna and I discussed the general inspiration together. She then developed the garment independently.""
Vivienne leaned forward.
"May I ask a question?""
The judges nodded.
"Ms. Whitmore, are you aware that the garment contains an embroidered label bearing the initials E.C.?""
Brianna glanced down at the bodice.
"I assumed they were decorative.""
"They stand for Elena Carter, the original designer.""
Vanessa interrupted.
"That is a family name. It proves nothing.""
"No," Vivienne agreed.
"The label alone proves nothing. That is why we brought the archival records.""
Daniel distributed copies of the original sketches and construction notes.
The judges examined the documents.
Then one of them turned toward Brianna.
"Did you personally construct this garment?""
Brianna's lips parted.
Vanessa answered again.
"She supervised the creative process.""
"That wasn't the question.""
Silence filled the room.
Brianna looked at me.
For one brief moment, I saw the girl who had stood in my bedroom admiring the dress before deciding she wanted it for herself.
Then her expression hardened.
"I had help," she said.
The judge nodded.
"From whom?""
Brianna looked toward Vanessa.
And then, with everyone watching, she pointed at me.
"Nia helped me with the design.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
It was the first time she'd admitted that I had anything to do with the gown.
But she wasn't confessing.
She was preparing to blame me for everything.
May you like
And as the judges turned toward me, Brianna added the words that threatened to destroy my entire case.
"She gave me the dress herself. Then she became jealous when I was selected for the competition.""
