Chapter 9: The Last Page
We returned home with copies of the documents, photographs of the original sketches, and the locked metal cash box.
My father drove in silence.
I sat in the passenger seat, clutching my mother's notebook against my chest. Every few minutes, I turned to the page where Diane's name appeared.
She had helped my mother once.
Then something had changed.
I couldn't understand how a woman who had helped preserve the original designs could later assist in stealing mine.
Unless she had never really changed sides.
Unless she'd been protecting something else all along.
When we arrived, Vanessa's car was parked in the driveway.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Is she home?”” I asked.
My father glanced toward the house.
“Yes.””
“Does she know about the storage unit?””
“I don't think so.””
“You said that about Diane, too.””
He didn't argue.
We entered through the garage.
Voices drifted from the kitchen.
Diane was speaking sharply, and Vanessa was answering in a tone I recognized from countless arguments.
“I'm telling you, Mom, Emily knows something.””
“Then find out what.””
“She won't talk to me.””
“Because you've been careless.””
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“You're the one who told me to get the sketches.””
My father stopped walking.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Diane's voice dropped.
“Keep your voice down.””
“No. I'm tired of pretending this was all my idea. You said Madison needed the designs. You said Emily would never make it into the showcase anyway.””
“Vanessa.””
“And then you told me to pour paint over the dress because you thought it would ruin her chances.””
I looked at my father.
His face was rigid.
He raised one hand, signaling me to stay quiet.
Vanessa continued.
“You told me Dad would never believe her. You said he'd choose the family over some stupid dress.””
Diane's reply was barely audible.
“Enough.””
“You know what the worst part is? Madison got scared and withdrew, and now everyone thinks I'm the only person responsible.””
“You made your own choices.””
“Because you told me to!””
A chair scraped across the floor.
Then Diane said something that made my father close his eyes.
“If you had done what I asked, none of this would have happened.””
My father pushed open the kitchen door.
Both women turned.
Vanessa went pale.
Diane stood beside the counter, holding a glass of water. Her fingers tightened around it when she saw the notebook beneath my arm.
“What are you doing home?”” she asked.
My father looked at her.
“How long?””
Diane blinked.
“What?””
“How long have you been using Vanessa to sabotage Emily?””
Her expression hardened.
“That's an outrageous accusation.””
“I heard everything.””
Vanessa looked between them.
“Dad, I can explain.””
He turned toward her.
“Did you steal Emily's sketches?””
She began to cry.
“Yes.””
“Did you send them to Madison?””
“Yes.””
“Did you destroy her dress because Diane told you to?””
Vanessa shook her head, tears running down her cheeks.
“Not exactly.””
My father stared at her.
“Then tell me exactly.””
Vanessa looked at Diane.
Diane's face was a warning.
For the first time in her life, Vanessa seemed unsure whether to obey her mother or save herself.
“She told me the dress had to be destroyed,” Vanessa whispered.
“She said if Emily wore it, the committee would recognize the Wildflower design and ask questions about Mom's history with Eleanor.””
Diane set down her glass.
“That's not what I said.””
“You told me to ruin the dress!””
“I told you to make sure Emily didn't embarrass herself.””
“You said it didn't matter how.””
My father stepped between them.
“Stop.””
The word was quiet, but both women fell silent.
He looked at Diane.
“Is it true?””
She lifted her chin.
“Your daughter has been manipulated by someone who wants to destroy this family. You need to consider that before you believe everything you hear.””
“Which daughter?”” I asked.
Diane looked at me.
For a moment, I thought she might slap me.
Instead, she laughed softly.
“You've always wanted to be the center of attention, Emily. Now you've found a way to make everyone look at you.””
I stared at her.
“You helped my mother preserve the original designs. Why did you turn against her?””
Diane's expression changed.
My father looked at me sharply.
“You found that in the notebook?””
“Yes.””
Diane's face had gone pale.
“You don't understand what happened.””
“Then explain it.””
She glanced toward the staircase.
“I can't.””
“Why not?””
“Because there are things your father doesn't know.””
My father stepped closer.
“Diane, what did you do?””
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she turned toward me.
“Your mother trusted me,” she said.
“She believed I would help her prove Richard had altered the records. And I did help her. I made copies of the documents, photographed the original sketches, and gave Eleanor evidence that Richard had been changing the contracts.””
“Then why did you help him later?””
Diane's eyes filled with tears.
“Because he threatened my family.””
I frowned.
“Your family?””
“My parents were in debt. Richard controlled the company where my father worked. He told me that if I continued helping Claire, he would make sure my father lost everything.””
She pressed her fingers against her lips.
“I was twenty-four, Emily. I was frightened. I thought I could give him enough information to satisfy him without actually hurting Claire.””
“But you gave him the designs.””
“I gave him copies. I believed the originals were safe.””
“Where?””
Diane looked at my father.
He shook his head slowly.
“You knew where Daniel hid them?””
“No,” she whispered.
“I never knew where he put the collection.””
“Then why did you help Madison steal Emily's work?””
Diane's tears spilled over.
“Because Richard contacted me again. He told me Eleanor was preparing to reopen the old case. He said Emily's entry could bring everything back into the public eye.””
“So you wanted to stop me.””
“I wanted to stop Richard from destroying us.””
I stared at her.
“You destroyed me instead.””
She looked away.
For the first time, she had no answer.
That evening, Vanessa came to my bedroom.
I didn't open the door immediately.
“Emily, please,” she said.
“I need to talk to you.””
I unlocked it but kept my hand on the knob.
She stood in the hallway without makeup, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her eyes were red, and she looked younger than she had the day she destroyed my dress.
“I know you hate me,” she began.
“I don't know what I feel.””
She swallowed.
“I'm sorry.””
I waited.
She looked down at her hands.
“I wanted Madison to win. Her mother promised she could get me an internship at a fashion company if I helped. I thought if I gave her your sketches, she'd use them as inspiration. I didn't think she'd submit them as her own.””
“You watched her do it.””
“Yes.””
“You laughed when you destroyed my dress.””
Vanessa's face crumpled.
“I know.””
“You posted a picture of me and made people laugh at me.””
“I know.””
“You helped Mom make me look like a liar.””
She covered her face.
“I know.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
She lowered her hands.
“Because you were getting somewhere, and I was afraid.””
“Afraid of what?””
“That you'd become someone.””
The honesty of the answer stunned me.
Vanessa sat on the edge of my bed without asking. She stared at the sewing machine in the corner.
“Everyone always told me I was talented,” she said.
“Mom told me I was going to be successful. She told me I deserved the best opportunities because I had worked for them.””
“You've never worked a day in a bakery at five in the morning.””
“I know.””
“You've never skipped lunch to save money for fabric.””
“I know.””
“You've never sat up all night trying to repair something someone deliberately destroyed.””
She wiped her face.
“I know.””
I folded my arms.
“Then why did you think you deserved my work?””
She looked up.
“Because I thought if you succeeded, it would mean I wasn't special.””
I stared at her.
“You don't have to destroy someone else to be special, Vanessa.””
She began to cry again.
I felt no satisfaction.
Her tears couldn't restore the dress I'd lost. They couldn't erase the humiliation she'd caused or the months of work she'd stolen.
“I don't know if I can forgive you,” I said.
She nodded.
“I understand.””
“No, you don't. You want me to forgive you because you're frightened of what happens next.””
She looked down.
“Maybe.””
I opened the door wider.
“You need to tell the truth to the showcase committee. All of it. You need to admit what you did and who told you to do it.””
Vanessa stood slowly.
“Mom will never forgive me.””
I looked at her.
“Then maybe you should have thought about that before you helped her hurt me.””
She left without another word.
I closed the door and leaned against it.
For a moment, I wanted to cry.
Instead, I returned to the sewing table.
The ruined prom dress lay across the work surface, its crimson petals glimmering beneath the lamp. I'd finished the bodice, reinforced the seams, and attached the final layer of charcoal tulle.
It was almost complete.
I ran my fingers over the silver embroidery.
My mother had taught me that beautiful things didn't have to remain untouched to be valuable.
Sometimes, they became more interesting because they'd survived.
I picked up the needle.
Then I noticed something unusual about the fabric near the inner waistband.
A small pocket had been stitched into the lining.
I'd never put it there.
I carefully opened the seam.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
The handwriting was my mother's.
Emily,
If you ever find the last page, you will understand why your father kept the collection hidden.
My heart began to pound.
I turned the paper over.
A second sentence had been written beneath the first.
But before you read it, remember that the person who betrayed me was not the person I feared most.
I stared at the words.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
My father appeared in the doorway.
He looked at the paper in my hand.
For a moment, he seemed unable to speak.
“Where did you find that?”” he whispered.
“In the dress.””
He closed the door behind him.
“Emily, listen to me. Whatever your mother wrote, you need to understand something.””
“What?””
He stepped toward the sewing table.
“The last page of her notebook wasn't missing because someone stole it.””
I stared at him.
“Then where is it?””
My father looked toward the old Singer machine.
“Your mother gave it to someone she trusted.””
“Who?””
He hesitated.
Then he said the name I least expected.
“Eleanor Whitmore.””
I shook my head.
“That makes no sense. Eleanor said she didn't know where the collection was.””
“She didn't.””
“Then why would Mom give her the last page?””
“Because the last page doesn't explain where the designs are hidden.””
He looked directly at me.
“It explains who helped Richard steal them in the first place.””
My breath caught.
“And you know who that is?””
My father nodded.
“Yes.””
“Who?””
He opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, the doorbell rang downstairs.
A moment later, Diane called up the staircase.
“Daniel! There's someone here to see you.””
My father went completely still.
“Who is it?”” I called.
Diane's voice trembled.
“It's Richard Price.””
I looked at my father.
He stared at the sewing machine, then at the paper in my hand.
And for the first time, I understood why he'd spent fifteen years protecting the secret.
May you like
Richard hadn't come to recover the collection.
He'd come because he knew we'd found the truth.
