Chapter 3: The Name on the Contract
Marcus carried the envelope back to the judges' table.
No one in the ballroom seemed willing to move.
The photographers had stopped taking pictures. The models waiting behind the curtain watched through the narrow opening. Even the stage music had been turned off.
All I could hear was the faint hum of the lights above us.
Marcus opened the envelope and removed three pages.
“Miss Carter,” he said, “before we continue, I want you to understand that the competition takes allegations of intellectual property theft very seriously.””
I nodded, though my legs felt weak.
“I understand.””
He looked down at the documents.
“Approximately six weeks ago, our office received a submission from a design company called Carter Atelier. The company claimed ownership of a collection featuring several designs that closely resemble your entry.””
I stared at him.
“Carter Atelier?””
Vanessa's maiden name was Carter.
So was mine.
I turned toward her.
She was standing beside the aisle, one hand gripping the strap of her handbag.
“That company doesn't exist,” I said.
Marcus glanced at the paperwork.
“It was registered as a business entity four months ago.””
My mouth went dry.
Four months ago.
That was around the time I had begun sketching the first version of Evelyn's Promise.
Maya stepped forward.
“Mom, you told me the company was for your home decor business.””
Vanessa shot her a warning look.
“Not now.””
Marcus continued.
“The submission included technical drawings, fabric specifications, and a signed declaration identifying the company's founder as the creator of the designs.””
“Who signed it?”” I asked.
Marcus turned the page.
“Vanessa Carter.””
The room filled with whispers.
Vanessa lifted her chin.
“I have every right to establish a business.””
“Of course,” Marcus replied.
“But establishing a business doesn't give you ownership of someone else's work.””
“You don't know the circumstances.””
“Then perhaps you should explain them.””
Vanessa looked around the ballroom, taking in the cameras, the judges, and the audience that had just watched her destroy my gown.
Her expression changed.
She smoothed her blouse, straightened her shoulders, and put on the polished smile she used whenever she wanted people to believe she was the victim.
“This is a family misunderstanding,” she announced.
“Nia has been living in our home for years. She has access to our resources, our materials, and our ideas. She has always been encouraged to pursue her interests.””
I almost laughed.
Encouraged?
I had bought my own sewing machine with money earned from two jobs. I had paid for every yard of fabric. I had hidden my sketches because Vanessa mocked them whenever she found them.
“You never encouraged me,” I said.
Vanessa ignored me.
“She is confused about what belongs to whom. I have been helping her understand how a real business works.””
Marcus placed the papers on the table.
“Your signed declaration states that you independently developed these designs.””
“Yes.””
“Then how do you explain the dated sketches submitted by Nia Carter?””
Vanessa hesitated.
“What sketches?””
Marcus turned toward a staff member standing near the judges' table.
“Please bring the archive file.””
The staff member hurried away.
I watched him disappear behind the curtains.
My thoughts raced.
I had submitted my original sketches with my competition application. They included the dates, fabric notes, and handwritten revisions I had made over three months.
If Vanessa had copied them, the evidence might be clear.
But why had she waited until now?
And why had she destroyed the gown?
Maya approached me slowly.
“Nia.””
I didn't look at her.
“Don't.””
“Please, just listen.””
I turned.
She had tears in her eyes, but I couldn't forget the way she had laughed while dragging my bodice across the floor.
“What do you want?””
Maya glanced at her mother.
Then she whispered, “I didn't know she was going to destroy the dress.””
“You knew she wanted me to leave.””
“I thought she was going to hide it.””
“Hide it?””
Maya looked down.
“Mom said your design belonged to the family. She said she'd invested in you for years and that you were going to embarrass her by entering a competition without her permission.””
I stared at her.
“She never gave me a dollar for that dress.””
“I know.””
“Then why did you help her?””
Maya swallowed.
“Because she told me I was going to be the face of Carter Atelier.””
The words struck harder than I expected.
I looked at her silver gown.
“Your dress?””
She nodded.
“She said the company was launching a collection next month. She promised me a modeling contract and said we'd become famous together.””
“Together?””
Maya wiped her cheeks.
“She said your sketches were going to be the foundation of the collection. She told me you had agreed to let her use them.””
I felt cold.
“That's a lie.””
“I know that now.””
I wanted to believe her.
But believing Maya had never made me safe.
“Did you know she had submitted my work under her name?””
Maya's eyes filled with fresh tears.
“Not until tonight.””
Before I could respond, the staff member returned with a thick folder.
Marcus opened it and examined the contents.
“These are the original documents from Nia's competition application,” he said.
“They were received three months ago.””
He laid a sketch on the table.
I recognized it instantly.
It showed the first version of Evelyn's Promise, complete with the sweeping silver embroidery and the midnight-blue skirt.
My handwriting filled the margins.
Beneath the drawing was a date.
Three months before Vanessa's company claimed to have developed the collection.
Marcus placed Vanessa's submitted drawing beside mine.
The similarities were unmistakable.
The same neckline.
The same embroidered pattern.
The same arrangement of panels across the skirt.
Even the small crescent-shaped detail near the waist was there.
I had added it because my mother used to wear a silver necklace with a crescent moon.
Vanessa had copied that, too.
Marcus looked at her.
“Can you explain this?””
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Fashion designers take inspiration from one another all the time.””
“Not from unpublished sketches submitted confidentially to a competition.””
“You can't prove she didn't show me her designs.””
I stepped forward.
“I never showed you my sketches.””
“You lived in my house.””
“My sewing room was in Dad's garage.””
“And you think that means I couldn't have seen anything?””
I felt anger rise through me.
“You searched my things.””
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“Be careful, Nia.””
“No. You be careful. You destroyed my gown in front of witnesses, and now you're claiming you designed it.””
Vanessa's polished smile finally broke.
“You ungrateful little girl. Do you have any idea how much your father and I have sacrificed for you?””
“Dad sacrificed for me. You took my mother's things and called them clutter.””
Her face flushed.
“Your mother is dead. Stop using her as an excuse for your failures!””
The room fell silent.
For a moment, I was fourteen again, standing in our kitchen while Vanessa boxed up my mother's sewing patterns.
But this time, I didn't lower my head.
“My mother never needed an excuse to create something beautiful,” I said.
“And I don't need yours.””
Someone in the audience murmured, “Well said.””
Vanessa looked around as if she couldn't believe anyone had witnessed her losing control.
Marcus raised his hand.
“Enough. We have one final document to review.””
He removed a single sheet from the folder.
It was a signed declaration from the competition's registration department.
“I want to make something clear,” he said.
“The competition received Nia's original design before Carter Atelier filed its claim. The timestamps are verified, and the records have been preserved.””
Vanessa said nothing.
Marcus continued.
“However, the company also submitted a licensing agreement indicating that it had secured permission to reproduce the collection from the original designer.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“It means someone signed a document claiming to be you.””
My stomach twisted.
“That isn't possible.””
Marcus turned the paper around.
At the bottom was a signature.
Nia Carter.
I stared at it.
The handwriting looked almost like mine.
Almost.
The N had the right shape. The letters slanted at the same angle. Even the loop at the end of Carter looked familiar.
But I had never signed that document.
“I didn't write this.””
Vanessa's face had become unreadable.
“It's your signature.””
“No, it isn't.””
“You signed plenty of paperwork while living in our home.””
“I never signed a licensing agreement.””
Marcus examined the page.
“Do you have a specimen of your signature from the original application?””
“Yes.””
He placed the two documents side by side.
My genuine signature was beneath the original sketch submission.
The forged signature looked close enough to fool someone who wasn't paying attention.
But there was one difference.
My mother had taught me to sign my name in a particular way. When I was little, she had told me that my name belonged to me, and I should never let anyone write it for me.
So I always crossed the final stroke of the letter C with a tiny upward line.
The signature on the licensing agreement lacked that mark.
I pointed to it.
“That's not my signature.””
Marcus leaned closer.
“You're certain?””
“Absolutely.””
He turned toward the competition's legal representative, who had just arrived from the side entrance.
“Please preserve this document for formal review.””
The representative nodded.
Vanessa took a step backward.
Then another.
Maya watched her mother, trembling.
“Mom,” she whispered.
“You said everything was legal.””
Vanessa grabbed her arm.
“Be quiet.””
“You told me Nia had signed the agreement.””
“I said be quiet!””
Maya pulled away.
The movement was small, but it changed everything.
For the first time that evening, she stood apart from her mother.
Marcus looked at the security team.
“Please ensure the relevant records are retained and that no one removes materials from the dressing room until the review is complete.””
One guard nodded.
Vanessa looked as if she wanted to scream.
Instead, she turned toward me.
“You think you've won something tonight?””
I held her gaze.
“I think I finally know what you've been trying to do.””
“You know nothing.””
“Then explain the forged signature.””
Her jaw tightened.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear.
“You should have stayed home.””
I looked at her.
“Why? What were you afraid I'd find?””
For one brief moment, the mask slipped.
I saw something beneath her anger that I had never seen before.
Panic.
Then she smiled again.
“You have no idea what your mother left behind.””
My breath caught.
“What did you say?””
Vanessa straightened her jacket.
“Ask your father.””
She turned and walked toward the exit, with a security guard following close behind.
I stood frozen.
My mother had been gone for nine years.
What could she possibly have left behind that Vanessa was still afraid of?
Maya approached me, her face pale.
“Nia, there's something else you need to know.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
She glanced toward the door her mother had disappeared through.
“Mom didn't just copy your design. She went through your mother's old sewing boxes a few weeks ago.””
My heart began to pound.
“Why?””
Maya hesitated.
“Because she found a letter.””
“What letter?””
Maya reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“I took it before she could destroy it.””
She placed it in my hand.
Across the front, in my mother's unmistakable handwriting, were four words:
*For Nia, when she's ready.*
I stared at the envelope.
My mother's handwriting.
My name.
And a secret Vanessa had spent years trying to keep buried.
I carefully unfolded the paper.
May you like
The first sentence made my knees weaken.
My darling girl, if Vanessa has finally started claiming what belongs to you, then the truth about your father's first marriage can no longer remain hidden.
