Chapter 6: The Designs My Mother Left Behind
I couldn't move.
The photograph on the contract showed a blue dress with a fitted waist, delicate sleeves, and a skirt that fell in soft folds toward the floor.
A line of tiny embroidered flowers curved around the neckline.
At the left shoulder sat a butterfly made from blue glass beads.
I knew that dress.
I had seen it in my mother's photographs. I had watched her repair its lining when I was little. And after she died, I had spent hours looking at the picture of her wearing it, wondering how someone could make something so beautiful with so little.
It was the dress she had worn to the first fashion exhibition she ever entered.
It was also the dress she had designed herself.
I looked at Adrian Cole.
"Where did you get this photograph?""
He turned the contract toward himself.
"This was included in the collection proposal submitted by Hale Heritage Designs.""
"That's my mother's design.""
His expression changed.
"You're certain?""
"Yes.""
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone.
My hands trembled as I opened the photograph album I had kept for years. There she was: my mother, standing in front of a small community exhibition, wearing the blue dress and smiling as though the world had finally given her permission to dream.
I placed the photograph beside the image on the contract.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
Adrian studied both pictures.
"Do you have evidence of the original design?""
"I have photographs. I also have her old sketchbooks.""
"Where are they?""
"At home.""
He exchanged a glance with the woman beside him.
She introduced herself as Laura Bennett, Northstar's legal counsel.
"Ms. Carter, we need to be careful about what we conclude. The images appear similar, but we would need to review the original records before making a definitive determination.""
"I understand.""
Laura opened the contract.
"However, the proposal represents the entire collection as original work by Brianna Hale. If the collection includes designs created by another person, that representation may be inaccurate.""
I looked at the list.
There were twelve designs.
Some were unfamiliar. Others made my stomach twist.
A white evening gown with silver embroidery.
A blue cocktail dress with a butterfly at the shoulder.
A pale gold dress with hand-painted flowers.
The final item was titled The Carter Butterfly Collection.
My mother's surname.
My heart began to pound.
"Why is my mother's name here?""
Adrian leaned closer.
"That is precisely what we intend to investigate.""
I turned another page.
The proposal included a paragraph describing the inspiration behind the collection.
Inspired by the enduring creative legacy of the Carter family, the designs celebrate the artistic vision of Brianna Hale and her lifelong passion for fashion.
I stared at the words.
Brianna had never met my mother as a designer. She had been six years old when my mother died, and she had shown almost no interest in sewing until she realized that I was good at it.
Vanessa, however, had known my mother for years.
She had known about the sketchbooks.
She had known about the blue dress.
And she had known exactly where my mother kept her work.
I looked at Adrian.
"Did you pay them?""
"Northstar transferred a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit to Hale Heritage Designs three days ago.""
The same day Brianna had ruined my graduation dress.
I felt sick.
"Was the money refundable?""
"That depends on the terms of the agreement and the circumstances surrounding the representations made to us.""
Laura closed the folder.
"We have suspended further payments pending review. We also need to determine whether any of the designs were copied from protected work or submitted without the creator's authorization.""
I swallowed.
"My mother is dead.""
Laura's expression softened.
"I'm sorry.""
"She can't defend herself.""
"No," Laura said quietly.
"But you may be able to establish the history of her work.""
I looked down at the photograph.
For years, my mother's sketchbooks had been the one thing in the house that Vanessa never seemed interested in.
I had kept them in a wooden box beneath my bed, wrapped in a faded blue scarf. Sometimes, when I felt lonely, I would open the box and turn through the pages, tracing my mother's lines with my fingertips.
I had never imagined someone would try to sell those designs under another name.
"Can I see the rest of the proposal?"" I asked.
Adrian handed me the portfolio.
I examined each page carefully.
The more I read, the angrier I became.
The proposal described Brianna as a self-taught designer whose early work had been inspired by a private family archive. It mentioned a collection of historical sketches passed down through generations.
That description was almost true.
The sketches had been passed down through my mother.
But they had not been passed down to Brianna.
They were mine.
Or, more accurately, they were my mother's work, entrusted to me when I was old enough to understand their value.
I looked up.
"Who wrote this?""
"We don't know yet," Adrian replied.
"The proposal was submitted through your family's company.""
"Can you show me the signature page?""
He turned to the back.
There were two signatures.
Vanessa's.
And Brianna's.
I stared at Brianna's name.
"She signed this herself?""
"Yes.""
"Then she knew what she was claiming.""
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
"That is something we will need to establish.""
I handed the portfolio back.
"I want copies of every document connected to this collection.""
Laura nodded.
"We can provide copies of the materials Northstar received, subject to the usual legal review.""
"And I want the university to know that these designs may belong to my mother.""
"Professor Ellis has already informed the legal office," she said.
"They will preserve the evidence from the showcase and document your statement.""
I took a breath.
"Thank you.""
Adrian glanced toward the auditorium.
"The graduation ceremony is about to begin. We don't want to interfere with your day any further.""
I almost smiled.
"That might be difficult.""
He gave a small, sympathetic laugh.
"Fair enough. But for what it's worth, your work is impressive. The reconstruction of your gown demonstrates a level of technical skill that is not easy to acquire.""
I looked at him.
"You've seen the evidence?""
"I reviewed the photographs and construction videos before coming to speak with you.""
"And you believe I made it?""
"Based on what I've seen, your claim is strongly supported.""
The words meant more than he could have known.
I had spent years wondering whether anyone outside my family would ever see my work without being told what to think about me first.
Here was a stranger who had examined the evidence and reached his own conclusion.
I nodded.
"Thank you.""
Adrian extended his hand again.
"After the university completes its review, I'd like to discuss an opportunity with you. Northstar is interested in original designers, particularly those who understand reconstruction and sustainable fashion.""
I shook his hand.
"I would like that.""
He smiled.
"Good. We'll be in touch.""
Then he and Laura walked toward the university's legal office.
I remained beside the stage, holding the photograph of my mother.
For a moment, I forgot the graduation ceremony, the scholarship, and the family waiting outside.
All I could think about was the wooden box beneath my bed.
Had Vanessa taken the sketchbooks?
Had she copied them?
Had she been planning this long before my graduation gown became valuable?
My phone vibrated.
A message from Maya appeared.
Where are you? They're about to call your name!
I slipped the photograph into my bag and hurried toward the graduate seating area.
The ceremony had begun.
The auditorium was filled with the familiar sounds of applause, names being announced, and families cheering as students crossed the stage.
I sat beside Maya and tried to focus on the ceremony.
When the dean called my name, I stood.
"Nia Carter.""
For one second, the room seemed to hold its breath.
Then Maya began clapping.
Professor Ellis stood near the aisle, smiling.
I walked toward the stage.
The dean shook my hand and placed my degree in my arms.
"Congratulations, Ms. Carter.""
"Thank you.""
I turned toward the audience.
My father was seated near the back now, separated from Vanessa and Brianna by several empty chairs.
He was watching me.
I couldn't tell whether he was proud or ashamed.
Perhaps he felt both.
I raised my chin and walked down the steps.
For years, I had imagined that my graduation would be the moment my family finally recognized my worth.
But as I returned to my seat, I realized I no longer needed that recognition to make the moment meaningful.
I had earned my degree.
I had made my dress.
I had survived the people who tried to take both from me.
And no one could undo that.
After the ceremony, Maya and I walked outside into the warm afternoon sunshine.
Families crowded the courtyard, taking photographs beneath the university banners. Students tossed their caps into the air. Someone had brought a portable speaker, and music drifted across the lawn.
Maya handed me a small bouquet of white roses.
"I was saving these for when you walked across the stage.""
I laughed, my eyes stinging.
"You didn't have to.""
"I know. That's why I did it.""
I hugged her tightly.
For several minutes, we stood beneath the trees, letting the noise of the celebration wash over us.
Then my phone rang.
My father.
I stared at the screen.
Maya noticed.
"Do you want to answer?""
I thought about letting it ring.
Then I pressed the green button.
"What?""
"Nia, please. We need to talk.""
"I'm celebrating my graduation.""
"I know. Congratulations.""
His voice sounded strained.
I waited.
"Your stepmother and Brianna have gone home," he continued.
"I need you to come back to the house so we can discuss what happened.""
"I'm not coming back today.""
"Nia, this is serious.""
"Yes. It is.""
He exhaled.
"The university is asking questions. Northstar has suspended the payment, and Vanessa is furious.""
I closed my eyes.
"What about the money they already received?""
"They've spent some of it.""
"On what?""
He hesitated.
"Business expenses.""
"Which expenses?""
"Nia, I don't have all the details.""
I looked toward the university building.
"Then find them.""
He was silent.
Finally, he said, "There is something else you should know.""
My stomach tightened.
"What?""
"Vanessa has been trying to locate your mother's sketchbooks.""
I went cold.
"Why?""
"She says they contain the original designs for the collection.""
"Where are they?""
He hesitated again.
"She believes they're in your room.""
I looked at Maya.
She had stopped smiling.
"Why would she think that?"" I asked.
"Because she saw you take them out once. She knows you kept them.""
I gripped the phone.
"Have they been looking through my room?""
My father didn't answer.
"Have they been looking through my room, Dad?""
"Vanessa said she was trying to find the documents that would settle the ownership dispute.""
I felt my heart begin to race.
"They had no permission to touch my mother's belongings.""
"I know.""
"Do you?""
His voice broke.
"Nia, please. I'm trying to fix this.""
I stared at the bouquet in my hand.
"You could have fixed it before you signed those documents.""
"I know.""
"You could have fixed it when Brianna took my dress.""
"I know.""
"You could have fixed it when Vanessa hit me.""
He said nothing.
I swallowed hard.
"Stop telling me you know. Start doing something about it.""
Then I ended the call.
Maya took my hand.
"We're going to your house.""
I shook my head.
"I'm not going back there.""
"Not to stay. To get your sketchbooks.""
I stared at her.
She was right.
If Vanessa had been searching for my mother's work, the wooden box might no longer be safe beneath my bed.
I called my father's number again.
He answered immediately.
"Have you touched the wooden box beneath my bed?""
"No.""
"Has Vanessa?""
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered, "I think she took it yesterday.""
The world seemed to narrow around me.
"Yesterday?""
"She said she needed to compare the designs.""
I struggled to breathe.
"Where is it now?""
"I don't know.""
I closed my eyes.
My mother's sketchbooks contained more than designs. They contained notes about fabrics, letters to suppliers, photographs, and pages of ideas she had never had the chance to develop.
They were the closest thing I had left to her voice.
"Find the box," I said.
"I will.""
"No. Listen to me. If you find it, don't give it to Vanessa.
Don't let Brianna touch it. Keep it somewhere safe and call me.""
"I promise.""
I ended the call.
Maya was already reaching for her car keys.
We drove to my house without speaking much.
The closer we got, the tighter my chest became.
When we pulled into the driveway, the front door stood open.
My father's car was gone.
I stepped inside.
The living room looked almost normal, except for several folders scattered across the coffee table and a laptop left open beside an unfinished cup of coffee.
I went straight upstairs.
My bedroom door was open.
The moment I crossed the threshold, I knew something was wrong.
My desk drawers had been emptied onto the floor. My sewing supplies were scattered across the carpet. The wardrobe stood open, and the photographs pinned above my sewing table had been torn down.
I moved toward the bed.
The wooden box was gone.
I dropped to my knees and searched beneath the bed, even though I already knew it wasn't there.
Maya crouched beside me.
"Nia.""
I shook my head.
"No. No, no, no.""
I opened every drawer. I checked the wardrobe, the closet, the space behind the desk.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a small scrap of blue fabric lying near the window.
It had been torn from the scarf I used to wrap the sketchbooks.
I picked it up.
My hands began to shake.
Maya looked toward the hallway.
"Whoever took the box didn't leave by accident.""
I stood slowly.
On my desk lay a single sheet of paper.
I hadn't seen it when I entered the room.
I picked it up.
The message was written in Vanessa's handwriting.
If you want your mother's original designs back, stop the university investigation and withdraw your claim against Brianna.
I read it twice.
Then I turned the page over.
There was another sentence beneath the first.
You have until tomorrow morning.
Maya took the paper from me.
"She's threatening you.""
I stared at the empty space beneath my bed.
For years, I had thought Vanessa wanted to destroy my confidence because she couldn't stand seeing me succeed.
Now I understood something worse.
She wasn't merely jealous of my talent.
She was afraid of what my mother had left behind.
And somewhere in that missing box was something Vanessa believed could either save her business or destroy it.
I looked at the note one final time.
Then I folded it carefully and slipped it into my pocket.
"She wants me to withdraw my claim," I said.
Maya nodded.
"What are you going to do?""
I walked toward my sewing table and picked up the photograph of my mother that had somehow survived the search.
I wiped the dust from its frame.
Then I looked at Maya.
"I'm going to find out what she's so desperate to hide.""
My phone vibrated.
An email had arrived from Rebecca Shaw at the university's student conduct office.
The subject line read:
*URGENT: Additional Evidence Received in the Carter Design Investigation.*
I opened it.
There was one attachment.
A scanned page from an old notebook.
At the top, in my mother's handwriting, were the words:
*The Butterfly Collection — Original Designs and Ownership Records.*
Beneath the title was a list of twelve designs.
The same twelve designs listed in Northstar's commercial proposal.
And at the bottom of the page, my mother had written a sentence that made my blood run cold.
If anything happens to me, these designs must never be transferred to Vanessa Hale.
I stared at the screen.
My mother had written those words twenty years earlier.
Long before Vanessa married my father.
Long before Brianna stole my graduation gown.
Long before anyone at Northstar Atelier had heard of our family.
And yet my mother had known exactly whom to fear.
I looked at Maya.
"She didn't just take my sketchbooks.""
Maya leaned closer to read the page.
"No," she whispered.
"She took something your mother was trying to protect.""
I enlarged the attachment.
Underneath my mother's warning was a final line, partly obscured by a dark stain.
I could make out only a few words.
The original ownership agreement is hidden…
The rest was unreadable.
Then another email arrived.
This one came from Adrian Cole.
It contained a photograph of a document Northstar had received from Vanessa.
At the top was a date.
Twenty years earlier.
At the bottom was my mother's signature.
And beside it, someone had written a name that did not belong to anyone in my family.
*The true owner of the Butterfly Collection was not my mother.*
May you like
It was someone who had been dead for fifteen years.
Someone whose name my father had never once mentioned.
