Chapter 6: The Sponsor Who Knew My Stepmother
I spent the drive back to Mrs. Bennett's shop staring out the window, watching the city slide past in streaks of gray and gold.
Evelyn Reed.
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.
I had heard Vanessa mention relatives from time to time, usually when she wanted to explain why Brianna deserved something I didn't. Yet she had never mentioned an Evelyn who sponsored fashion competitions or offered fifty-thousand-dollar prizes.
Mrs. Bennett drove with both hands on the steering wheel.
"Rachel said the other organizers are investigating the ownership claim," she said.
"Yes.""
"And what did they tell you about the sponsor?""
"That she knows Vanessa.""
Mrs. Bennett frowned.
"Did Rachel say whether the sponsor had seen your original application?""
"No. She only said Evelyn requested a private meeting with the original designer.""
"Then we shouldn't assume anything yet.""
I turned the silver thimble over in my pocket.
"What if Evelyn knows Vanessa stole the dress?""
"Then she'll have to answer for her own decisions. But we don't know that.""
I knew Mrs. Bennett was right.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that the situation had grown much larger than a stolen gown.
When we arrived at the shop, my phone was vibrating on the table.
Dad had sent a message.
Please call me. I found something you need to see.
A second message followed.
It's about your mother's account.
I called him immediately.
He answered before the first ring had finished.
"Nia.""
"What did you find?""
"I'm at home. I went through the filing cabinet in my office after you left.""
"And?""
"I found an envelope from the bank. It was addressed to your mother, but it arrived after she died.""
My heart began to pound.
"What's in it?""
"A statement and a letter about the account.""
"Read it to me.""
"I think you should see it yourself.""
I closed my eyes.
"Dad, please.""
He was silent for a moment.
Then he said, "The letter says the account was transferred under a financial authority document. Vanessa's name appears on it.""
I gripped the phone.
"What authority document?""
"I don't know. It's a copy of something the bank sent.""
"Did you sign it?""
"No.""
"Did Mom sign it?""
"I don't know.""
I swallowed.
"Bring it to Mr. Brooks. He can look at it.""
"I will.""
"Don't give it to Vanessa.""
"I won't.""
For the first time, I believed he might actually be trying to help.
Then he added, "There's something else.""
"What?""
"The letter says the account was supposed to remain in trust for you until you turned eighteen.""
I looked at Mrs. Bennett.
She had stopped sorting fabric and was listening carefully.
"Until I turned eighteen?""
"Yes.""
"Then how did Vanessa withdraw the money?""
"I don't know, sweetheart. That's what I need to find out.""
I stared at the wall.
My eighteenth birthday was still months away.
The money had been meant to give me choices when I became an adult. Instead, someone had taken it before I was old enough to understand what was happening.
"Dad, why didn't you tell me about this letter before?""
"I never saw it. I found it behind some old tax documents.""
I wanted to believe him.
I also wanted to believe that he would have protected me if he had known.
But the truth was that he had spent two years accepting Vanessa's explanations without asking enough questions.
"I need you to take those documents to the attorney," I said.
"I will.""
"And Dad?""
"Yes?""
"Don't ask me to come home until you can tell me what you're doing to make sure this never happens again.""
He exhaled slowly.
"All right.""
After the call ended, I forwarded Rachel's email to Mr. Brooks and explained what Dad had found.
His response came fifteen minutes later.
Please preserve the original bank letter and do not attempt to interpret the financial authority document yourself. I will contact the bank's legal department and determine what records can be requested. We should establish the facts before taking further action.
I saved the message.
Then I opened the photograph of my gown again.
Brianna was wearing it in front of a backdrop bearing the name of her competition. Her smile was bright, her chin lifted, and one hand rested against the sculpted shoulder I had spent hours perfecting.
She looked like a girl whose dream was coming true.
I looked like a girl whose dream had been stolen.
But the longer I studied the photograph, the more I noticed the little things.
The bodice sat slightly too low on her frame. The left shoulder had shifted because she had fastened the inner strap incorrectly. The train dragged unevenly across the floor.
I knew exactly how the gown should move.
I knew where the hidden seams were.
I knew how the colors changed under warm light.
She could wear my work.
She could post photographs.
She could repeat my description.
But she couldn't erase the hours I had spent creating it.
That afternoon, Mrs. Bennett helped me prepare for the showcase's final presentation.
We practiced in front of the shop's full-length mirror.
I explained the design, described the materials, and demonstrated how the sculpted shoulders were constructed.
Each time I stumbled, Mrs. Bennett asked me to start again.
"Don't rush," she reminded me.
"You don't need to prove your worth in a single sentence.""
"What if the judges ask about the paint?""
"Tell them exactly what happened.""
"What if they ask who did it?""
"Answer honestly if you're comfortable doing so. But remember, you're there to present your work, not to put your family on trial.""
I nodded.
We practiced until I could explain the gown without looking at my notes.
At five o'clock, Rachel called.
"The judges have completed their preliminary review," she said.
"Your ownership documentation is strong, and your finalist position remains secure.""
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Thank you.""
"There's another development. The sponsor of Brianna's competition has agreed to meet with you tomorrow morning before the final judging.""
"Why?""
"She wants to see your original sketches and discuss the design directly.""
"Does she know the dress was stolen?""
"She has received a summary of the ownership dispute. I can't tell you what she believes at this stage.""
I looked at Mrs. Bennett.
"Should I go?""
Rachel paused.
"That's your decision. You may bring a trusted adult or representative. Given the circumstances, I recommend you do.""
After we hung up, Mrs. Bennett crossed her arms.
"I'll go with you.""
"What if Evelyn is working with Vanessa?""
"Then we listen carefully, document what is said, and leave if the meeting becomes inappropriate.""
I nodded.
That evening, I stayed at Mrs. Bennett's house.
She gave me a room at the back of the house, where the windows overlooked a small garden. I slept beneath a quilt her grandmother had made, with my mother's letter tucked safely into the bedside drawer.
For the first time in years, nobody shouted at me to turn off the light.
Nobody told me I was taking up too much space.
Nobody demanded that I apologize for wanting something of my own.
I fell asleep thinking about the girl my mother had described in her letter.
The girl who could mend broken things.
The girl who wasn't born owing anyone her dreams.
At 7:15 the next morning, Mrs. Bennett and I arrived at the hotel where Evelyn Reed had requested the meeting.
The lobby was filled with people carrying garment bags and portfolio cases. A photographer stood beside a display of sponsor logos, while staff members directed guests toward the conference rooms.
A woman in a dark green suit approached us.
"Nia Carter?""
"Yes.""
"I'm Evelyn Reed's assistant. She's expecting you.""
She led us down a quiet corridor and opened the door to a private meeting room.
Evelyn Reed stood beside the window.
She was in her early fifties, with silver-streaked dark hair, a tailored suit, and a pair of glasses resting on a chain around her neck.
A leather portfolio lay open on the table.
She turned when we entered.
"Nia," she said.
"Thank you for coming.""
I nodded cautiously.
"This is Margaret Bennett. She's my mentor.""
Evelyn shook Mrs. Bennett's hand.
"Of course. Please, sit.""
I remained standing for a moment, studying her face.
There was something about her expression that unsettled me.
Not anger.
Not suspicion.
Recognition.
Evelyn gestured toward the table.
"I've reviewed the photographs of your gown. It's a remarkable piece of work.""
"Thank you.""
"I'd like to see your original sketches.""
I handed her the portfolio.
She opened it carefully, turning each page with the attention of someone handling a valuable manuscript.
When she reached the final drawing, she stopped.
Her fingers rested on the paper.
"This is the ocean design?""
"Yes.""
"And the original gown was damaged?""
"Someone poured blue paint on it. I incorporated the damage into the final design.""
Evelyn looked up.
"Someone in your household?""
I hesitated.
"My stepsister.""
She lowered her eyes to the sketch again.
"And then she took the finished dress?""
"Yes.""
"Without your permission?""
"Yes.""
Evelyn closed the portfolio.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she opened the leather bag beside her chair and removed a photograph.
It showed a younger woman standing in a sewing studio, holding a little girl in a yellow dress.
The woman was my mother.
The little girl was me.
My breath caught.
"Where did you get that?""
Evelyn turned the photograph toward me.
"Your mother and I were friends many years ago.""
I stared at her.
"How did you know my mother?""
She sat down slowly.
"Before I became involved in fashion sponsorship, I worked in a small design studio in Chicago. Your mother was one of the most gifted seamstresses I ever met. She helped me complete my first independent collection when I couldn't afford a full production team.""
I looked at the photograph again.
"Why didn't she ever mention you?""
"She did, probably. You were very young.""
Evelyn smiled faintly.
"Your mother had a habit of helping people without telling anyone. She never wanted gratitude to become a debt.""
My eyes burned.
"Did she tell you about the money she saved for me?""
Evelyn's smile disappeared.
"Yes.""
The room seemed to tilt.
"You knew?""
"Elena told me she'd created a protected fund for your future. She was very careful about it. She wanted to make sure you could study fashion if that's what you chose.""
I gripped the edge of the chair.
"Then do you know what happened to it?""
Evelyn glanced at Mrs. Bennett.
"I know that Elena was concerned about the arrangements shortly before she died. She asked me to keep a copy of a document in case anything went wrong.""
I stopped breathing.
"What document?""
Evelyn opened her portfolio again and removed a sealed envelope.
She placed it on the table between us.
"I've held onto this for six years. Your mother told me to give it to you if there was ever a dispute over your inheritance.""
I stared at the envelope.
My mother's handwriting covered the front.
But there was something else.
A second name had been written beneath mine.
*Marcus Carter.*
I looked up.
"What does my father have to do with this?""
Evelyn took a slow breath.
"Your mother believed someone might try to access the account without your permission. She wanted the document preserved because it contained the original terms of the trust.""
My hands trembled as I reached for it.
"Did you know Vanessa?""
Evelyn's expression changed.
"I knew her before she married your father.""
"How?""
"She worked briefly for a company that handled private financial arrangements for several clients. I met her through a business acquaintance.""
I stared at her.
"Did you know she took the money?""
"No.""
Her answer was immediate.
"But when I received your ownership report yesterday, I recognized the name. I contacted my legal adviser and checked the records I still had. That's when I found your mother's envelope.""
I looked at Mrs. Bennett.
She nodded for me to open it.
Inside was a copy of the original trust agreement.
I scanned the first page.
Then the second.
The third page contained a section marked *AUTHORIZED SIGNATORIES*.
My mother's name appeared first.
My father's name appeared second.
Vanessa's name appeared nowhere.
I read the page again.
"She wasn't authorized to withdraw anything.""
Evelyn folded her hands.
"Not according to this document.""
My heart began to pound.
"Then how did she get the money?""
Evelyn pointed to a paragraph near the bottom.
"The account could only be altered through a verified authorization from one of the named trustees, or by a court-approved process. If Vanessa's signature was accepted without proper authority, the bank will need to explain how that happened.""
I swallowed.
"Could someone have forged my father's signature?""
Evelyn looked at me carefully.
"That's one possibility. But we shouldn't speculate until the original records are examined.""
I thought of Dad's message the previous evening.
I didn't sign it.
For the first time, his words made sense.
Perhaps he hadn't known.
Perhaps he had been deceived, too.
But that didn't erase what he had done afterward.
He had allowed Vanessa to control the household without questioning her. He had let Brianna treat me as though I were a guest in my own home. He had asked me to give up my dress rather than risk an argument with his wife.
Even if he hadn't stolen my mother's money, he had failed to protect me from the person who had.
Evelyn closed the folder.
"There's something else you should know.""
I looked up.
"The fifty-thousand-dollar prize for Brianna's competition is funded through my foundation. I agreed to sponsor the event because I wanted to support emerging designers.""
She paused.
"I had no idea your gown was involved until the organizers contacted me.""
"Are you going to let her compete?""
Evelyn considered the question.
"That decision belongs to the competition organizers, based on their rules and the evidence. I won't interfere with a fair process. But I will not allow my foundation to knowingly reward someone for claiming another person's work.""
I felt a knot loosen in my chest.
"Thank you.""
She looked at me for a long moment.
"Your mother believed you would become a designer. She used to say you had an unusual ability to see possibilities in things other people discarded.""
I smiled faintly.
"She said that to me, too.""
Evelyn returned the sketches to the portfolio.
"Then I think she would be very proud of you.""
I looked down at the photograph of my mother and me.
For the first time since the dress had been taken, I felt something stronger than anger.
I felt connected to the future she had imagined for me.
When the meeting ended, Evelyn asked her assistant to arrange a secure copy of the trust documents for Mr. Brooks.
She also offered to have the original gown returned to me if the competition organizers could recover it.
Mrs. Bennett and I thanked her and left the room.
We had barely reached the lobby when my phone rang.
It was Dad.
"Nia," he said, his voice shaking.
"Vanessa has packed her things.""
I stopped walking.
"What?""
"She's leaving the house. Brianna is with her.""
I gripped the phone.
"Why?""
"Because I asked her about the account. I showed her the bank letter. I asked her to explain the signature.""
"What did she say?""
He went silent.
Then he whispered, "She told me I had no right to question her.""
I closed my eyes.
"Dad, did she admit taking the money?""
"She said she moved it to protect it.""
"Protect it from whom?""
He didn't answer.
Then I heard something crash in the background.
Vanessa shouted, "You promised you would never show anyone those documents!""
The line went quiet.
I pulled the phone away from my ear.
"Dad?""
He came back on the line, breathing hard.
"Nia, I need you to come home. There's something else in the filing cabinet. Something Vanessa was trying to destroy.""
My heart hammered.
"What is it?""
"A second bank statement.""
"What's on it?""
His voice broke.
"Your mother's account wasn't the only money she took.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"What do you mean?""
Dad swallowed.
"There's a transfer from another account. One that belonged to your mother before she died.""
He paused.
"And the recipient isn't Vanessa.""
I stared at Mrs. Bennett.
"Then who is it?""
May you like
Dad whispered a name.
"Brianna.""
