Chapter 4: The Secret Beneath the Lining
The first thing I did when I reached the competition venue was demand to see my dress.
The second thing I did was discover that nobody could tell me where it was.
The Young American Designers Competition occupied the ballroom of the Whitmore Arts Center, a grand building with marble floors, enormous windows, and banners hanging from the balconies. Fashion students moved between clothing racks while photographers adjusted their equipment and assistants hurried past carrying garment bags.
Everywhere I looked, people seemed to belong.
They wore expensive suits, carefully tailored jackets, and shoes that probably cost more than everything I owned.
I wore black trousers, a plain white blouse, and the only blazer I had managed to buy secondhand without needing to repair the sleeves.
Mrs. Ellis walked beside me, carrying our folder of evidence.
“Keep your head up,” she said.
“I think everyone can tell I don't belong here.””
She stopped walking.
“Nia, look at me.””
I turned.
“Your clothes don't determine whether you belong in a room. Your work does. And your work is extraordinary.””
I swallowed.
“Thank you.””
“Now let's find Patricia Moore before somebody decides to make this harder than it needs to be.””
We located the administrative office behind the main exhibition hall. A woman with a headset sat behind a desk crowded with schedules, judging sheets, and half-empty coffee cups.
“Patricia Moore?”” Mrs. Ellis asked.
The woman looked up.
“Yes?””
“I'm Elaine Ellis from Westbrook High. We spoke on the phone this morning.””
Recognition crossed Patricia's face.
“Of course. And this is Nia Carter?””
“Yes,” I said.
Patricia gestured toward two chairs.
“Please sit.””
I remained standing.
“Where is my dress?””
Her eyebrows rose.
“Excuse me?””
“The midnight-blue gown entered under Brianna Hayes's name. Where is it?””
Patricia glanced toward a computer screen.
“All finalist garments are in the secured backstage area.””
“Then I need to see mine.””
“Your garment is currently registered to Ms. Hayes.””
“My garment was registered to me first.””
Patricia folded her hands.
“I understand your concerns, but we have to follow the official registration records.””
Mrs. Ellis opened the folder.
“Then perhaps you should examine the original records before relying on the revised ones.””
She laid out my initial registration confirmation, dated four weeks earlier, along with photographs showing the dress at different stages of construction.
Patricia examined each page.
“This establishes that Nia submitted a design under her name,” she admitted.
“It establishes that she created the garment,” Mrs. Ellis replied.
“Not necessarily. A designer can transfer rights to another person.””
“Then let's examine the transfer.””
Mrs. Ellis placed the agreement on the desk.
Patricia studied the signature.
“Did you sign this, Nia?””
“No.””
“Did your father authorize it?””
“Not to my knowledge.””
“Have you discussed the matter with him?””
“Yes. He told me he didn't want the family torn apart over a dress.””
Patricia looked uncomfortable.
“That doesn't answer the question.””
“Then call him,” I said.
“Ask him whether he signed anything.””
She hesitated before picking up the phone.
While she dialed, Mrs. Ellis leaned toward me.
“Whatever happens, don't let them rush you into withdrawing your claim.””
I nodded.
Patricia reached my father after several attempts.
“Mr. Carter, this is Patricia Moore from the Young American Designers Competition. I'm calling regarding a transfer agreement submitted under your daughter's name.””
I heard Dad's voice through the speaker.
“Yes, Vanessa mentioned something about that.””
Patricia glanced at me.
“Did you authorize the transfer of Nia Carter's design rights to Brianna Hayes?””
There was a long silence.
“I authorized Vanessa to help with the girls' competition arrangements,” he finally said.
“That isn't what I'm asking, Mr. Carter. Did you sign the document?””
“No. I didn't see the document.””
My breath caught.
Patricia straightened.
“Did you give anyone permission to sign on your behalf?””
“No.””
For the first time that morning, I felt the ground beneath me stop moving.
Dad had finally said something clear.
Patricia ended the call and placed the phone on her desk.
“This matter will need to be reviewed by our compliance team.””
“Before the judging?”” I asked.
“We'll do our best.””
“That isn't good enough.””
“Nia,” Mrs. Ellis murmured.
But I couldn't stop.
“My stepsister is about to walk onto a stage wearing something I made. She has a false registration number attached to it. Someone copied my signature, and now you're telling me to wait while she accepts an award?””
Patricia's expression softened slightly.
“I understand you're upset.””
“No, you understand the paperwork. You don't understand what it means to have someone take the only thing you've ever made that felt like it belonged to your mother.””
The room fell silent.
Patricia looked down at the photographs again.
Then she picked up the phone.
“I'll contact the head judge personally.””
She made another call, spoke briefly, and finally hung up.
“Judge Adrian Cole has agreed to meet with you. He's reviewing the finalists' portfolios now.””
The name meant nothing to me at first.
Then Mrs. Ellis touched my elbow.
“Nia, Adrian Cole is the founder of Cole Atelier. His company has dressed some of the most influential women in the country.””
I looked back at Patricia.
“When can I see him?””
“Now.””
She led us through a side corridor into a smaller room overlooking the ballroom.
A silver-haired man in a black suit stood beside the window, studying a printed photograph.
The moment he turned, his eyes settled on me.
I recognized him immediately.
He was the judge who had leaned forward when I confronted Brianna onstage.
He placed the photograph on the table.
“This is your design?””
“Yes.””
He examined me for a moment.
“Then I have a question, Miss Carter.””
“What question?””
He pointed to the gown in the photograph.
“Why did you put seven silver stitches beneath the left shoulder seam?””
I stared at him.
My mouth went dry.
“Because my mother taught me that seven was a lucky number.””
He didn't blink.
“Your mother?””
“Her name was Evelyn Carter. She was a seamstress.””
Something changed in his face.
Not surprise exactly.
Recognition.
He turned toward the window, then back to me.
“Tell me, did she ever work in Manhattan?””
“I don't know. She didn't talk much about her younger years.””
Adrian reached into his jacket and removed a small photograph.
It showed a younger version of himself standing beside a woman in a white dress.
The woman wore a delicate silver brooch shaped like a star.
I had seen that brooch before.
It was in the photograph I kept beside my sewing machine.
My mother's brooch.
I stepped closer.
“Where did you get that?””
Adrian's fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Your mother gave it to me nearly twenty years ago.””
The room seemed to tilt.
“You knew my mother?””
“I did.””
“How?””
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Before he could answer, the office door burst open.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
Brianna was behind her, wearing the midnight-blue gown.
My gown.
Vanessa's eyes swept across the room, stopping on the photographs spread across the table.
“What is this?”” she demanded.
Adrian turned slowly.
“Ms. Hayes, we were discussing a matter concerning your daughter's entry.””
Vanessa lifted her chin.
“My daughter has done nothing wrong.””
“Then you won't mind answering a few questions.””
Brianna's hands trembled at her sides.
Vanessa placed a protective arm around her.
“This is a ridiculous accusation from a jealous girl who cannot accept that her sister has talent.””
Adrian's voice remained calm.
“Then why does your daughter's gown contain construction details documented in another student's original submission?””
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
“Coincidences happen in fashion.””
“Seven stitches beneath the left shoulder seam?””
She froze.
I saw it.
The tiny, unmistakable flicker of panic.
Adrian stepped closer to the gown.
“May I examine the lining?””
Vanessa immediately moved between him and Brianna.
“No.””
The word came too quickly.
Adrian's expression hardened.
“Why not?””
“Because the garment is part of the competition, and you have no right to damage it.””
“I am the head judge. Examining garments is part of my responsibility.””
“You're targeting my daughter because Nia has been feeding you lies.””
Brianna looked down.
“Mom, please.””
Vanessa turned sharply.
“Don't speak.””
The command silenced her.
Adrian looked at Brianna.
“Miss Hayes, did you create this gown?””
Brianna's lips parted.
Vanessa answered for her.
“Yes.””
“I asked your daughter.””
For a moment, the room was so quiet that I could hear the distant thump of music from the ballroom.
Brianna looked at me.
Then at her mother.
Then at the dress.
“I—”
Vanessa gripped her arm.
“Tell them what you practiced.””
Brianna flinched.
That was all I needed to see.
I stepped forward.
“Brianna, look at me.””
She did.
“Did you make the dress?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
Before she could answer, Vanessa pulled her toward the door.
“This meeting is over.””
Adrian moved in front of them.
“Not quite.””
He reached for the garment bag hanging beside the wall.
Vanessa grabbed it first.
For one wild second, they stood facing each other, each holding a side of the bag.
Then Adrian released it.
Vanessa stumbled backward, clutching the garment against her chest.
“You will regret humiliating my family,” she snapped.
Adrian didn't respond to the threat.
Instead, he looked at Brianna.
“Before you leave, I suggest you examine the inside of that dress.””
Brianna's face drained of color.
Vanessa went absolutely still.
And in that instant, I understood that whatever lay beneath the lining was something both of them feared far more than losing a competition.
I reached for the garment.
Vanessa tightened her grip.
“Don't touch it.””
“Why?”” I asked.
“What are you afraid I'll find?””
She stared at me.
For the first time in my life, my stepmother had no immediate answer.
Adrian quietly closed the office door.
“Because,” he said, looking directly at Vanessa, “I suspect this dress contains evidence that someone has been lying for a very long time.””
May you like
And then he turned to me.
“Miss Carter, I believe it's time you learned the truth about your mother.””
