Chapter 5: The Secret Collection
The competition director suspended the presentations for twenty minutes.
The judges requested that I remain backstage while they reviewed the additional documents.
Naomi found me near a service corridor.
Her face was pale.
“What happened?””
I handed her the report.
She read it twice.
“Another dress?””
“Apparently.””
“Did you ever make another gown?””
I shook my head.
“I made preliminary sketches for three designs, but I only completed the pink one.””
Naomi frowned.
“Then where did the second dress come from?””
I looked through the narrow backstage window.
Across the hallway, Vivienne was speaking urgently to a man I recognized from the fashion publication that had contacted me.
Marcus Reed.
He was holding a small recording device.
Vivienne appeared furious.
“I want to know who gave you those documents,” she demanded.
Marcus remained calm.
“Mrs. Vaughn, I'm asking you about the ownership of the designs.””
“You have no right to question my business.””
“I have a right to investigate a potential case of intellectual property theft.””
Vivienne lowered her voice.
“Be careful. You don't know who you're dealing with.””
Marcus smiled faintly.
“That's what everyone keeps telling me.””
She walked away.
Naomi watched her disappear.
“Your stepmother is losing control.””
“Good.””
I looked at the report again.
“But I want to know what the second dress is.””
Twenty minutes later, Eleanor invited me into a private meeting room.
Thomas Reed was there, along with the competition's legal adviser and Margaret Ellis, the registration coordinator.
A large monitor displayed a photograph of a silver evening gown.
It was breathtaking.
The dress had a sculpted bodice, delicate silver embroidery, and a dramatic cape flowing from the shoulders.
Its skirt was constructed from hundreds of narrow strips of metallic fabric.
I stared at it.
I recognized the design immediately.
Not because I had ever made it.
Because I had drawn it.
Three years earlier.
I had called it The Last Winter Garden.
I had sketched it during my final year of school, long before my father married Vivienne.
It had been part of a small notebook I kept beside my bed.
I hadn't seen those drawings in years.
“Where did you get this?”” I whispered.
Eleanor folded her hands.
“This gown was submitted to a private fashion showcase eighteen months ago by Vaughn Atelier Holdings.””
I stared at the screen.
“That's my design.””
Thomas leaned forward.
“Can you establish that?””
I nodded slowly.
“I can show you the original sketch.””
“Do you still have it?””
“I don't know.””
I tried to remember.
The notebook had been stored in a cardboard box before Vivienne moved into our house.
After that, several of my belongings had disappeared.
“I may have a photograph.””
Margaret opened another folder.
“There's something else.””
She placed a printed document on the table.
It was a contract between Vaughn Atelier Holdings and a luxury fashion retailer.
The company had received an advance payment of $75,000 for the exclusive development of the silver gown.
The listed designer was Celeste Vaughn.
I felt the room tilt.
“They sold it?””
“Not exactly,” Margaret said.
“The retailer paid an advance for the collection, but the agreement appears to have been suspended following a dispute over the design's ownership.””
Thomas examined another page.
“The retailer requested proof of authorship.””
I stared at the photograph.
“Why wasn't this reported?””
Eleanor exchanged a glance with the legal adviser.
“Because the original complaint was submitted anonymously and lacked supporting evidence. The company disputed the allegation, and the retailer temporarily suspended the agreement.””
I leaned forward.
“Who submitted the complaint?””
Eleanor looked at the document.
“An individual named Marcus Reed.””
I blinked.
“The journalist?””
“Yes.””
I sat back.
He had been investigating Vivienne for eighteen months.
And somehow, he had found me.
After the meeting, I found Marcus near the backstage entrance.
He was examining his notes.
“You knew about the second gown,” I said.
He looked up.
“I suspected it existed.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I didn't have enough evidence to connect it to you.””
I folded my arms.
“How did you find out?””
He glanced toward the empty corridor.
“An anonymous source sent me photographs of the original designs. One of them matched a collection submitted by Vaughn Atelier Holdings.””
“Who was the source?””
“I can't disclose that.””
I exhaled.
“Everyone seems to have secrets around here.””
Marcus gave a small smile.
“Sometimes the person who knows the most is the one everyone overlooks.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
He opened his notebook.
“Three years ago, Vivienne Vaughn approached a small production studio in Brooklyn. She wanted to reproduce several original sketches for a private collection. The studio refused because they couldn't verify that she owned the designs.””
“Then what happened?””
“Six months later, the same designs appeared under Celeste's name.””
My stomach tightened.
“Did the studio keep records?””
“They did. But the owner died last year, and the business was sold.””
“Who has the records now?””
Marcus hesitated.
“His daughter.””
I looked at him.
“Where is she?””
“Queens.””
I took out my phone.
“Give me her number.””
Marcus shook his head.
“I can't give you personal information without permission. But I can arrange a meeting.””
I stared at him.
“Please do.””
He studied my face.
“Ms. Bennett, I should warn you. If these documents are authentic, this is no longer just a competition scandal. There may be substantial financial fraud involved.””
I nodded.
“I understand.””
“Are you prepared for what happens when this becomes public?””
I looked toward the auditorium.
Celeste's name was still displayed on the contestant board.
I thought about the hours I had spent sewing under a flickering light.
The money I had saved.
The nights I had gone hungry to afford fabric.
Then I thought about Vivienne selling my work for thousands of dollars while telling my father I was an ungrateful child.
“Yes,” I said.
“I am.””
That evening, Naomi drove me to Queens.
The production studio's former owner, Samuel Brooks, had kept most of his business records in a storage unit.
His daughter, Lydia, met us outside a small warehouse.
She was in her early thirties and wore a denim jacket over a black dress.
“You're Aaliyah?”” she asked.
“Yes.””
She studied my face.
“You look just like the girl in the photographs.””
I frowned.
“What photographs?””
Lydia unlocked the storage unit.
“My father used to keep copies of every design that came through his studio. He believed artists deserved proof of their work.””
Inside were shelves of old folders, fabric samples, and dusty boxes.
Lydia led us to a metal filing cabinet.
“Three years ago, a woman named Vivienne Vaughn approached him. She claimed her daughter had designed several gowns and wanted them produced.””
My heart began beating faster.
“Did she show him the sketches?””
Lydia nodded.
“He was impressed by them. But something bothered him.””
“What?””
“The sketches were dated years earlier, and the woman couldn't explain the construction details. My father asked to speak with the designer.””
“And?””
“She refused.””
Lydia opened a drawer.
“Then one day, he received a package from someone claiming to be the original artist.””
I stared at her.
“Who?””
“We never found out.””
She removed a thick folder.
Inside were photographs of my old sketches.
My handwriting was visible in the corners.
The date was unmistakable.
Three years earlier.
I covered my mouth.
“That's mine.””
Lydia nodded.
“My father believed you were being exploited. He refused to produce the collection.””
“Did Vivienne threaten him?””
Lydia looked uncomfortable.
“She threatened to ruin his business. Then she offered him money to keep quiet.””
Naomi leaned forward.
“Did he accept?””
“No.””
Lydia removed another document.
“This is a copy of the agreement she wanted him to sign.””
I read it.
The agreement stated that Samuel would acknowledge Celeste Vaughn as the sole designer of the collection and waive all claims to the original sketches.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
*If the original designer cannot be identified, ownership will remain with Vaughn Atelier Holdings.*
I looked up.
“Did my father know about this?””
Lydia shook her head.
“I don't think so.””
Then she opened another folder.
“There was one more thing my father kept.””
She handed me a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph of a young girl standing beside a sewing machine.
The girl was me.
I was sixteen.
I remembered that day.
Samuel had visited my school to speak about garment construction. I had shown him my sketches after the presentation.
He had encouraged me to continue designing.
On the back of the photograph, he had written:
Talented young artist. Original work. Protect her drawings.
My eyes filled.
For years, I had thought nobody had noticed my work.
Someone had.
Someone had believed in me.
And he had tried to protect me.
Lydia agreed to provide copies of the records to Rebecca Collins.
By the time Naomi and I returned home, it was almost midnight.
My phone had twenty-three missed calls.
Eleven from my father.
Eight from Vivienne.
Four from unknown numbers.
I opened the latest message from Dad.
*Please come home. Something has happened.*
I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Aaliyah, where are you?””
“On my way.””
“Don't come through the front entrance.””
I stopped.
“Why?””
He lowered his voice.
“Vivienne has people here.””
“What people?””
“Two men. They're asking questions about the documents you took.””
My stomach tightened.
“Dad, what did you tell them?””
“Nothing.””
I heard a door close on his end.
Then his voice became almost a whisper.
“Aaliyah, there's something you need to know about your mother.””
I went completely still.
“My mother?””
He swallowed.
“Vivienne didn't just take your designs.””
“What are you talking about?””
“Your biological mother left something behind. Something Vivienne has been trying to get her hands on for years.””
I gripped my phone.
“What did she leave?””
My father took a shaky breath.
“An original patent application.””
I stared at the road ahead.
“For what?””
May you like
He whispered the answer.
“The flower construction technique used in your pink gown.””
