Chapter 3: Someone Had Already Stolen My Name
I read the revised program three times.
Each time, the words became more insulting.
*Reconstructed Concept — Adapted Materials, Authorship Under Review.*
It wasn't simply a description.
It was an accusation.
Someone had taken my name, placed it beside my creation, and suggested that I had stolen the very work I had spent months developing.
I looked at the production assistant.
"Where can I find Richard Hayes?""
He pointed toward the main lounge.
"He's with the judging committee.""
"Then I'm going there.""
Camille caught my wrist.
"Wait.""
I turned.
"What?""
"Think before you walk into that room. They're expecting you to get emotional.""
I looked at the program again.
"They've accused me of stealing my own design.""
"I know.""
"They destroyed my gown, Camille. Now they're trying to make me look like a fraud.""
"I know, Nia.""
Her voice softened.
"But don't give them a reason to call you difficult.""
I closed my eyes.
My mother had taught me that dignity wasn't the same as silence.
And I had no intention of remaining silent.
"I'm going to ask for the evidence.""
Camille nodded.
"Then I'm coming with you.""
We walked toward the main lounge.
The room was filled with people in expensive suits, designer dresses, and polished shoes. A photographer was taking pictures near the entrance, while several industry executives stood around a long table.
At the center of the room was Richard Hayes.
He was in his late fifties, with silver hair, a navy suit, and the kind of confidence that came from spending decades having people agree with him.
Victoria stood beside him.
She noticed us first.
"Well," she said, "look who's here.""
Richard turned.
"Miss Carter.""
I held up the program.
"Mr. Hayes, I need an explanation.""
He glanced at the paper.
"About what?""
"About the accusation you've submitted against my design.""
He adjusted his cuff.
"There's no accusation. The committee received information that requires clarification.""
"Then clarify it.""
Victoria sighed.
"Honestly, Nia, you're making this more dramatic than it needs to be.""
I ignored her.
Richard looked toward a woman standing nearby.
"Have you met our legal representative, Ms. Parker?""
The woman stepped forward.
"Good evening. I'm Lauren Parker, counsel for Hayes Luxury Group.""
I stared at her.
"Why is your company's lawyer involved in a design competition?""
Richard smiled.
"Because intellectual property matters are serious.""
"Then let's talk about intellectual property.""
I placed the program on the table.
"My design is original. I created the sketches, drafted the patterns, constructed the garment, and selected every material.""
Richard nodded as if I were a child explaining something obvious.
"That's an interesting statement.""
"Do you have evidence that contradicts it?""
Victoria reached into her handbag and removed a folder.
"Actually, we do.""
She placed several printed pages on the table.
I looked down.
The first page showed a photograph of a pink gown with ivory wings.
My heart stopped.
It was almost identical to the dress I had just created.
The bodice had a similar shape.
The skirt had the same layered construction.
The wings extended from the shoulders in a familiar sweeping pattern.
But there was one detail that made my blood run cold.
The photograph was dated eighteen months earlier.
I looked at the caption.
*Hayes Luxury Group — Angel Collection Concept, Preliminary Design.*
I stared at it.
"This isn't mine.""
Victoria tilted her head.
"Are you sure?""
"Yes.""
She slid another page toward me.
It showed a technical sketch.
A pink bodice.
An asymmetric skirt.
Ivory wings.
And beneath the drawing was a signature.
Nia Carter.
My signature.
Or something designed to look exactly like it.
I leaned closer.
"Where did you get this?""
Richard answered.
"From our internal design archive.""
"That signature is forged.""
Lauren Parker folded her hands.
"Miss Carter, please be careful with accusations.""
I looked at her.
"Someone copied my signature onto a design I never created.""
Victoria gave a small laugh.
"That's a convenient explanation.""
I turned toward her.
"Why would I steal a design from your company when I've never worked for you?""
Richard opened the folder.
"That's precisely what we're trying to establish.""
He pulled out another document.
"According to our records, a freelance designer named Nia Carter submitted concept materials to Hayes Luxury Group approximately eighteen months ago.""
I shook my head.
"I've never submitted anything to your company.""
"Perhaps you don't remember.""
"I would remember.""
Victoria leaned forward.
"Maybe you used another name.""
"That's absurd.""
She shrugged.
"Then explain the signature.""
I looked at the document again.
The signature wasn't simply similar.
It was nearly perfect.
The same slanted capital N.
The same loop in the C.
Even the small flourish beneath my surname.
Someone had copied it carefully.
I felt Camille step closer beside me.
"Where did this document originate?"" she asked.
Richard looked at her.
"This matter concerns Miss Carter.""
"She's my friend. And she's being accused of fraud.""
Lauren Parker interrupted.
"Miss Brooks, I would advise you not to interfere with a legal review.""
Camille didn't move.
"Then perhaps you should conduct an actual review before printing accusations in the official program.""
A few people turned toward us.
Richard's smile disappeared.
"Miss Carter, we can handle this privately. There is no need to involve the audience.""
I laughed once.
"Your company has already involved the audience. My name is printed in that program.""
He lowered his voice.
"Do you understand what happens if the committee determines that your work was copied?""
"Yes.""
"You could be disqualified.""
"I understand.""
"And your professional reputation could suffer.""
I looked directly at him.
"Then I suggest you make sure your evidence is real.""
For the first time, Richard looked irritated.
Victoria stepped between us.
"You're making a terrible mistake, Nia. You should accept that your design has similarities to something already in our archive.""
"Similarities don't prove ownership.""
"Perhaps not.""
She leaned closer.
"But you don't have the resources to fight my family.""
There it was.
The truth beneath the performance.
She wasn't simply accusing me of copying a design.
She was reminding me that her family had money, lawyers, connections, and influence.
She believed I would become frightened enough to surrender.
I looked at the folder.
Then I noticed something.
The photograph of the alleged original design had a small label in the lower-right corner.
*Archive Reference: HC-0417.*
I memorized it.
Then I noticed the date.
March 14.
Eighteen months earlier.
But I remembered March 14.
I had been in Atlanta that entire week, working at a bridal alterations shop while preparing my application for the competition.
I hadn't even known Hayes Luxury Group existed as a company that accepted independent submissions.
I looked up.
"Mr. Hayes, I want a complete copy of every document you submitted.""
Richard nodded.
"That can be arranged through counsel.""
"Good.""
"And I want the original files, not printed copies.""
Lauren Parker's expression changed.
"That may not be possible.""
"Why not?""
"Certain internal records are confidential.""
I stared at her.
"You're using confidential company records to accuse me publicly, but you won't let me examine them?""
Richard closed the folder.
"The committee will review everything.""
Then he turned away.
The conversation was over.
Or so he thought.
As Camille and I walked back toward the dressing area, she whispered, "Did you recognize that sketch?""
I shook my head.
"No. But someone had access to my signature.""
"Who?""
"I don't know.""
She looked at me carefully.
"Do you think Victoria somehow got your old paperwork?""
I stopped walking.
My application.
The sketches.
The photographs of my earlier designs.
All of them had been submitted digitally through the competition portal.
Only the organizers had access to the full application package.
I turned toward the production office.
"Camille, I need to see my submission records.""
We found the competition coordinator, a man named Peter Lawson, standing beside a stack of programs.
"Mr. Lawson?""
He looked up.
"Miss Carter. Is everything all right?""
"No. I need access to my original submission.""
His eyes shifted toward the lounge.
"I understand your concern, but the review process is confidential.""
"I am the person being accused. I have a right to know what evidence is being used against me.""
He hesitated.
Then he lowered his voice.
"Miss Carter, I don't think you understand how serious this situation is.""
"Then explain it.""
Peter glanced around before speaking.
"Hayes Luxury Group submitted a complaint three weeks ago.""
Three weeks.
My stomach tightened.
"Three weeks ago?""
"Yes.""
"Before the competition?""
He nodded.
"Before your preliminary inspection.""
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Why wasn't I informed?""
Peter looked uncomfortable.
"The committee wanted to review the material first.""
"Then why was my gown allowed into the competition?""
"Because the initial complaint didn't establish enough evidence for immediate disqualification.""
I stared at him.
"So you knew about this while I was preparing my collection?""
He didn't answer.
"Did you know someone had destroyed my original gown?""
Peter frowned.
"That's an unfortunate incident, but it isn't related to the intellectual property review.""
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course it isn't.""
He lowered his voice further.
"Miss Carter, I would strongly recommend that you withdraw voluntarily.""
I stared at him.
"What?""
"Withdraw from the competition. That would allow everyone to move forward without further controversy.""
Camille stepped forward.
"Are you serious?""
Peter raised a hand.
"I'm only trying to protect the event.""
"You're protecting the people who accused her," Camille snapped.
Peter looked at me.
"Think about your future. A public dispute with Hayes Luxury Group could make things difficult for you.""
I studied his face.
He wasn't warning me because he cared about my future.
He was warning me because he was afraid of the people who controlled his event.
I picked up the revised program from the desk.
"No.""
Peter blinked.
"Excuse me?""
"I'm not withdrawing.""
"Miss Carter—"
"I earned my place here. I created my designs. If the committee wants to disqualify me, they can do it publicly and explain exactly why.""
I turned away.
Camille followed.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, "Nia, there's something else.""
"What?""
She showed me her phone.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
*Tell Nia to check the metadata on the pink design before she walks onto that runway. The original file was created on her mother's old computer.*
I read it twice.
My fingers went cold.
"My mother's computer?""
Camille nodded.
"That's what it says.""
I stared at the screen.
My mother had owned a small laptop she used for invoices, sewing patterns, and customer records. After she passed away, I had kept it in a storage box at my apartment in Atlanta.
But it hadn't been connected to the internet for years.
And the alleged design in Victoria's folder was supposedly created eighteen months ago.
I looked at Camille.
"Who sent this?""
She tapped the number.
"Blocked. No contact information.""
"Could it be a threat?""
"Maybe.""
I looked toward the runway entrance.
The first designer was being called to the backstage holding area.
The show was about to begin.
I returned to our station and stared at the pink gown.
The wings stood upright, delicate and magnificent. The blue crystals from my ruined creation were scattered across the bodice like tiny pieces of a lost sky.
I ran my fingers over the stitching.
My mother had taught me to make beautiful things.
But she had also taught me to question anything that didn't make sense.
And none of this made sense.
Why would a design supposedly belonging to Hayes Luxury Group carry my signature?
Why had the complaint been submitted three weeks before the competition?
Why had Victoria destroyed the blue gown?
And why was someone now telling me to check my mother's old computer?
A production assistant appeared at the entrance.
"Miss Carter, you're next after the current presentation. Please bring your model to the holding area.""
I nodded.
"Thank you.""
Camille slipped into the gown.
I secured the final clasp at her back and adjusted the wings.
She looked at me through the mirror.
"Whatever happens out there, I'm proud of you.""
I smiled.
"Don't make me cry. Your makeup is too expensive.""
She laughed.
Then she took my hands.
"Let's show them.""
We walked toward the runway entrance.
The audience was already applauding for the previous designer.
I could see the judges seated beneath the stage lights.
Evelyn Brooks sat in the center, holding a tablet.
Richard Hayes sat two seats away.
Victoria stood near the side entrance, waiting for her turn.
When she saw us, she smiled.
Then she leaned toward her assistant and whispered something.
The assistant immediately hurried toward the production booth.
A few seconds later, the runway coordinator approached me.
"Miss Carter?""
"Yes?""
"I'm afraid there's been a change.""
My stomach tightened.
"What kind of change?""
He glanced at the gown.
"The committee has instructed us to announce your presentation under the revised category.""
I stared at him.
"What category?""
He swallowed.
"Disputed Design Submission.""
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I looked at Camille.
She was standing in the pink gown, the enormous ivory wings rising behind her shoulders.
I had created something beautiful from the remains of a disaster.
And now they wanted to introduce it to the world as stolen work.
I looked toward the stage.
Then toward Victoria.
She raised her glass again.
But this time, I didn't look away.
"Tell the announcer to use my original title," I said.
The coordinator shook his head.
"I'm sorry. Those are the instructions.""
I stepped closer.
"Then I want the committee to hear this.""
Before he could answer, Evelyn Brooks stood from her seat and approached the stage entrance.
She looked at the coordinator.
"What's the delay?""
He explained the revised announcement.
Evelyn's expression changed.
"Who authorized that?""
"The committee.""
"Which member?""
He hesitated.
"Mr. Hayes submitted the request.""
Evelyn looked toward Richard.
Then she turned back to me.
"Miss Carter, is this your original design?""
"Yes.""
"Did you steal it from Hayes Luxury Group?""
"No.""
"Can you prove that?""
I swallowed.
"I believe I can.""
Evelyn studied my face.
Then she looked at the wings.
"All right. Walk.""
The coordinator stepped aside.
Camille took my hand for one second.
Then she moved toward the runway.
The music began.
The stage lights illuminated the pink silk.
And as the first ivory feathered wing appeared from behind the curtain, the audience fell silent.
But I wasn't watching the audience.
I was watching Richard Hayes.
Because the moment he saw the gown, his expression changed.
His hand tightened around the armrest.
He leaned toward Victoria.
And for the first time that night, Victoria looked genuinely afraid.
She whispered something to him.
I couldn't hear the words.
But I saw Richard turn toward the production booth and urgently signal someone.
Then Evelyn Brooks looked down at the tablet in her hands.
Her face went pale.
She lifted her microphone.
"Before we continue, I believe there's something the judges need to see.""
May you like
And on the giant screen behind the runway, a document appeared.
A document bearing my mother's name.
