Chapter 6: The Woman Who Stole My Mother's Future
Vanessa recovered quickly.
She always did.
Within seconds, she had replaced her frightened expression with the familiar look of a woman who believed the world owed her an apology.
“That's enough,” she said, pointing at my phone.
“Whoever that woman is, she's lying to you.””
I held the phone tighter.
“Isabelle has the bank records.””
“Bank records can be manipulated.””
“Then you won't mind explaining the transfers.””
Vanessa laughed sharply.
“Explain what? I managed your father's finances during a difficult period. I paid bills, arranged insurance, and kept this family from falling apart.””
“With Mom's money?””
“With money that was legally available to the household.””
“Mom's letter says otherwise.””
“Your mother is dead, Nia. A letter doesn't give you the right to accuse living people.””
Dad remained seated, staring at the broken glass on the floor.
“Vanessa,” he said quietly, “did you transfer money from Elena's trust before she died?””
She turned toward him.
“You need to be very careful about what you say next.””
“Did you?””
“Marcus, you signed the authorization forms.””
“I didn't know what they were for.””
“You signed them because you trusted me.””
The admission was so casual that it took a moment to register.
I stared at her.
“So you admit the transfers happened?””
Vanessa's eyes flashed.
“I admit that your father was overwhelmed and I helped him manage things he couldn't handle.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
She stepped closer.
“You want the truth? Fine. Your mother was obsessed with her designs.
She spent money on fabric, travel, and endless meetings with people who promised her success. When she died, someone had to clean up the mess.””
I felt sick.
“You're saying she deserved to have her money taken?””
“I'm saying your father had responsibilities.””
“And I wasn't one of them?””
Dad lifted his head.
“Nia…”
“No.”” I turned toward him.
“You don't get to say my name like that now.””
His mouth closed.
I looked back at Vanessa.
“You took my mother's work, used her money, and now you're letting Brianna pretend she created my dress.””
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“Brianna earned her place in tonight's competition.””
“She hasn't sewn a single stitch.””
“She has style, presentation, and confidence. Those things matter in fashion.””
“Then let her design something herself.””
Vanessa stepped so close that I could smell her perfume.
“You have no idea how this world works. People with money decide whose work gets noticed. People with connections decide who gets opportunities. And people like you learn to accept the place they've been given.””
I looked at her carefully.
“Is that what happened to Mom?””
For the first time, Vanessa said nothing.
Dad stood slowly.
“Vanessa, what did you do?””
She turned on him.
“Don't start pretending you're innocent. You wanted that house. You wanted the bills paid.
You wanted someone to take care of Nia while you worked. I did all of that.””
“And the designs?””
“I managed the rights.””
“You told me the collection had no value.””
“It had no value to us at the time.””
“But you were receiving payments.””
Her jaw tightened.
“I used the money to support this family.””
“Then why did you hide the accounts?””
Vanessa grabbed her handbag.
“I'm not doing this.””
She marched toward the stairs.
I followed her with my eyes.
“Where are you going?””
“To get ready for the showcase.””
“You're still letting Brianna wear the dress?””
Vanessa stopped on the bottom step.
“Of course. We have a reputation to maintain.””
“Your reputation is about to become the least of your problems.””
She looked back at me.
“You think a rich designer is going to rescue you? You think a few old documents will make you important?””
“No,” I said.
“I think the truth will.””
She laughed.
“Then let's see how far the truth gets you.””
She disappeared upstairs.
Dad sat down again.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I thought I was doing the right thing.””
I looked at him.
“You keep saying that.””
“Your mother was dying. I couldn't think clearly. Vanessa offered to help with the accounts, and I signed documents because I thought they were routine.””
“You never checked?””
“I trusted her.””
“And you trusted her more than you trusted Mom's wishes.””
He flinched.
I immediately regretted the pain in his expression, but I didn't take the words back.
He rubbed his eyes.
“I loved your mother.””
“Then why did you let her disappear?””
His head lifted.
“What?””
“Her photographs. Her sketches. The sewing room.
Everything she left behind. You let Vanessa erase her from this house.””
“I thought moving forward would be easier for you.””
“For me?””
He looked down.
“I didn't know how to grieve without her.””
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Neither did I. But I never needed you to erase her.””
For the first time, Dad cried.
Not loudly. He simply covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking.
A part of me wanted to comfort him.
The little girl who had waited for him to come home after school still wanted to believe that everything would somehow be all right.
But I couldn't keep protecting his feelings at the expense of my own future.
“I have to go,” I said.
He looked up.
“Where?””
“To the showcase.””
“Nia, please. Don't make a public scene.””
I picked up my bag.
“I'm not planning a scene. I'm planning to tell the truth.””
At six thirty, Isabelle met me outside the Grand Meridian's main entrance.
She was carrying a document case and looked more serious than ever.
“Are you ready?”” she asked.
“No.””
She nodded.
“Good. It means you understand what's at stake.””
Inside, the ballroom had been transformed into a fashion exhibition. Crystal chandeliers hung above rows of white chairs, and a raised runway stretched across the center of the room.
Photographers crowded near the stage. Guests in elegant evening clothes held champagne glasses and studied the gowns displayed along the walls.
A banner above the entrance read:
*THE LAURENT EMERGING DESIGNERS SHOWCASE — CELEBRATING ORIGINALITY, CRAFT, AND VISION.*
I almost laughed.
Originality.
Craft.
Vision.
Three words Vanessa and Brianna were about to turn into a public disaster.
Isabelle guided me toward a side room where Vivienne Laurent was speaking with two event organizers.
Vivienne turned as we entered.
“Nia. I'm glad you're here.””
She introduced me to the event director, a woman named Margaret Shaw, who wore a black suit and carried a tablet.
Margaret reviewed the photographs of my dress, the fabric receipts, and my mother's sketches.
“Your evidence is compelling,” she said.
“But we must be careful. A design resemblance alone doesn't establish ownership.””
I nodded.
“That's why we're here to inspect the signature.””
Vivienne leaned forward.
“The left shoulder contains a hidden mark known to me and Elena alone. If it's authentic, I can confirm the construction and original design.””
Margaret looked at her.
“Can you establish that without damaging the garment?””
“Yes,” Vivienne replied.
“The signature is embroidered into the inner seam.””
Margaret made a note.
“Then we'll request a private inspection before the presentation. If the contestant refuses, we'll proceed according to the event's dispute policy.””
My phone vibrated.
A message from Brianna appeared.
You're not actually coming here, are you?
I didn't answer.
Another message followed.
Mom says you're trying to steal my moment. Don't even think about showing up.
I looked toward the ballroom doors.
“She's going to be furious.””
Vivienne gave me a small smile.
“People who build their lives on stolen things tend to dislike inspections.””
A bell rang, signaling the beginning of the program.
The audience began taking their seats.
Margaret checked her tablet.
“Miss Carter's presentation is scheduled for seven fifteen.””
“Will you stop the show if the signature is authentic?”” I asked.
Margaret's expression became firm.
“If the evidence confirms that the design was misrepresented, we will suspend the entry and investigate.””
I let out a slow breath.
For the first time, the people in charge were taking me seriously.
Then a commotion erupted in the hallway.
A young event assistant hurried into the room.
“Ms. Shaw, we have a problem.””
Margaret turned.
“What kind of problem?””
“Miss Carter's representative says the dress cannot be inspected because it contains delicate handwork and the contestant is already dressed.””
Vivienne stood.
“Then I will speak to her myself.””
We followed the assistant into the corridor.
Brianna stood outside the dressing room, wearing my gown.
Under the bright hallway lights, the Blue Horizon looked even more beautiful than it had in my bedroom. The turquoise and violet colors flowed across the satin, and the long train swept behind her like a wave.
For one painful moment, I forgot everything else.
I remembered the nights I had spent sewing it. The cramped fingers, the burning eyes, the quiet conversations I had imagined having with my mother.
Then Brianna saw me.
Her smile disappeared.
“You,” she whispered.
Vanessa stepped out behind her.
“What is she doing here?””
Vivienne approached without answering.
“Miss Carter, I'm Vivienne Laurent. I'd like to inspect the construction of your gown before the presentation.””
Brianna straightened.
“Why?””
“Because a formal design challenge has been submitted.””
Vanessa immediately intervened.
“This is ridiculous. My daughter designed the dress herself.””
I stared at her.
“You told me it was only fabric I bought.””
Vanessa's face reddened.
“Be quiet.””
Vivienne didn't look away from Brianna.
“Did you create this gown?””
Brianna hesitated.
Then she lifted her chin.
“Yes.””
“Every part of it?””
“Yes.””
“Including the original pattern, the sculpted shoulders, and the hand-stitched color transitions?””
Brianna glanced at Vanessa.
“Yes.””
Vivienne nodded slowly.
“Then you won't object to showing me the inside of the left shoulder.””
Brianna's expression changed.
“It's private.””
“It's part of the verification process.””
“My mother said nobody was allowed to touch it.””
Vivienne's eyes sharpened.
“Your mother said that?””
Vanessa stepped forward.
“This is harassment. If you want to inspect the dress, speak to our lawyer.””
Margaret joined us.
“Refusing an inspection may result in immediate disqualification.””
Vanessa's lips tightened.
“Then disqualify her. We don't need your competition.””
Brianna grabbed her mother's arm.
“Mom!””
“What?””
“I can't leave. Everyone's waiting for me.””
Vivienne studied the gown.
Then she said something that made Brianna's face drain of color.
“Miss Carter, if you refuse to show us the left shoulder, I will have to assume you're deliberately preventing us from verifying the design's origin.””
Brianna looked around the hallway.
Photographers had begun gathering nearby. Several guests were watching.
She swallowed.
“Fine. Look.””
Vivienne carefully lifted the outer fold of the left shoulder.
She examined the seam, then reached for a small magnifying lens an assistant had brought from the inspection room.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she looked at me.
Her expression had changed completely.
“It's authentic,” she whispered.
Margaret leaned closer.
“What is?””
Vivienne gently turned the inner seam outward.
Beneath the turquoise satin was a tiny embroidered crescent, followed by a series of initials and a date.
*E.C. — ORIGINAL DESIGN — 2019.*
Brianna stared at it.
“I've never seen that before.””
“I believe you,” Vivienne said quietly.
Vanessa stepped backward.
“No. That's impossible.””
Vivienne looked directly at her.
“Why is that impossible, Mrs. Carter?””
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then Brianna grabbed the fabric.
“Mom, you said this was safe!””
The hallway went silent.
Vanessa turned toward her daughter so sharply that Brianna stumbled.
“Be quiet!””
But it was too late.
Margaret had heard her.
So had the photographers.
And so had the woman standing behind Vanessa, holding a leather folder marked with the name of a financial crimes investigator.
She stepped forward and displayed her identification.
“Mrs. Vanessa Carter, I'm Detective Helen Brooks. We need to ask you some questions about a series of financial transfers connected to Elena Carter's estate.””
Vanessa stared at the badge.
Dad appeared at the end of the hallway, breathless and pale.
He looked at the detective, then at the dress, then at me.
Finally, he whispered, “Vanessa, what have you done?””
She didn't answer.
Instead, she stared at the embroidered initials inside my dress as if they were a sentence she had spent six years trying to erase.
Detective Brooks opened her folder.
“There's one additional matter,” she said.
“We've recovered a document that suggests the original design wasn't the only thing taken from Elena Carter.””
She removed a photograph and handed it to Vivienne.
Vivienne looked at it.
Her face went white.
Then she turned toward my father.
“Marcus,” she whispered, “why is your signature on the document authorizing the transfer of Elena's final collection four days before her death?””
May you like
Dad's knees nearly buckled.
And for the first time that evening, I realized that the secret hidden inside my mother's dress might be only the beginning.
