Chapter 6: The Missing Dress Was Never Lost
I couldn't speak.
The missing twelfth dress.
The one Margaret had spent seventeen years trying to recover.
The one my mother had designed before her collection disappeared.
And somehow, Brianna had submitted a photograph of it as her own work.
"Where did she get that picture?"" I asked.
Margaret picked up her phone.
"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out.""
She called the competition director and requested an emergency meeting.
Meanwhile, I stared at the photograph.
The dress was stunning.
Its midnight-blue bodice curved around the waist, while layers of white fabric appeared to float around the body.
The embroidery looked like tiny butterflies caught in a storm.
It was almost identical to the design hidden in my mother's box.
Almost.
There was one important difference.
The original sketch showed a silver clasp shaped like a small bird.
Brianna's photograph didn't.
"Something is missing," I whispered.
Margaret looked at me.
"What?""
"The clasp. Mom's original design had a silver bird at the waist.""
She enlarged the photograph.
I was right.
The clasp wasn't there.
"Perhaps it was removed," Margaret said.
"Or perhaps this isn't the original.""
Margaret stared at me.
For the first time, she smiled.
"That's exactly what I was thinking.""
She printed the photograph and placed it beside my mother's sketch.
I examined both.
The shape of the bodice matched.
The arrangement of the panels matched.
But the embroidery on Brianna's version was different.
Someone had copied the general silhouette without understanding the construction.
"Look here," I said, pointing to the lower skirt.
"The panels are attached incorrectly. They would collapse when the wearer walks.""
Margaret leaned closer.
"You're certain?""
"Yes. The weight distribution is wrong.""
She nodded.
"Then whoever made this photograph didn't understand Eleanor's technique.""
I felt a strange sense of relief.
Brianna might have stolen a design.
But she hadn't understood it.
And that difference could save me.
At 4:30, I returned home.
I needed my mother's original sketchbook.
It was still in the wooden box, along with the old documents.
When I entered the house, Brianna was sitting on the living-room sofa, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up.
"Oh, look. The little designer is back.""
I ignored her and headed upstairs.
"Wait.""
I stopped.
Brianna stood.
"Mom told me about the competition.""
I turned.
"What about it?""
"Apparently, you're trying to accuse me of stealing your designs.""
"I haven't accused you of anything.""
"Good. Because my submission is already registered.""
I stared at her.
"Your submission?""
She smiled.
"Yes. The blue gown. It's beautiful, isn't it?""
"Where did you get that design?""
"From a designer friend.""
"Who?""
"Why would I tell you?""
I stepped closer.
"That design belonged to Mom.""
Brianna laughed.
"Your mother has been dead for years. You can't just claim every blue dress in the world belongs to her.""
"That isn't what I'm saying.""
"Then stop acting like everything is yours.""
She picked up her phone.
"By the way, my friends loved the dress you made. They're asking where I got it.""
I looked at the gown hanging over the back of the sofa.
The original dress.
My dress.
The one she had cut and altered.
A section of the train was folded underneath.
I approached it.
"Where's the original embroidery?""
Brianna shrugged.
"I had it removed.""
My heart tightened.
"Where?""
"The tailor probably threw it away.""
I felt dizzy.
Those butterflies had taken me weeks.
They had been my mother's pattern, recreated by my own hands.
"You threw away the embroidery?""
Brianna rolled her eyes.
"Don't start crying.""
I looked at her.
"Why did you submit a photograph of the twelfth dress?""
Her expression changed.
For the first time, she looked genuinely confused.
"What are you talking about?""
"The midnight-blue gown. The one you entered in the competition.""
Brianna stared at me.
Then she laughed.
"Oh, that.""
She held up her phone.
"Mom sent me the design.""
I froze.
"Vanessa?""
"Yes. She said it was an old family design and that I could use it.""
My stomach turned.
"Where did she get it?""
Brianna shrugged.
"Ask her.""
She walked upstairs.
I remained in the living room, staring at the altered gown.
Then I noticed something.
A small piece of cream-colored paper was tucked into the pocket of Brianna's discarded garment bag.
I pulled it out.
It was a receipt from a private storage facility.
The date was two weeks earlier.
The name on the receipt was Vanessa Reed.
The storage unit number was 314.
I photographed it.
Then I returned upstairs and found my mother's sketchbook.
At the back, beneath several loose pages, I discovered another envelope.
This one was addressed to Margaret.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Margaret,
If anything happens to me, please make sure Nia receives the original collection. Daniel knows where it is, but I no longer trust him to protect it.
I stopped reading.
My father knew where the collection was.
And Vanessa had recently visited a storage facility.
I photographed the letter and sent Margaret a message.
Her response came almost immediately.
Do not go to that facility alone. I'll arrange to meet you tomorrow.
I put the letter back into the envelope.
Then I heard someone enter my bedroom.
It was my father.
He closed the door behind him.
"Nia, we need to talk.""
I slipped the envelope beneath my sketchbook.
"About what?""
He looked at the papers on my desk.
"Margaret has been calling me.""
"Good.""
"She wants to reopen the case.""
"Then maybe she should.""
He sat on the edge of my bed.
"Your mother was very unhappy during her final years.""
I stared at him.
"Because you betrayed her?""
He closed his eyes.
"I made mistakes.""
"What mistakes?""
"I was trying to protect the family.""
"From what?""
He looked at me.
"Vanessa had already taken the collection. I thought I could negotiate with her. I thought I could get everything back.""
I felt my chest tighten.
"Then why didn't you?""
"Because she threatened to destroy the business.""
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"So you let Mom take the blame?""
He didn't answer.
"She spent years believing you had betrayed her.""
My father's eyes filled.
"I know.""
"Did you ever apologize?""
He looked down.
"Not properly.""
I stood.
"Then you should have.""
He reached for my hand.
"Nia, please. You need to understand something. Vanessa is not the person you think she is.""
I pulled away.
"Then tell me the truth.""
He hesitated.
Finally, he whispered:
"Vanessa didn't just take your mother's designs.""
My heart began pounding.
"What else did she take?""
He looked toward the bedroom door.
"She took the original collection. All twelve dresses.""
"Where are they?""
He swallowed.
"Storage unit 314.""
The same number on the receipt.
I stared at him.
"Why is Vanessa keeping them?""
My father looked devastated.
"Because she has been planning to sell them.""
"To whom?""
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his jacket and removed a folded document.
It was a purchase agreement.
A private fashion collector had agreed to buy the entire collection for an enormous sum.
The sale date was tomorrow.
I read the buyer's name.
*REED & CARTER FASHION GROUP.*
Then I looked at the signature.
Vanessa Reed.
My father had signed as a witness.
I felt sick.
"You knew.""
He lowered his head.
"I didn't know she had arranged the sale until last week.""
"Then why didn't you stop her?""
"Because she threatened to tell the authorities that I helped forge your mother's signature.""
I stared at him.
He looked up.
"There's something else, Nia.""
"What?""
He took a shaky breath.
"Your mother didn't die believing I had betrayed her.""
I frowned.
"Then what did she believe?""
My father looked at me with tears in his eyes.
"She died believing that I had helped Vanessa take everything from her.""
He placed the document on my desk.
"And the reason Vanessa has been so desperate to get your mother's box is because there's a second contract inside it.""
I felt the room grow cold.
"What second contract?""
"The one that proves the entire collection legally belongs to you.""
I stared at him.
My mother had left the collection to me?
He nodded.
"She transferred ownership to you before she died. But Vanessa never knew the document existed.""
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I remembered the envelope Margaret had given me.
The old contract.
The forged signature.
The missing dresses.
Everything was connected.
My father stood.
"Please, Nia. Don't tell Vanessa I told you.""
I looked at him.
"Why?""
He reached for the door.
"Because tomorrow, she's going to destroy the original collection.""
He opened it.
"And if she discovers that you have the ownership papers, she won't just try to disqualify you from the competition.""
He looked back at me.
"She'll make sure you never get the chance to compete at all.""
I waited until his footsteps disappeared.
Then I opened my mother's wooden box.
I searched through every envelope, every folded paper, and every sketch.
But the second contract wasn't there.
Instead, I found a small note in my mother's handwriting.
The truth is kept where the first butterfly was born.
I read it again.
Where the first butterfly was born.
My eyes moved toward the old photograph of my mother standing beside a sewing machine.
Behind her, on the wall, was a familiar sign.
*CARTER FAMILY ALTERATIONS.*
The little sewing shop my mother had owned before she died.
The shop my father had sold years ago.
And suddenly, I knew where I had to go.
Tomorrow, Vanessa planned to sell my mother's entire collection.
But she had forgotten one thing.
May you like
My mother had spent her whole life preparing me to recognize her work.
And I was finally beginning to understand why.
