Chapter 6: The Signature That Could Ruin Everything
By noon, my name had become a problem for the competition organizers.
The showcase director, a woman named Margaret Ellis, called Adrian's office and requested an emergency meeting. She explained that the anonymous complaint had triggered a review of my submission.
Until the matter was resolved, I could not present my designs.
I listened to her voice through the speakerphone, my hands locked together beneath the table.
"Ms. Carter, this is not a judgment on your talent," Margaret said.
"We have a duty to protect the integrity of the competition.""
"Then investigate both submissions," I replied.
"My stepsister is using my dress.""
"We have her signed declaration.""
"And I have photographs showing the dress under construction months before she submitted it.""
There was a pause.
"Please send those documents to our legal team.""
"I will. But I want to know why the complaint against me was accepted without asking me a single question.""
"Because the documents appear authentic.""
Adrian reached for the phone.
"Margaret, this is Adrian Vale. I can confirm that the document you received is inconsistent with the agreement I witnessed Elena Carter refuse to sign.""
"Mr. Vale, we respect your position, but the document bears Ms. Carter's signature.""
"It bears a signature that resembles hers.""
"Until the review is complete, neither entrant will be permitted to display the disputed gown.""
The call ended.
I stared at the silent phone.
"They're going to let Brianna get away with it.""
"No," Adrian said.
"They're going to make a decision based on what they can verify. We need to give them something they cannot ignore.""
Mrs. Whitmore opened her folder.
"We have dated photographs, the original design notes, and the video of Vanessa removing the gown from Nia's room.""
"That proves the dress was taken," Adrian replied.
"It doesn't prove the older contract was forged.""
I looked at the photograph of the signature.
There was something familiar about it.
Not the handwriting.
The paper.
I leaned closer.
"Can you enlarge that?""
Adrian's assistant zoomed in on the lower corner.
A faint blue line ran along the edge of the document.
I felt my pulse quicken.
"That's the same blue as the paint Brianna poured on my dress.""
Mrs. Whitmore frowned.
"Paint can be found anywhere.""
"Look at the shape. It's a curved streak. The container had a damaged lid, and the paint leaked down one side.""
Adrian studied the image.
"You think this photograph was taken recently?""
"I think whoever submitted it has the original document. And I think it was stored near that paint.""
It wasn't enough to prove anything.
But it was a lead.
Adrian called the competition's legal coordinator and requested a copy of the full submission, including the file metadata and any available documentation about its origin.
Then he turned to me.
"Tell me everything you remember about the sewing box.""
I described the hidden compartment, the photograph, the letter, and Vanessa's attempt to search the box. I also explained that my mother's envelope had disappeared after Vanessa began managing the household finances.
Adrian listened carefully.
"When Elena left New York, she told me she had kept copies of everything. She said she was going to put them somewhere no one would think to look.""
"Where?""
"I asked her. She refused to tell me.""
I thought of the box.
"The hidden compartment?""
"Possibly. But if the documents were there, they may have been removed before you found the photograph.""
I remembered Vanessa whispering, Where did you put it, Elena?
She hadn't found what she was looking for.
Which meant it might still be somewhere in our house.
My phone vibrated.
Dad's name appeared on the screen.
I answered.
"Nia, where are you?""
"With Mrs. Whitmore.""
"Your stepmother says you've been making accusations about Brianna and causing trouble with the fashion competition.""
"She's wearing my design.""
"She says you gave it to her.""
"I didn't.""
He sighed.
"Vanessa says you have been spending time with people who are encouraging you to turn against your family.""
I closed my eyes.
"Did she tell you she searched Mom's sewing box last night?""
Silence.
"She said she was looking for a needle.""
"A needle?""
"That's what she told me.""
I almost laughed.
"Did she also tell you Brianna stole my dress?""
"She borrowed it.""
"Without permission.""
"She says you agreed.""
"Then ask her to show you the message where I agreed.""
Dad didn't answer.
I lowered my voice.
"Dad, I need you to listen. There's something about Mom's past that Vanessa has been hiding.""
"Your mother has been gone for five years. Whatever happened before that is not going to help you now.""
"Why are you afraid to talk about her?""
"I'm not afraid.""
"Then help me find the envelope she left for me.""
His breathing changed.
"What envelope?""
"The one marked 'For Nia's Dreams.'' You said the money was used for household expenses. I want to see the records.""
He didn't speak for several seconds.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your stepmother told me that envelope never existed.""
I gripped the phone.
"You saw it, Dad. You held it in your hands after Mom died.""
"I remember an envelope. But Vanessa said it contained old receipts, not money.""
"That's not what was written on it.""
"I don't know what you want me to say.""
"The truth.""
He exhaled sharply.
"Come home tonight. We'll discuss this as a family.""
"Will Vanessa be there?""
"Of course.""
"Then I'm not coming.""
"Nia, you're seventeen. You cannot keep running away every time someone disagrees with you.""
"I'm not running away. I'm trying to find out why the people in my own house keep lying to me.""
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking, but not from fear.
For the first time, Dad had admitted he remembered the envelope.
He had also admitted that Vanessa had given him a different story.
That was something.
Adrian arranged for his legal assistant to send me a copy of the anonymous complaint. Before we left his office, I examined the document once more.
The signature looked convincing at first glance.
But near the end of the surname, the ink appeared darker, as though someone had traced a faded line.
My mother had a habit of signing her name with a fountain pen. The ink flowed unevenly, leaving tiny breaks where the nib caught the paper.
This signature was too smooth.
I took out the letter Adrian had written to my mother and placed it beside the disputed contract.
"Look at the way the letters connect," I said.
Adrian leaned closer.
"You're right.""
"The person who made this copied the general shape of her signature. But they didn't understand how she wrote.""
Mrs. Whitmore photographed both documents.
"We should have a handwriting specialist examine them.""
"Agreed," Adrian said.
"And we need to locate the original contract.""
He called a private investigator he had worked with on a previous business dispute. The investigator agreed to examine the complaint's source and determine whether the document had been recently photographed.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Whitmore helped me prepare a statement for the competition.
I listed the dates when I had purchased the fabric, the hours I had spent constructing the gown, and the people who had seen it before Brianna took it. I attached photographs from every stage of the process.
When I finished, Adrian read the statement.
"Clear, specific, and supported by evidence," he said.
"Good.""
I looked at him.
"What if they still believe her?""
"Then we keep presenting the truth until they have no reasonable way to ignore it.""
His confidence steadied me.
But as we prepared to leave, my phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a message from Brianna.
She had sent a photograph of herself standing in front of a mirror, wearing my reconstructed gown.
The bodice had been altered.
The neckline I had designed was still there, but someone had added a row of expensive crystals across the shoulders. The dress looked almost exactly as I had imagined it would look on graduation day.
Beneath the picture, Brianna had written:
*The judges love it. Mom says I'm going to win. You should have let me wear it peacefully.*
Then another message appeared.
*By the way, we found something interesting in your mother's sewing box. Dad says it's time you stopped digging into the past.*
My blood ran cold.
I called Dad immediately.
He didn't answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
Then a new message arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of a yellowed envelope.
The handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
For Nia's Dreams.
The envelope was open.
Inside was a stack of papers I had never seen before.
And at the bottom of the photograph, written in Vanessa's sharp handwriting, were six words.
*Ask your father who really paid.*
I stared at the screen, unable to move.
May you like
Because if the papers inside that envelope were what I thought they were, then the missing money was only the beginning.
And whatever my father had helped Vanessa hide, it was about to destroy the family he had spent years pretending to protect.
