Chapter 4: The Evidence My Father Tried to Hide
I couldn't stop looking at the photograph.
My father's hand rested against the doorframe of my sewing room, beside the gold thread samples I had spent weeks collecting. The photograph had been uploaded under Brianna's name, but the sleeve belonged to Marcus Carter. I would have recognized that pale blue shirt anywhere.
Elena Ruiz leaned closer to the laptop.
"Nia, I need you to understand something," she said.
"This photograph alone doesn't prove who designed the dress. But combined with your original registration and the dates on your sketches, it raises serious questions.""
I swallowed.
"Can you stop Brianna from competing?""
"We can suspend the duplicate entry while we investigate. Your original registration remains active.""
"What if my father says he helped me design it?""
"Then we'll ask him to provide evidence supporting that claim.""
I almost laughed.
My father couldn't draw a straight line without a ruler. He had once sewn a button onto his shirt backward and worn it that way all day because he couldn't figure out why the fabric kept twisting.
But Marcus had something I didn't.
The ability to make people believe he was a good man.
"Do you have any advice for me?"" I asked.
Elena closed the laptop halfway.
"Preserve everything. Don't alter the original files. Don't confront anyone in a way that puts you at risk. And if you have evidence of threats or property being taken, keep that separate from the design records.""
I nodded.
Before I left, she printed a copy of my original registration and asked me to sign a statement confirming that I had created the gown independently.
I signed my name carefully.
For the first time since Brianna had taken my dress, my name existed on a document someone else was willing to defend.
When I returned home, Vanessa was waiting at the kitchen island.
She had arranged three shopping bags across the counter, each from an expensive department store. Brianna sat beside them, scrolling through her phone.
Vanessa glanced at the folder under my arm.
"Where have you been?""
"At the competition office.""
Brianna's phone dropped onto the counter.
"You did what?""
"I met with the organizers.""
Vanessa slowly removed her sunglasses.
"After everything your father explained to you, you still decided to embarrass this family?""
"You stole my dress," I said to Brianna.
"And you submitted my design under your name.""
Brianna stood so quickly that her chair scraped the tile.
"Watch your mouth.""
"Why? Are you afraid the judges might hear the truth?""
She snatched one of the shopping bags and pulled out a pair of gold heels.
"Look at these. They're for the competition. You think anyone is going to choose a girl who can't even afford proper shoes?""
"I don't need your shoes.""
"No, you need attention. You've always needed attention.""
Vanessa closed the distance between us.
"Give me the folder.""
"No.""
Her expression hardened.
"Excuse me?""
"It's my evidence. I'm not giving it to you.""
She reached for it anyway.
I pulled it against my chest and stepped back.
"Don't touch me.""
For one long second, neither of us moved.
Then Brianna picked up her phone and began recording.
"Look at her," she said to the camera.
"She's threatening my mother because she can't handle the fact that I'm finally getting somewhere.""
"Put the phone down.""
"Why? Afraid people will see what you're really like?""
I turned toward the kitchen doorway.
My father stood there, still wearing his work shirt.
He had heard everything.
"Marcus," Vanessa said immediately, her voice softening.
"Please explain to your daughter that this behavior is unacceptable.""
My father looked at my folder.
Then he looked at me.
"Nia, give Vanessa the papers. We can resolve this privately.""
I felt something inside me go very still.
"Privately? Like you privately signed Brianna's application?""
His jaw tightened.
"I told you I was trying to help.""
"You helped her take my work.""
"Enough.""
"No, Dad. You don't get to say enough whenever I ask you to tell the truth.""
Brianna lowered her phone just enough to glare at me.
"You have no idea what you're doing.""
"Actually, I do.""
I opened my folder and removed the printed email from the competition committee.
"The organizers have my original registration. They're reviewing your duplicate entry.""
Vanessa's face lost its color.
Brianna stared at the letter.
"You can't do that.""
"I already did.""
For the first time, she looked genuinely frightened.
Then her expression changed.
She turned to my father.
"You said they wouldn't check.""
The kitchen fell silent.
Vanessa's head snapped toward her daughter.
"Shut up, Brianna.""
But the words had already escaped.
I looked at my father.
"You told her they wouldn't check?""
Marcus took a step forward.
"That's not what she meant.""
"Then what did she mean?""
He glanced at Vanessa, searching for help.
She folded her arms.
"This conversation is over.""
I turned away from them and climbed the stairs.
Behind me, Brianna shouted, "If I lose this competition, I'll never forgive you!""
I stopped on the landing.
"You should have thought about that before stealing my dress.""
I entered my room and locked the door.
For several minutes, I listened to the voices downstairs rise and fall. Vanessa blamed Marcus. Marcus insisted he had only wanted to avoid a family argument. Brianna cried loudly enough for the neighbors to hear.
Then came the sound of something breaking.
I didn't go down to investigate.
Instead, I opened my laptop and copied every photograph, sketch, email, and registration document onto a flash drive.
I emailed the files to myself and stored another copy in a folder my family couldn't access.
When I finished, a new message appeared in my inbox.
It was from Elena Ruiz.
We have reviewed the initial records and need to speak with you again. Your sister's submission contains a second design image that appears to have been taken from a private location.
Attached was a photograph I had never seen before.
It showed the back of my dress, including the hidden stitching beneath the train.
I enlarged the image.
There, just above the inner hem, was a tiny embroidered signature.
NC.
My initials.
I had sewn them into every piece I considered truly mine.
Brianna had never known they were there.
But someone had photographed them.
Someone who had entered my sewing room, opened the garment bag, and turned the dress inside out.
I stared at the image until my phone vibrated.
A text from an unknown number appeared.
*Stop talking to the competition committee. If you want your father to keep his job, you'll withdraw your complaint.*
A second message followed.
*Ask him what he promised Vanessa before he signed your sister's application.*
My hands went cold.
I looked toward the closed bedroom door.
For the first time, I wondered whether stealing my dress had been only the beginning.
May you like
What had my father promised?
And why was someone willing to threaten his job to keep me quiet?
