Chapter 2: The Conversation They Forgot to Hide
I replayed the recording three times.
Each time, the same words came through.
"Especially after what your father signed yesterday.""
My father's signature.
On what?
I sat at my sewing table until midnight, listening to the audio through my headphones. The recording was muffled because the device had been inside the gown's lining, but I could distinguish most of the conversation.
Brittany spoke first.
"What if the judges ask about her?""
Vanessa laughed.
"Then you tell them you designed it. You have the sketches.""
"But they're Emily's sketches.""
"Not anymore.""
There was a pause.
Then Brittany asked, "What about the scholarship?""
Vanessa lowered her voice.
"Your father took care of that.""
My fingers tightened around the headphones.
"What do you mean?""
"The withdrawal form has already been submitted. Emily won't even be eligible tomorrow.""
Brittany laughed.
"Seriously?""
"Your father signed it yesterday. The competition office will receive the updated paperwork in the morning.""
I pulled off my headphones.
My father had withdrawn me?
Without telling me?
I immediately called him.
He didn't answer.
I tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
My father and I hadn't been particularly close since he married Vanessa three years earlier, but he'd always encouraged my sewing.
At least, I thought he had.
When I showed him my first sketch of the gown, he'd smiled and said, "Your mother would be proud.""
When I needed money for fabric, he'd given me $200.
When I finished the embroidery, he'd taken photographs and told me I was talented.
Had all of that been an act?
My bedroom door opened.
Vanessa stood there holding a glass of water.
"Still awake?""
I quickly minimized the audio files.
"Yes.""
She glanced at my laptop.
"What are you doing?""
"Nothing.""
Her eyes narrowed.
"You're not planning something stupid, are you?""
I forced myself to look away.
"I'm tired.""
"Good. Then listen carefully.""
She placed the glass on my desk.
"Brittany has an important day tomorrow. I don't want any scenes. You'll stay home.""
I stared at her.
"I registered for that competition.""
"Not anymore.""
"Did Dad withdraw my application?""
Vanessa's expression didn't change.
"Your father made the decision that's best for this family.""
I stood.
"That's not an answer.""
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
"Watch your tone.""
"Did he sign something?""
She set the glass down.
"Emily, you have no idea how much we've sacrificed for you.""
I almost laughed.
"You took my dress.""
"Your dress?"" She scoffed.
"Your father paid for most of those materials.""
"I designed it. I sewed it. I embroidered every flower.""
"And Brittany will wear it. That's what matters now.""
She turned toward the door.
I took a breath.
"Why are you so afraid of me finding out what Dad signed?""
Vanessa stopped.
For a second, her shoulders stiffened.
Then she turned slowly.
"What did you say?""
I realized my mistake.
"Nothing.""
She walked back toward me.
"Look at me.""
I didn't move.
"Emily, what have you been listening to?""
My heart pounded.
She grabbed my laptop.
"Give that back!""
She opened the screen and searched through my recent files. Fortunately, I'd already moved the recordings into an encrypted folder.
Her expression twisted.
"What's this?""
"Schoolwork.""
She slammed the laptop shut.
"You're becoming just like your mother. Always sneaking around, always believing everyone is against you.""
I felt something break inside me.
"Don't talk about my mother.""
Vanessa leaned closer.
"Your mother is dead, Emily. And she isn't coming back to rescue you.""
I stared at her.
She had crossed a line she couldn't uncross.
"Get out of my room.""
Her eyes widened.
"What?""
"Get out.""
She raised her hand.
This time, I stepped backward.
Vanessa lowered it slowly.
"Tomorrow, Brittany will win that competition. And when she does, I want you standing there smiling.""
Then she left.
I waited until her footsteps disappeared downstairs before opening my laptop again.
I copied every recording onto a USB drive and hid it inside an old sewing-pattern envelope.
Then I opened my email.
There was a message from the competition organizer, sent three days earlier.
*FINALIST CONFIRMATION — EMILY CARTER.*
I clicked the attachment.
My original design submission was still listed.
But beneath it was another document.
*CANDIDATE WITHDRAWAL REQUEST.*
My name appeared at the top.
At the bottom was a signature.
Richard Carter.
My father.
The timestamp showed 9:42 a.m. the previous morning.
I zoomed in.
The signature looked real.
But the email also contained a notification I'd overlooked.
*Your withdrawal request is pending verification because the applicant's confirmation is required.*
I read it again.
Then again.
They hadn't actually removed me.
Not yet.
A strange calm settled over me.
I printed the email, folded it carefully, and placed it inside my backpack.
The next morning, I would go to Atlanta.
I wouldn't have my dress.
I wouldn't have an expensive outfit or a portfolio display.
But I would have the truth.
At 6:17 a.m., I received a text message from an unknown number.
*Emily, don't go to the competition. Your father doesn't know what Vanessa has planned. If you want to understand why, come to the old workshop behind the house at seven. Come alone.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
*Bring the original sketches. And whatever you recorded.*
I looked toward my bedroom door.
May you like
Whoever had sent the message knew about the recorder.
And they knew something about my father that I didn't.
