Chapter 6: The Evidence Hidden Beneath the Flowers
I approached Patricia slowly.
"Can I speak with you?""
She looked at the silver object in her hand, then quickly slipped it into her blazer pocket.
"Not right now, Emily. We're preparing for the opening ceremony.""
"I saw what you were holding.""
Her expression stiffened.
"I don't know what you're talking about.""
"The recorder.""
She glanced toward Brittany.
My stepsister was pretending to speak with her makeup artist, but her eyes were fixed on us.
Patricia lowered her voice.
"Come with me.""
She led me through a narrow hallway into a small office. The room smelled of coffee and printer toner. Several competition schedules were scattered across a desk.
She locked the door.
Then she placed the silver object on the table.
My voice recorder.
I reached for it.
"Where did you get this?""
"Miss Miller brought it to me this morning. She said it had been accidentally sewn into the dress and that it belonged to her.""
I stared at her.
"And you believed her?""
Patricia looked uncomfortable.
"I didn't know what to believe. But when I listened to a portion of the recording, I realized something wasn't right.""
My stomach tightened.
"You listened to it?""
"Only briefly.""
"What did you hear?""
She hesitated.
"Someone discussing payments to the competition director.""
I sat down.
"Who?""
"Your stepmother. And a man.""
I thought of my father.
"Was it my dad?""
Patricia shook her head.
"No. It was someone else.""
She opened a drawer and removed a printed document.
"This was attached to an email sent to our director three weeks ago. It contained a proposed sponsorship agreement.""
I read the company name.
*MILLER CREATIVE HOLDINGS.*
Below it was an offer of $40,000 in exchange for exclusive promotional placement and priority consideration for Brittany Miller.
My fingers went cold.
"They paid him?""
Patricia nodded.
"The director claimed it was a legitimate sponsorship arrangement. But the agreement specifically mentioned your entry.""
I looked closer.
There was a paragraph about withdrawing competing applications before the final presentation.
My name appeared in the document.
So did the words:
*DESIGN OWNERSHIP TRANSFER.*
"Why are you showing me this?""
Patricia looked down.
"Because I made a mistake.""
"What mistake?""
She took a deep breath.
"I processed the withdrawal request without verifying the applicant's identity. The director instructed me to do it.""
"Did you know my signature was forged?""
"No. But I knew the request was unusual.""
I stared at her.
"Why didn't you question it?""
She didn't answer.
Instead, she pushed the recorder toward me.
"I can give you the original audio files, but there's something you should hear first.""
She connected the device to her computer.
A list of recordings appeared.
Most were familiar.
Then she clicked one labeled:
*BACKUP_AUDIO_03.*
I recognized the sound immediately.
Vanessa's voice.
But this time, she wasn't speaking to Brittany.
She was speaking to a man.
"Once Brittany wins, the archive becomes part of her professional portfolio. Emily won't have the money or the resources to challenge us.""
The man laughed.
"What about the girl herself?""
Vanessa answered without hesitation.
"Her father will keep her quiet.""
The man asked another question.
"And the trust?""
Vanessa paused.
"Richard has already signed the transfers. If he changes his mind, I'll make sure everyone knows he approved them.""
I felt sick.
Then the man's voice became clearer.
"You're certain the original designs are still in the house?""
Vanessa laughed.
"Most of them. I only moved the valuable ones.""
"Good. Because the buyers want the original collection, not copies.""
I leaned toward the computer.
"Buyers?""
Patricia nodded slowly.
"Keep listening.""
Vanessa continued.
"I've arranged the private sale for next month. Once the paperwork is complete, nobody will be able to trace the designs back to Claire.""
The man chuckled.
"And what about Emily?""
Vanessa's response was chilling.
"She'll be too busy trying to pay for college to notice.""
The recording ended.
I sat perfectly still.
My mother's designs weren't simply being borrowed.
They were being sold.
And the competition was only one piece of a much larger plan.
Patricia removed her glasses.
"Emily, I think you should take this to the police.""
"I will.""
"But first, there's something else.""
She opened another folder.
Inside was a printed photograph of Vanessa standing beside the competition director in a hotel lobby.
They were shaking hands.
A third person stood beside them.
A man wearing a dark suit.
I recognized him immediately.
"That's Mr. Harrison.""
Patricia nodded.
"He's one of the competition's major financial sponsors.""
I'd seen his name on the banners throughout the convention center.
"Why was he meeting Vanessa?""
"Because he owns a company interested in acquiring Claire Carter's design archive.""
My hands trembled.
"Then he knows everything?""
"I don't know how much he knows.""
I took the photograph.
"Where is he now?""
"Front-row seating. He arrived twenty minutes ago.""
I stood.
Patricia reached for my hand.
"Emily, please understand something. If you expose this, the competition could be suspended. The sponsors may withdraw. Your stepmother could retaliate.""
I looked at her.
"My mother spent years creating those designs. I spent four months making that gown. And Vanessa thinks she can steal everything because she has money and connections.""
I picked up the recorder.
"I'm done being afraid of her.""
When I opened the office door, Brittany was waiting outside.
Her smile disappeared when she saw the device in my hand.
"Where did you get that?""
I held it up.
"Looking for this?""
She lunged.
I stepped backward.
"Give it to me!""
"No.""
She grabbed my sleeve, tearing a small section of fabric.
"Mom said you weren't supposed to have it!""
The words escaped her before she could stop herself.
I looked at her.
"Your mother told you to steal the recorder?""
Brittany's face went pale.
Behind her, Vanessa appeared at the end of the hallway.
She was wearing a cream designer suit and holding a champagne glass.
When she saw the recorder, the glass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered against the floor.
"Emily," she whispered.
I raised the device.
"Hello, Vanessa.""
She glanced toward the stage.
Then she did something I never expected.
She smiled.
A slow, confident smile.
"Go ahead," she said.
"Play it.""
I frowned.
"What's that supposed to mean?""
Vanessa stepped closer.
"Because there's one recording you haven't heard yet.""
My stomach tightened.
She leaned toward my ear.
"And when you hear what your mother said about you before she died, you'll wish you'd never turned that thing on.""
For a moment, the hallway seemed to disappear.
I couldn't move.
Then Vanessa straightened her jacket and walked toward the stage.
Brittany followed her.
My phone vibrated.
A new message from Uncle Daniel appeared.
*Emily, I found the original trust agreement. Your mother added a final clause three days before she died. It changes everything. Don't let Vanessa leave the building.*
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
*The person who inherits the design studio isn't Richard. It isn't you, either. It's the person your mother trusted most.*
I looked up.
Across the hallway, Mr. Harrison was watching me.
And beside him stood a woman I hadn't seen in six years.
My mother's former business partner.
*Margaret Collins.*
May you like
She was holding an envelope with my name written across it.
And she was crying.
