Chapter 6: The Portfolio That Disappeared
I didn't remember leaving the conference room.
One moment, I was staring at the photograph of my mother's sketchbook. The next, I was standing in a service corridor with Maya holding both my hands.
"Nia, breathe.""
I tried.
The air felt too thin.
"My mother's designs were in that house. All this time, they were in that house.""
Maya's face tightened.
"We'll find them.""
"What if they're gone?""
"Then we'll find out who took them.""
I looked toward the ballroom.
Through the open doors, I could see contestants gathering near the runway. The competition had paused, but the audience was still waiting for the judges' decision.
"I can't go back out there," I whispered.
Maya squeezed my hands.
"Yes, you can.""
"My mother might have been robbed. My father never told me. Vanessa knew something, and Brianna—"
"One thing at a time.""
Maya spoke with the calm determination she used when I was about to dismantle a dress that wasn't cooperating.
"First, we finish the competition. Then we find the portfolio.""
I stared at her.
"What if I lose?""
"Then you lose wearing the best dress in that room.""
She brushed a loose strand of hair from my face.
"But you won't lose because someone else stole your work.""
A stage assistant appeared at the end of the corridor.
"Nia Carter? Ms. Monroe would like you to return to the judges' area.""
I wiped my face.
"Tell her I'm coming.""
When I reentered the ballroom, the atmosphere had changed.
Whispers followed me from the doorway. Several people lifted their phones. Brianna sat rigidly in the front row, her hands clenched in her lap. Vanessa leaned close to her ear, speaking rapidly.
Elise stood at the judges' table.
Beside her sat two committee members and a man I recognized from the scholarship brochure: Richard Benton, the foundation's director.
Richard addressed the audience.
"We are temporarily suspending the award decision while we review a potential authorship dispute involving two submissions.""
A woman in the second row raised her hand.
"Does that mean someone cheated?""
Richard hesitated.
"It means we take originality seriously.""
Elise stepped forward.
"And we will not reward a designer for work they cannot substantiate.""
Her gaze briefly met mine.
I felt a small, unexpected surge of strength.
Then Brianna stood.
"This is absurd!""
Vanessa grabbed her wrist.
"Brianna, sit down.""
"No! Everyone is looking at me like I'm a criminal!""
Richard remained composed.
"Miss Brianna, please sit. You'll have an opportunity to respond to the committee's questions.""
Brianna shook free of her mother's hand.
"Why should I? Nia is making all of this up because she's jealous!""
A few people exchanged uncomfortable looks.
I walked toward the stage.
"Then answer one question.""
Brianna glared at me.
"What?""
"Where did you get the original design drawings you submitted with your application?""
"I made them.""
"Then why do they contain my private construction marks?""
"Because they're common techniques!""
Elise lifted one of the drawings.
"Miss Brianna, the mark in question is not a standard notation. Your application describes it as a method you developed independently.""
Brianna crossed her arms.
"Maybe we had the same idea.""
"That is possible," Elise replied.
"Which is why the committee will examine the original files.""
Vanessa rose.
"Elise, please. Brianna has worked incredibly hard. You can't destroy her future over a few stitches.""
Elise looked at her.
"And what about Nia's future?""
Vanessa didn't answer.
For one brief moment, the silence said everything.
Richard announced that both contestants' entries would remain under review. The scholarship award would be decided after the committee completed its investigation.
The audience began to disperse, disappointed that there would be no immediate winner.
I felt the familiar weight of uncertainty settle over my shoulders.
Then Elise approached me.
"I know you wanted an answer today.""
I nodded.
"I did.""
"I can't promise the scholarship until the evidence is reviewed. But I can promise that your work will be examined on its own merits.""
She glanced at my butterfly dress.
"And I would like you to bring me the sketchbook you used to develop it.""
"Why?""
"Because I want to understand something about your mother's original collection.""
Before I could respond, Vanessa appeared beside us.
"Nia, we're leaving.""
I looked at her.
"I need to talk to you.""
"Not here.""
"Then at home.""
Her expression hardened.
"Fine.""
The drive back was silent.
Brianna sat in the front passenger seat, staring out the window. Vanessa gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
I watched the city pass through the glass.
Finally, I asked, "Where is my mother's portfolio?""
Vanessa didn't look at me.
"I don't know what you're talking about.""
"Elise Monroe says it was delivered to the house after Dad died.""
"Elise Monroe has no idea what happened in this family.""
"Then tell me.""
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
"Your father left many things behind. I was responsible for organizing the house, managing the bills, and raising two girls. I couldn't preserve every piece of paper he owned.""
"Was it thrown away?""
"I said I don't know.""
Brianna shifted in her seat.
"Mom, just tell her.""
Vanessa's eyes snapped toward her.
"Be quiet.""
Brianna went silent.
I noticed the movement.
The fear.
The way Brianna looked at her mother as if she were afraid of what might happen if the truth came out.
When we arrived home, I went straight to the small storage room at the end of the hallway.
Vanessa followed.
"What are you doing?""
"Looking for the portfolio.""
"You have no right to rummage through my belongings.""
"It's my mother's work!""
"And this is my house!""
The words struck harder than I expected.
I turned slowly.
"It was Dad's house, too.""
"Your father is dead, Nia. You need to stop using his memory as an excuse to challenge every decision I make.""
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I opened the storage room door.
Dust coated the shelves. Old holiday decorations filled cardboard boxes. A broken lamp leaned against a stack of newspapers.
I began searching.
Vanessa stood in the doorway, watching me.
"You're wasting your time.""
I pulled open a box marked TAX RECORDS.
Inside were old receipts, bank statements, and envelopes bearing my father's handwriting.
No portfolio.
I searched another box.
Then another.
Finally, I found a long, flat carton wedged behind a suitcase.
My heart began to race.
The carton was sealed with yellowed tape.
Across the top, in my father's handwriting, were the words:
*LORRAINE'S WORK — KEEP SAFE.*
I looked at Vanessa.
She had gone completely still.
I tore through the tape.
Inside lay a stack of tissue paper, a bundle of old photographs, and a leather sketchbook.
My mother's portfolio.
I lifted it carefully.
The leather smelled of dust and cedar. A faded ribbon held the pages together.
For several seconds, I could only stare.
Then I opened the cover.
The first page contained a delicate illustration of a butterfly-shaped evening gown, with layered wings that opened as the wearer moved.
My hands began to shake.
The construction was unmistakable.
It was the same principle I had used in my scholarship dress.
But my mother's design was more intricate, with hidden panels and a series of tiny gold marks along the seams.
I turned the page.
And the next.
Every sketch carried her signature.
Lorraine Carter.
Then I reached a page with a photograph attached to it.
A young Elise Monroe stood beside my mother in a design studio. Between them hung a magnificent butterfly gown.
On the back of the photograph, my mother had written:
The beginning of everything. Elise says the world isn't ready yet.
I looked at Vanessa.
"Why did you hide this?""
Her face had gone pale.
"I didn't.""
"Then why was it buried behind your suitcases?""
"I don't know!""
I turned another page.
Several sheets had been carefully removed from the binding. Their torn edges were old, but the cuts were clean.
Someone had taken specific designs.
I touched the empty spaces.
"Where are the missing pages?""
Vanessa moved toward the box.
"Give me that.""
I stepped back.
"No.""
"Nia, hand it over.""
"Why?""
Her voice rose.
"Because you don't understand what you're holding!""
I clutched the sketchbook against my chest.
"Then explain it!""
For the first time since I had known her, Vanessa looked truly frightened.
She glanced toward the hallway.
Then she whispered, "Your mother wasn't the only person who designed that collection.""
A floorboard creaked behind us.
Brianna stood in the doorway, her face pale.
She looked at the portfolio, then at Vanessa.
"Mom," she whispered, "you said she would never find it.""
The words hung in the air.
Vanessa closed her eyes.
And I realized that the portfolio hadn't simply been forgotten.
Someone had been hiding it.
May you like
Someone had removed its most important pages.
And my stepsister had known exactly where they were all along.
