Chapter 2: The Girl Who Won With Someone Else's Work
The Young American Couture Competition was held at a luxury hotel in downtown Atlanta.
The ballroom was filled with photographers, fashion students, designers, and representatives from several prestigious fashion schools.
The grand prize included a $100,000 scholarship and a paid internship with a New York fashion house.
For me, it represented something bigger.
It was a chance to leave Vanessa's house, study fashion, and build a future that didn't depend on my father's approval.
I arrived wearing a simple black dress I'd made myself.
My portfolio was tucked beneath my arm.
I had spent the previous night printing every photograph, sketch, and construction note I could find.
At the registration desk, a young woman wearing a competition badge smiled.
"Name?""
"Emily Carter.""
She typed something.
"You're listed as an alternate contestant.""
I frowned.
"That can't be right. I submitted my application six weeks ago.""
She checked again.
"I'm sorry. Your entry has been withdrawn.""
My fingers tightened around the portfolio.
"Withdrawn by whom?""
She looked uncomfortable.
"It says the designer requested removal.""
"I didn't.""
She turned the monitor slightly.
"There's an electronic authorization attached.""
I read the name.
Emily Carter.
My stomach dropped.
Someone had already started using my identity.
"Can I speak to the competition director?""
A man in a dark suit approached.
"I'm Daniel Reeves, the competition director. How can I help you?""
I explained everything.
He listened patiently, but his expression changed when I mentioned Brianna.
"Your stepsister is one of our finalists?""
"Yes. She's wearing my gown.""
Daniel glanced toward the stage.
"Miss Carter, I'm afraid we have already verified her submission.""
"How?""
"She provided documentation showing that the design was transferred to her.""
I shook my head.
"I never transferred anything.""
He lowered his voice.
"Do you have evidence?""
I opened my portfolio and showed him the original sketches.
"This is my handwriting. These photographs were taken in my bedroom. I have the original video files, too.""
He examined the pages.
"These are interesting, but we need to review the ownership dispute formally.""
"Then please don't let her win with my dress.""
Daniel hesitated.
"I'll look into it.""
A few minutes later, the lights dimmed.
The host walked onto the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Young American Couture Competition!""
Applause filled the ballroom.
I stood near the back, gripping my portfolio.
Then Brianna appeared.
She walked beneath the spotlights wearing my midnight-blue gown.
Her hair was styled in loose waves. My mother's pearl earrings hung from her ears.
The audience applauded.
I felt sick.
The first judge leaned toward the microphone.
"This design demonstrates remarkable technical sophistication.""
Another judge nodded.
"The lacework is especially impressive. The craftsmanship is extraordinary.""
Brianna lowered her head modestly.
"Thank you. This design is very personal to me.""
I almost screamed.
Personal?
She hadn't even known how to thread the sewing machine until last Christmas.
The host approached her.
"What inspired you?""
Brianna smiled.
"My family. My mother taught me that fashion is about preserving memories while creating something new.""
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
Vanessa sat in the front row, smiling proudly.
Dad was beside her.
He looked directly at the stage.
Not once did he look toward me.
Then came the announcement.
"And the winner of this year's Young American Couture Competition, receiving the $100,000 scholarship and a paid New York internship, is...""
The host paused.
"Brianna Carter!""
The room erupted.
Brianna covered her mouth and pretended to cry.
Vanessa stood, clapping enthusiastically.
Dad joined her.
I pushed through the crowd.
"THAT'S MY DESIGN!""
Several people turned.
Brianna looked down from the stage.
Her expression changed for half a second.
Then she smiled.
"Oh, Emily. Not here.""
"You stole my dress!""
A photographer lowered his camera.
Vanessa hurried toward me.
"Stop embarrassing yourself!""
I held up my portfolio.
"These are my original sketches! I made every stitch!""
Brianna accepted the microphone.
"Emily has always struggled with jealousy. She's upset because I achieved something she couldn't.""
A few people exchanged uncomfortable looks.
I felt my cheeks burn.
"Show them your sketches, Brianna!""
She shrugged.
"I submitted everything the competition requested.""
"Then show them the original construction photographs!""
Vanessa stepped forward.
"She doesn't have to prove anything to you.""
Daniel Reeves approached with two security staff members.
"Everyone, please remain calm.""
I handed him my portfolio.
"Look at the dates. Look at the photographs. I made this dress.""
Daniel examined the pages again.
Then he turned toward Brianna.
"Miss Carter, do you have the original design documentation available?""
"Of course," she replied.
She handed him a thick folder.
I watched as he opened it.
Inside were polished illustrations of my gown.
My design.
My embroidery.
Even the unusual curved stitching around the waist that I'd invented after ruining three pieces of silk.
But the signature at the bottom wasn't mine.
It belonged to Brianna.
Daniel looked between the two portfolios.
"These designs are remarkably similar.""
Vanessa immediately intervened.
"That's because Emily transferred the design rights to my daughter.""
I stared at her.
"What?""
She reached into her handbag and produced several notarized pages.
"Here is the agreement. Emily voluntarily assigned all rights to Brianna.""
Daniel read the document.
I stepped closer.
The signature looked exactly like mine.
Even the small loop in the letter E was there.
But I'd never signed it.
"That's a forgery!""
Vanessa's expression remained calm.
"Don't make this worse.""
I looked at Dad.
He was standing behind her.
"Tell them, Dad. You know I made that dress.""
He glanced at the floor.
"Emily, perhaps you should let the adults handle this.""
Something inside me broke.
I turned back to Daniel.
"I want the scholarship frozen. I want an investigation.""
Daniel closed the folder.
"Until we can establish ownership, the award will be placed under review.""
Brianna's smile disappeared.
"Mom, do something!""
Vanessa grabbed her hand.
"Don't worry. We have the signed agreement.""
Then she turned toward me.
"You should have thought about the consequences before accusing your own family.""
I walked out of the ballroom without looking back.
Outside, the night air was cold.
I sat on a stone bench and opened the photographs on my phone.
There was one picture I'd taken during the final week of construction.
It showed my gown hanging beside my mother's old sewing machine.
The timestamp was visible.
Four days before the alleged transfer agreement had supposedly been signed.
But that wasn't what caught my attention.
In the background, reflected in the sewing machine's polished metal surface, was Vanessa.
She was standing behind me.
Holding my mother's wooden document box.
I enlarged the photograph.
The box was open.
And inside it was a thick cream-colored envelope bearing my mother's handwriting.
I recognized the words immediately.
Emily's Trust — Do Not Open Before Her Eighteenth Birthday.
My eighteenth birthday had been three months earlier.
I had never seen that envelope.
I called my father.
He didn't answer.
I called again.
This time, someone picked up.
It wasn't Dad.
It was Vanessa.
"Emily," she said sweetly.
"You really need to stop digging into things you don't understand.""
I stared at the phone.
"Where is my mother's envelope?""
Silence.
Then her voice changed.
"Listen carefully. If you want to keep living under this roof, you'll forget you ever saw it.""
The call ended.
I sat there for a long time.
Then I opened my email.
Daniel had sent me an update.
Your complaint has been escalated to the competition's legal review team. Please attend the preliminary ownership hearing scheduled for three weeks from today.
I read it twice.
Three weeks.
May you like
I would have to prove that my own family had stolen my work.
And for the first time, I began to suspect the dress wasn't the only thing they had taken.
