Chapter 9: The Original Designs
Rachel listened to Brianna's recording three times.
Each time, her expression became more serious.
When the recording ended, she placed her phone on the table.
"This is important evidence, but we need the original file and information establishing when it was recorded.""
Brianna nodded.
"I can provide that.""
Rachel looked at her.
"Will you testify?""
Brianna glanced at me.
"I will.""
I didn't know whether to believe her.
She had spent weeks accepting praise for my work. She had worn my mother's earrings, repeated my mother's story, and stood beneath the competition lights while I watched my future disappear.
But for the first time, she was willing to give something up.
Her scholarship.
Her mother's approval.
Possibly even her home.
Rachel arranged a formal statement.
Brianna handed over the recording, the bank statement, and the folder she'd taken from Vanessa's office.
Inside were several documents concerning the sewing studio.
One was a valuation report.
The property had been estimated at $190,000.
But the report contained another section.
*Intellectual Property and Commercial Pattern Rights.*
The valuation was listed at $2.4 million.
I stared at the number.
"How can patterns be worth that much?""
Rachel examined the pages.
"Your mother created a collection of original bridal designs over twenty years. Some were licensed to manufacturers. Others were never commercially released.""
"She never told me.""
"She may have intended to leave the rights to you when you became an adult.""
I remembered the letter.
The lace, the sewing machines, the studio, and the rights to my original patterns belong to her.
Rachel turned to the final page.
A list of registered designs appeared beneath the valuation.
There were more than sixty.
Each one had my mother's initials.
Some were accompanied by sketches.
Others included detailed embroidery instructions.
Then I noticed something.
The first design on the list was called The Margaret Collection.
I recognized the name.
It was written on the inside cover of my mother's old sketchbook.
Rachel checked the registration date.
"These designs were transferred into the trust seven months before your mother died.""
"Then why does Vanessa want them?""
"Because someone appears to have attempted to register several of them under another company.""
She turned her laptop toward me.
The company name was Blue Haven Holdings.
My father's company.
I felt my stomach drop.
"They were going to steal her designs too?""
Rachel nodded.
"Possibly. But there's another issue.""
She opened a second document.
It was a trademark application filed four months earlier.
The applicant was Brianna Carter.
The proposed brand name was:
*BRIANNA CARTER ATELIER.*
The application included photographs of three bridal designs.
I recognized all three.
They were my mother's original patterns.
Brianna looked horrified.
"Mom told me these were designs she had purchased from a private collection.""
Rachel pointed to the registration numbers.
"They belong to the Margaret Carter trust.""
Brianna lowered her head.
"I didn't know.""
I looked at her.
"Did you ever make any of these dresses?""
"No. Mom hired someone to photograph the samples.""
"Who?""
She opened her phone and searched her messages.
Then she found a contact.
A local bridal manufacturer.
Rachel asked for the messages.
Brianna handed over her phone.
The conversation contained several photographs of my mother's original sketches.
The sender was Vanessa.
One message read:
Recreate these as closely as possible. We need the samples ready before the estate dispute becomes public.
Another said:
Do not include Margaret's name anywhere.
Rachel looked at me.
"This establishes a possible attempt to commercialize the trust's intellectual property without authorization.""
I stared at the photographs.
My mother had spent decades creating those designs.
She had built something beautiful.
And Vanessa had tried to erase her name from it.
That evening, Rachel contacted Daniel Reeves.
He agreed to meet us at the competition's administrative office.
When we arrived, he had already assembled a file containing the original scholarship records.
"Emily," he said, "there's something I should have told you earlier.""
He opened a folder.
Inside was an old photograph of my mother at the first Young American Couture awards ceremony.
She was standing beside a young Daniel.
Behind them was a banner bearing the name of the original scholarship.
The Margaret Carter Emerging Designer Award.
I touched the photograph.
"She created this?""
Daniel nodded.
"Your mother believed talented students shouldn't need wealthy families to enter the fashion industry. She funded the original program and donated several of her designs for educational use.""
"Why didn't anyone tell me?""
"After her death, the foundation received a letter claiming that the family no longer wanted her name associated with the competition.""
Rachel frowned.
"Who sent the letter?""
Daniel placed it on the desk.
The signature was Robert Carter's.
My father.
I read the letter.
He had requested that the foundation remove my mother's name and transfer the scholarship's administrative rights to a private company.
That company was Blue Haven Holdings.
I looked at Daniel.
"Did you approve it?""
"No. I rejected it because your mother had established the scholarship as a protected charitable fund.""
Rachel examined the correspondence.
"Then why was Brianna permitted to compete?""
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
"Because her application contained a signed ownership agreement. At the time, we had no reason to believe it was fraudulent.""
He paused.
"After Emily's complaint, I ordered a review. We found another problem.""
He removed a document.
It was the original competition submission.
Brianna's application had been uploaded from a computer registered to Vanessa.
The file metadata showed that the design photographs had originally been created on my laptop.
Rachel leaned closer.
"Can you authenticate the original upload?""
"Yes. Our technical team preserved the records.""
I felt a small wave of relief.
Finally, someone had found evidence that couldn't be dismissed as a family argument.
Daniel handed Rachel another page.
"There is also a letter from the foundation's legal committee. They have agreed to suspend the scholarship award permanently until ownership is resolved.""
"Can the award be returned to the original designer?"" I asked.
"If the evidence confirms that you created the gown, yes.""
I nodded.
I didn't care about the scholarship anymore.
Not the way I had before.
I wanted my mother's work protected.
I wanted the truth.
And I wanted my father to explain why he had spent seven years hiding the life my mother had built for me.
As we prepared to leave, Daniel stopped me.
"Emily, your mother left something else with the foundation.""
He opened a locked drawer.
Inside was a small wooden box.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the box my mother used to keep her sewing needles.
Daniel handed it to me.
"She asked us to give it to you when you entered the competition as an original designer.""
I opened the lid.
Inside was a silver thimble, a tiny pair of scissors, and a folded note.
I unfolded it carefully.
Emily,
If you are holding this, then you have already done something I hoped you would do.
You have created something of your own.
But there is one thing you must understand before you trust anyone with your work.
Your father knows where the original collection is hidden.
I stopped reading.
Rachel looked at me.
"Emily?""
I turned the note over.
There was another sentence.
And he knows that the collection contains the one document that can prove what happened to me.
My heart began pounding.
I looked at Daniel.
"Do you know what collection she's talking about?""
His face had gone pale.
He slowly nodded.
"The original bridal collection.""
"Where is it?""
Daniel hesitated.
Then he said, "Your mother never stored it in the studio.""
Rachel leaned forward.
"Where did she keep it?""
Daniel looked directly at me.
"In a storage vault registered under your name.""
I stared at him.
"Why didn't I know about it?""
"Because the access authorization was supposed to be delivered on your eighteenth birthday.""
He opened a drawer and removed a small envelope.
But before he could hand it to me, his assistant rushed into the office.
"Daniel, I'm sorry. There's an urgent problem.""
Daniel turned.
"What happened?""
"The vault administrator just called.""
"Why?""
The assistant looked at me.
"Someone attempted to access Emily Carter's storage vault this morning.""
My throat tightened.
"Who?""
The assistant glanced at the printed security report.
Then she answered.
"Robert Carter.""
Daniel checked the timestamp.
The attempted access had occurred at 8:12 a.m.
And beneath my father's name was another detail.
*Access denied. Security alert sent to the registered beneficiary.*
My phone buzzed.
A new message had arrived.
It was from Dad.
Emily, we need to talk. Your mother left something in that vault that was never meant for you to find.
I stared at the screen.
May you like
Then another message appeared.
And if you open it, you'll understand why Vanessa and I had to keep you away from her final days.
