Chapter 7: The Audition They Tried to Rig
At 9:30 the following morning, the competition venue was filled with designers, photographers, fashion students, and industry representatives.
Large banners displayed the competition's name across the entrance.
A long runway stretched through the center of the ballroom.
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My butterfly gown was hanging backstage.
I had spent most of the previous night checking every seam, every support, and every hand-painted panel.
Maya had helped me reinforce the wing structure.
Mrs. Alvarez had even driven to Atlanta with additional materials.
The dress wasn't perfect.
But it was mine.
And it was ready.
At 9:42, Brianna appeared backstage.
She wore a champagne-colored gown with a dramatic neckline.
Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves.
Vanessa followed her, carrying a garment bag.
Brianna looked at my dress.
Then she laughed.
“That's what you're wearing?””
I turned.
“Good morning to you too.””
She stepped closer.
“Honestly, Nia, I expected something more professional.””
Maya crossed her arms.
“Funny. I expected you to develop a personality by now.””
Brianna ignored her.
She studied the butterfly wings.
“Those supports look cheap.””
“They're lightweight structural mesh.””
“Whatever.””
She leaned toward me.
“You know they're going to disqualify you, right?””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
“Because I submitted the design first.””
“You submitted it under your name. That doesn't make it yours.””
Brianna smiled.
“That's what you keep telling yourself.””
Vanessa approached.
“Nia, perhaps we should have a private conversation.””
“I have nothing to discuss with you.””
“Your father is worried.””
I almost laughed.
“About me?””
“About the family.””
I looked at her.
“You should have thought about the family before stealing my mother's work.””
Her smile disappeared.
“Be careful.””
“Or what?””
Vanessa stepped closer.
“You have no idea what you're accusing us of.””
“I have the contracts.””
For the first time, she looked genuinely unsettled.
Then Brianna interrupted.
“Mom, let's go. I need to get ready.””
She turned toward me.
“Enjoy your little performance.””
As she walked away, she brushed her hand against the garment rack.
My gown shifted.
One of the wing panels swung dangerously close to the floor.
I caught it.
“Don't touch my dress!””
Brianna raised both hands.
“Relax. I barely touched it.””
Maya moved between us.
“Get away from her.””
Brianna smiled.
“See you onstage.””
At 10:00, the competition director called all participants into the presentation hall.
The judges sat behind a long table.
Evelyn Whitmore occupied the center seat.
Beside her were three established designers, a fashion journalist, and the director of the design institute offering the scholarship.
The director stepped onto the stage.
“Welcome to the Southern Emerging Designers Competition.””
The audience applauded.
“This year, we've received more than eight hundred entries from across the country. Today, our finalists will present their work before a panel of industry experts.””
He continued explaining the judging criteria.
Creativity.
Construction.
Originality.
Technical execution.
Commercial potential.
Then he announced a special preliminary review.
“Before the presentations begin, we must address an intellectual property complaint involving two finalists.””
My heart began pounding.
Brianna sat in the front row.
Vanessa was beside her.
Dad sat on the opposite side.
The director continued.
“Both applicants have submitted designs titled Midnight Monarch. The committee has received conflicting claims regarding authorship.””
A murmur spread through the room.
Brianna raised her hand.
“I'd like to clarify something.””
The director nodded.
She stood.
“My stepsister has been copying my work for months. She became jealous when I submitted my design and decided to accuse me of stealing it.””
I stared at her.
She continued.
“I've always wanted to become a fashion designer, but Nia has never supported me. She's constantly told me that I don't have the talent.””
Vanessa lowered her head as if embarrassed.
It was an impressive performance.
Then Brianna displayed the video.
The same edited recording from our living room appeared on the large screen.
A girl entered a bedroom and removed a garment bag.
“That's Nia,” Brianna said.
I stood.
“That's not me.””
The director raised a hand.
“Please allow her to finish.””
Brianna continued.
“She stole my design notes and my original materials. I only entered the competition because I wanted to prove that I could create something independently.””
A few people in the audience exchanged glances.
Then the director turned toward me.
“Miss Carter, would you like to respond?””
I stood.
“Yes.””
I walked toward the presentation table.
I placed my sketchbook, original receipts, photographs, and dated construction notes in front of the judges.
“Everything Brianna has submitted as her own work was designed by me. I have photographs showing the original concept from six months before her submission. I also have construction notes, dated sketches, and evidence that the design file was uploaded using my father's account.””
The director examined the documents.
Brianna interrupted.
“Those could have been fabricated.””
I looked at her.
“Then let's verify them.””
Evelyn leaned forward.
“That's exactly what we intend to do.””
She turned toward the technical reviewer.
“Please display the original files.””
The screen changed.
A series of photographs appeared.
My first butterfly sketch.
The unfinished bodice.
The wing prototype.
The handwritten construction calculations.
Every image carried a timestamp.
Then another document appeared.
A digital submission record.
The file had been created on a computer registered to Richard Carter.
The room became quiet.
The director looked at my father.
“Mr. Carter, can you explain why your device was used to upload this design?””
Dad stood slowly.
“I helped my daughter with the application.””
“Which daughter?””
He hesitated.
“Brianna.””
Evelyn spoke.
“Did you know the design belonged to Nia?””
Dad looked at the table.
“I believed Brianna had developed it.””
I stepped forward.
“You saw me working on it for months.””
He looked at me.
“Nia, please.””
“No. You don't get to ask me to be quiet now.””
The director raised his hand.
“Miss Carter, please.””
I took a breath.
Then I opened my portfolio.
“There's another reason I know this design is mine.””
I placed my mother's original sketch on the table.
The judges leaned forward.
“This is a design from my mother's archive. She developed the original Monarch concept more than twenty years ago. I used her construction notes as inspiration, but the final gown is my own interpretation.””
Evelyn stood.
“I can confirm that.””
She held up the original photograph.
“This design was created by Elaine Carter. I worked with her personally.””
Brianna's face went pale.
Evelyn continued.
“Miss Brianna Carter's submission reproduces several elements from Elaine's unpublished collection. These are not coincidental similarities.””
The director turned toward Brianna.
“Can you provide original sketches or development materials?””
Brianna looked at Vanessa.
Vanessa whispered something.
Then Brianna said:
“I don't have them with me.””
Evelyn nodded.
“Then I suggest you stop making claims about ownership.””
The audience remained silent.
For a moment, I thought the matter was settled.
Then Brianna suddenly stood.
“That's not fair!””
The director looked at her.
“Please sit down.””
“No! Everyone is acting like Nia is some kind of genius because her mother was a designer!””
I stared at her.
She continued.
“She's only getting special treatment because Evelyn knew her mother!””
Evelyn's expression became icy.
“I knew your mother as well, Brianna. I know exactly how this situation developed.””
Vanessa stood.
“This is inappropriate. We should postpone the hearing.””
Evelyn turned toward her.
“Mrs. Carter, you have already had more than enough time to explain the unauthorized use of Elaine's designs.””
Vanessa froze.
I saw Dad's expression change.
He looked at Vanessa.
Then at Evelyn.
“What are you talking about?””
Evelyn opened a folder.
“Carter Creative Holdings has been presenting several of Elaine's archived designs as original commercial concepts.””
The room erupted in whispers.
Vanessa's face drained of color.
“That's a lie.””
Evelyn placed a signed transfer agreement on the table.
“Then perhaps you can explain this document.””
Vanessa stared at it.
I watched her fingers tighten around the back of her chair.
Because I recognized the signature at the bottom.
Richard Carter.
And beneath it was another signature.
Vanessa's.
But Evelyn wasn't finished.
She turned to the director.
“I also request that the committee hear a statement from the person who maintained Elaine Carter's original archive.””
The doors at the back of the ballroom opened.
A woman in her seventies walked inside, carrying a leather briefcase.
I recognized her from my mother's photographs.
May you like
It was my mother's former business attorney.
And she had something in that briefcase that could change everything.
