Chapter 4: The Woman Behind the Original Designs
The next morning, I arrived at the Bellamy Foundation carrying two boxes of documents.
Maya walked beside me.
Daniel followed with a leather folder under his arm.
The foundation's headquarters occupied a restored stone building in Manhattan. Its glass entrance reflected the morning sunlight, and inside, framed photographs displayed decades of celebrated designers.
I had imagined walking through those doors as a finalist.
Instead, I was walking into an investigation involving my own sister.
A receptionist led us to a conference room.
Eleanor Bellamy was waiting.
She was a woman in her late fifties with silver hair, sharp eyes, and the kind of quiet confidence that made everyone around her sit straighter.
"Nia," she said, standing.
"Thank you for meeting with us.""
She shook my hand.
"I've reviewed your application. Your work is impressive.""
I placed the boxes on the table.
"Thank you.""
She gestured toward the chairs.
"Let's begin.""
Daniel opened his folder.
"We have the original registration, sketches, photographs, purchase receipts, and timestamped correspondence documenting the gown's creation.""
Eleanor examined each item.
She studied the sketches for several minutes.
Then she looked at me.
"Your grandmother's name was Evelyn Carter?""
I nodded.
"Yes.""
"Was she a designer?""
"She designed privately. She never had a formal business.""
Eleanor looked toward Maya.
"Interesting.""
I frowned.
"Why?""
Eleanor stood and walked toward a cabinet.
She removed an old photograph from a file.
It showed a young woman standing beside a mannequin.
The woman wore a simple white dress.
Its waist was decorated with red flowers.
My breath caught.
"That's my grandmother.""
Eleanor nodded.
"Your grandmother submitted a design to the Bellamy Foundation almost thirty years ago.""
I stared at the photograph.
"What?""
"She didn't win. But her work was remarkable.""
Eleanor placed the photograph beside my sketch.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
The same flowers.
The same placement.
The same delicate leaves climbing toward the shoulders.
I looked at her.
"I've never seen this photograph.""
"Your grandmother withdrew her application before the final judging.""
"Why?""
Eleanor hesitated.
"She claimed someone had stolen her original sketches.""
I felt the room shift around me.
"Who?""
Eleanor opened another file.
"Her business partner.""
I swallowed.
"Who was that?""
She turned the page.
The name was written clearly.
Denise Carter.
My mother.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Maya leaned forward.
"Are you certain?""
Eleanor nodded.
"Your mother and grandmother were listed as joint collaborators on the original submission. But the foundation received a formal complaint from Evelyn Carter accusing Denise of taking credit for the collection.""
I stared at the photograph.
My grandmother had designed the original gown.
My mother had been involved.
And somehow, the story had been buried.
"Why didn't my grandmother continue?"" I asked.
Eleanor closed the file.
"She withdrew after a disagreement over ownership. I don't know the details.""
I touched the photograph.
"She never told me.""
"Perhaps she wanted to protect you.""
I looked at the red flowers.
For years, I had believed the design was my own interpretation of my grandmother's stories.
I had never known that she had created something almost identical.
But I had not copied her.
I had built the gown from childhood memories, sketches, and my own imagination.
And now I understood why my father had hidden those documents.
He had wanted me to know the truth.
Eleanor sat down.
"There's something else you should see.""
She opened Brianna's application on her laptop.
The screen displayed a designer biography.
Brianna Carter has spent years preserving the creative legacy of her grandmother, Evelyn Carter, whose forgotten designs inspired a new generation of couture.
I felt sick.
She wasn't simply stealing my work.
She was stealing my grandmother's history.
Eleanor continued.
"Your sister claims she inherited the original designs and that you copied them without permission.""
Daniel leaned forward.
"Do you have evidence supporting that claim?""
"She submitted a handwritten letter.""
Eleanor printed a copy.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It belonged to my mother.
The letter stated that Brianna had been given access to Evelyn's private design archive and had spent years studying her grandmother's work.
I stared at the page.
"That's a lie.""
Eleanor nodded.
"Can you prove it?""
I thought about the old photographs my father had shown me.
The boxes in his workshop.
The stories about my grandmother.
Then I remembered something.
"My father kept an old storage cabinet in his garage.""
Maya turned toward me.
"What cabinet?""
"He used to say it contained things nobody else in the family needed to see.""
Daniel leaned forward.
"Do you still have access to it?""
"Yes. The garage is part of the property he left me.""
Eleanor folded her hands.
"Then I suggest you look there.""
I gathered the documents.
Before we left, Eleanor stopped me.
"Nia?""
I turned.
"Yes?""
"Your gown is still eligible for judging, provided you can establish its ownership and authenticity.""
I nodded.
"Thank you.""
"But I need to warn you. Your sister has requested an emergency review.""
"What does that mean?""
"Both of you may be asked to present your work before the judging committee.""
Maya frowned.
"When?""
"Tomorrow evening.""
I looked at the photograph of my grandmother one last time.
Tomorrow evening.
The same night as the charity gala.
The same night Brianna planned to announce her fashion collection.
I almost smiled.
"Then we'll be there.""
When we returned to the studio, Maya helped me inspect the damaged gown.
The cut lining could be repaired.
But the original hidden compartment was gone.
I carefully removed the remaining stitches.
A tiny folded piece of paper slipped out.
It was trapped beneath the embroidered leaves.
I opened it.
Three words were written in my father's handwriting.
Check the blue cabinet.
My heart began racing.
I grabbed my keys.
Maya looked at me.
"What?""
"My father's garage.""
We drove straight to the property.
The garage had not been used since his death.
Dust covered the workbench.
Old tools hung from the walls.
And in the far corner stood a blue metal cabinet.
I knelt in front of it.
The lock was old.
I tried the silver key from my pendant.
It turned.
Inside were several boxes of photographs, folders, and a small leather journal.
I picked up the journal.
The first page contained my grandmother's handwriting.
To my granddaughter, Nia.
My eyes filled with tears.
I turned the page.
If you are reading this, your father finally found a way to tell you the truth.
I swallowed.
The next paragraph was underlined twice.
The Carter name was built on a lie. Your mother knows what happened to my collection. But there is one person who knows the entire story.
A name appeared at the bottom of the page.
Margaret Hayes.
I recognized it.
She had been my grandmother's closest friend.
And she was still alive.
Maya leaned over my shoulder.
"Do you know her?""
I nodded slowly.
"She lives outside Boston.""
I turned another page.
A small photograph was tucked inside.
It showed my grandmother, my father, and a little girl standing in front of a fashion studio.
The girl was Brianna.
But the photograph was dated twenty-nine years earlier.
I frowned.
That was impossible.
Brianna was only twenty-three.
I turned the photograph over.
My grandmother had written something on the back.
The first Carter girl who inherited the truth.
Then I noticed the handwriting beneath it.
My father's.
Margaret knows why Denise has spent her entire life protecting Brianna.
I looked at Maya.
"Something is wrong.""
Before she could answer, my phone rang.
It was my mother.
I answered.
Her voice was trembling with anger.
"Where are you?""
"Why?""
"Your sister just received a call from the foundation.""
I said nothing.
"They've requested an emergency meeting.""
"I know.""
"Whatever you've told them, take it back.""
I looked at the photograph.
"Why, Mom?""
Silence.
May you like
Then she whispered something I had never expected to hear.
"Because if Margaret Hayes talks, Brianna will lose everything.""
