Chapter 2: The Design They Tried to Erase
I didn't sleep that night.
I sat on the floor of my sewing room with the ruined gown spread across my mother's old cutting table.
The silver embroidery lay tangled across the fabric like broken branches.
I kept finding tiny pearls in the carpet.
Every time I picked one up, I remembered my mother sitting beside me, teaching me how to attach them one by one.
"Never rush the final stitch, sweetheart," she'd once told me.
"That's the stitch people remember.""
I pressed one of the pearls into my palm.
Then I heard footsteps.
My father stood in the doorway.
"Olivia?""
I didn't look up.
"Did you know?""
"Know what?""
"That Brianna submitted my design.""
He hesitated.
That hesitation told me everything.
"Richard?""
He walked into the room and closed the door.
"Vanessa said Brianna had been working on a similar concept.""
"Similar?""
I finally looked at him.
"She submitted photographs of my actual dress.""
He rubbed his jaw.
"I haven't seen the submission.""
"Then come look.""
I handed him the photograph.
He studied it for several seconds.
"I'll talk to Vanessa.""
"No. You're going to talk to Brianna.""
"Olivia, this is a family matter.""
I laughed bitterly.
"My scholarship is a family matter now?""
He looked uncomfortable.
"Nobody wants to hurt you.""
"Then why did nobody stop her?""
He had no answer.
I turned back to the dress.
After a long silence, he said, "Your mother would want you to handle this gracefully.""
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
"My mother would never have allowed someone to steal her daughter's work.""
His expression tightened.
"Don't bring your mother into this.""
"Why? Because she wouldn't agree with you?""
He left without answering.
At seven the next morning, I went downstairs and found Vanessa making breakfast.
Brianna sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through her phone.
She was wearing a cream sweater and gold earrings.
On her phone screen was a photograph of herself standing beside my unfinished gown.
The caption read:
Four months of passion. One dream. Can't wait to show the world what I've created.
I stopped walking.
"Take that down.""
Brianna looked up.
"Good morning to you too.""
"That's my work.""
She took a sip of coffee.
"Prove it.""
"I have sketches. Process photographs. Fabric receipts. Videos of me making every section.""
Vanessa placed a plate on the counter.
"Olivia, you're embarrassing yourself.""
I turned toward her.
"How can you say that?""
"Because Brianna has an opportunity here. She has been invited to participate in the scholarship showcase.""
I stared at her.
"She stole my submission.""
Vanessa sighed as though I were a difficult child.
"Your father and I discussed it. Brianna needs a fresh start. She's been struggling to find her direction.""
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"So you decided to give her mine?""
"Watch your tone.""
"Watch your daughter.""
Brianna slammed her phone down.
"You're just jealous because people finally want to see my work!""
"Your work?""
I pointed toward the upstairs sewing room.
"Show me one original sketch. One. Show me one photograph of you making that gown.""
Brianna stood.
"You don't get to interrogate me.""
"Then stop pretending you designed it.""
Vanessa moved between us.
"Richard has already handled the registration.""
I went completely still.
"What registration?""
She looked at Brianna.
A tiny exchange passed between them.
Then Vanessa smiled.
"Nothing you need to worry about.""
I grabbed my bag and left.
I went straight to the local print shop where I'd printed my original portfolio months earlier.
I had backups of everything.
Every sketch was dated.
Every design revision was documented.
Every photograph showed my hands working on the gown.
I also had something else.
A video.
Four months earlier, I'd recorded myself explaining the concept behind The Unbroken Thread. In the background, my mother's old sewing machine was visible, along with the distinctive blue floral curtains in my sewing room.
The video was timestamped.
I copied everything onto two flash drives.
Then I contacted the scholarship organizers.
A woman named Hannah answered.
"Monroe Emerging Designer Award. How may I help you?""
"My name is Olivia Bennett. I'm a finalist. I need to report a serious intellectual property violation involving another entrant.""
There was a pause.
"Can you explain what happened?""
I told her everything.
Hannah's tone became more serious.
"Do you have evidence that the design is yours?""
"Four months of documented progress.""
"Send it to our compliance department immediately. Please don't contact the other contestant about the matter again.""
"Can you guarantee my entry won't be disqualified?""
"We'll review the evidence, Ms. Bennett.""
I emailed everything.
For the first time in two days, I felt a little hope.
Then my phone rang.
It was Brianna.
I answered.
"What?""
Her voice was unusually sweet.
"Olivia, I think we should talk.""
"About what?""
"About the dress.""
"There is nothing to discuss.""
"Actually, there is. Mom says we can work something out.""
I closed my eyes.
"You're going to withdraw your submission?""
She laughed softly.
"Don't be ridiculous.""
"Then what do you want?""
"Your sketches.""
I stopped walking.
"What?""
"Your original design sketches. The ones with the measurements and construction details.""
"Why would I give you those?""
"Because I can't present the dress properly without them.""
I almost laughed.
"You stole my gown, and now you want my sketches too?""
"Don't be selfish. We're family.""
"No.""
Her voice sharpened.
"Fine. Then don't blame me when Dad finds out what you did.""
"What I did?""
"You know, the documents you signed.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"What documents?""
She hung up.
I immediately called my father.
He didn't answer.
I tried again.
This time, Vanessa picked up.
"Olivia, your father is busy.""
"Ask him what Brianna meant by documents I signed.""
Silence.
Then Vanessa said, "You really should stop creating problems for this family.""
I ended the call.
Something was happening behind my back.
And I was beginning to suspect the dress was only one piece of it.
That afternoon, I returned home and found a large envelope on my bed.
Inside was a copy of my scholarship application.
My name appeared at the top.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Except I had never signed that version.
The document authorized the submission of my design materials under a different entrant's name, with a clause transferring certain presentation rights.
I read it twice.
Then three times.
My signature looked convincing.
But there was something wrong with it.
The final stroke of the letter B was too short.
I had always signed my name with a long, looping final stroke.
Someone had copied it.
I took photographs and sent them to Hannah.
Her response came less than ten minutes later.
Olivia, please do not sign or acknowledge this document. We have escalated your complaint to the lead judge.
I stared at the message.
The lead judge.
Elise Monroe.
I knew her reputation.
She had built a fashion empire from a small tailoring business and was famous for recognizing emerging talent.
But she was also known for being ruthless about dishonesty.
I returned to the kitchen.
Vanessa was speaking on the phone.
"...everything is already in place," she whispered.
"Once the presentation is finished, there won't be anything Olivia can do.""
She noticed me and immediately ended the call.
"Can I help you?""
I placed the forged document on the counter.
"Who signed this?""
Vanessa glanced at it.
"Your father handled the paperwork.""
"That's not my signature.""
She picked up her glass of water.
"Well, it certainly looks like yours.""
"Who forged it?""
"Be careful with accusations.""
Brianna walked in wearing a new outfit.
She looked at the document and smiled.
"What's wrong, Olivia? Don't recognize your own signature?""
I stepped toward her.
"Did you do this?""
She leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume.
"You're going to lose everything, and nobody will believe you.""
Then she straightened her jacket.
"By the way, my presentation is tomorrow morning.""
She walked past me.
Vanessa followed.
But before leaving, she turned around and said something I couldn't understand at first.
"Your father has already made his choice.""
I stood alone in the kitchen.
Then my phone vibrated.
An email from the scholarship committee.
*Subject: Mandatory Review — Ownership Dispute and Original Registration Documents.*
The message contained one final sentence.
Ms. Bennett, please bring your original design records to the competition. Judge Elise Monroe has personally requested your presence.
I read it again.
And again.
May you like
Why would Elise Monroe personally request to see me?
And what did she know about my father's signature?
