Chapter 5
I left the ballroom with Thomas and called Tasha again.
This time, she answered with a file already open on her computer.
"The camera captured someone entering through the rear door," she said. "The face isn't clear, but the person used your access code."
"Did they take anything?"
"Your old sketchbook is missing. So is the folder containing your early collection plans."
I gripped my phone.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I thought you'd moved them."
I closed my eyes.
Those weren't ordinary papers.
They contained the earliest versions of several designs I had spent years refining. Some were rough, but others showed the development of my signature techniques.
If someone wanted to claim my work as their own, those pages would be valuable.
"Save everything," I told her. "Don't delete a single recording."
"I already backed it up."
I thanked her and returned to Thomas.
He listened carefully.
"If your sister accessed your studio without permission, that could be significant," he said. "But we need evidence connecting her to the missing materials."
"Can the camera identify her?"
"Possibly. Don't confront her again until we know more."
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I nodded.
For once, I understood that anger alone wouldn't protect me.
When we returned to the ballroom, Vanessa was standing near the stage.
She had taken the microphone.
"I'd like to thank everyone for supporting our family tonight," she announced. "It's wonderful to see people celebrating creativity and ambition."
Guests applauded politely.
Then she looked directly at me.
"Of course, ambition should always be matched by honesty."
The room fell quiet.
My mother stood abruptly.
"Vanessa, put the microphone down."
But Vanessa continued.
"I believe every designer deserves recognition for their own work. No one should profit from ideas that don't belong to them."
Whispers spread through the crowd.
I felt humiliation burn across my face.
She wasn't merely trying to damage my application anymore.
She wanted everyone to believe I was a fraud.
I walked toward the stage.
"Then let's talk about honesty."
Vanessa's eyes widened slightly.
I took the microphone from the stand.
"I have spent years developing my designs. I have sketches, receipts, photographs, and records showing how every piece was created."
Someone near the front nodded.
I continued.
"If anyone has a legitimate concern, I welcome an independent review. But I will not stand here and allow someone to destroy my work and then accuse me of stealing it."
The room remained silent.
Vanessa's face turned red.
"You're making a scene."
"No. I'm answering your accusation."
She reached for the microphone.
I stepped back.
"You wanted everyone to hear your version. Now they can hear mine."
For the first time, I saw uncertainty spread through the crowd.
Denise moved beside me.
"I've reviewed Nia's records," she announced. "Her documentation is extensive, and I see no reason to accept an unverified allegation as fact."
Vanessa looked as if she had been slapped.
Aunt Patricia rushed toward us.
"This is ridiculous. Vanessa would never do something like that."
My mother turned to her.
"Then she should have no problem cooperating with an investigation."
Patricia stopped.
I looked at my mother, stunned by the firmness in her voice.
She had finally chosen truth over peace.
Thomas approached the stage and quietly asked the event coordinator to preserve any relevant messages or documents.
Vanessa lowered her voice.
"You have no idea what you're doing."
I looked at her.
"I think I finally do."
She pushed past us and disappeared into the corridor.
A moment later, my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of one of my missing sketches.
Beneath it were six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THIS ALONE.
My hands went cold.
I showed Thomas.
He read the message twice.
"Don't respond," he said. "Save it."
Then my phone vibrated again.
This time, the message contained a second photograph.
It showed a design I had never released publicly.
May you like
Someone had copied it almost exactly.
And in the corner of the photograph, I recognized the distinctive burgundy fabric Vanessa had been wearing when she entered my sewing room.
