Chapter 5: The Contract I Never Signed
The following morning, I walked into Bennett Atelier carrying a folder full of evidence and wearing the midnight-sapphire gown beneath a long black coat.
I hadn't planned to wear it.
But when I stood in front of my wardrobe, I realized I wanted Vanessa to see exactly what she had failed to destroy.
The gown moved around my legs as I crossed the polished lobby.
Everything about the building was designed to impress.
Marble floors.
Brass elevator doors.
Framed photographs of models wearing garments that had appeared in international fashion magazines.
A reception desk made from dark walnut stood beneath a chandelier that looked like a frozen waterfall.
The company's logo was engraved in gold on the wall behind it.
BENNETT ATELIER.
For years, I had admired the company from a distance.
I had read interviews with its creative director.
I had studied its runway collections.
I had even used some of its older campaigns as inspiration when learning how to build my own portfolio.
I hadn't realized that the woman behind those campaigns might have been preparing to take my work.
The receptionist looked up.
“Good morning. Do you have an appointment?””
“Yes. With Vanessa Bennett.””
“Your name?””
“Nia Bennett.””
Her fingers paused over the keyboard.
“Are you related to Mrs. Bennett?””
“I'm her stepdaughter.””
The receptionist's expression changed.
“I'm afraid she's in a meeting.””
“Then I'll wait.””
I took a seat beside the window.
Three minutes later, the elevator opened, and Maya emerged wearing a tailored gray suit.
She stopped when she saw me.
“What are you doing here?””
I stood.
“Looking for the contract I supposedly signed.””
Her face drained of color.
“You shouldn't be here.””
“That's becoming a familiar sentence.””
Maya glanced toward the reception desk.
“Can we talk somewhere private?””
“Why? So you can tell me another story about how stealing my work is helping me?””
She flinched.
“Keep your voice down.””
I pulled the folder from beneath my arm.
“I found the document you submitted to the competition. It claims I transferred my designs to Bennett Atelier.””
Maya looked at the folder.
Then at the sapphire gown.
“Where did you get that?””
“The design?””
Her eyes flickered.
I smiled without humor.
“You know where I got it.””
Maya stepped closer.
“Listen to me. You don't understand what you're getting into.””
“Then explain it.””
She glanced at the elevator.
“Not here.””
“Fine. Tell me what was in the drawer beneath my sewing machine.””
Her lips parted.
Before she could answer, the elevator doors opened again.
Vanessa stepped out.
She wore a fitted cream suit, pearl earrings, and the expression of a woman who had already decided how a conversation would end.
When she saw us, her eyes moved from Maya to the folder in my hand.
Then to the sapphire gown.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Finally, she smiled.
“Nia. What a surprise.””
“I need to see the contract claiming I signed over my designs.””
Her smile remained in place.
“Of course you do.””
She turned toward the receptionist.
“Please hold my calls.””
Then she gestured toward the elevator.
“Come upstairs.””
I followed her and Maya to the executive floor.
The elevator opened onto a quiet corridor lined with glass offices.
Through one window, I could see a team of designers working around a large table covered in fabric swatches.
Another room contained a row of mannequins dressed in unfinished eveningwear.
At the end of the hall stood Vanessa's office.
She opened the door and walked behind her desk.
Maya remained near the entrance.
I placed my folder on the desk.
“Show me the agreement.””
Vanessa sat down.
“Before we begin, I want you to understand that this company has invested considerable time and resources in developing your talent.””
I stared at her.
“You've never invested a dollar in my studio.””
“We've provided opportunities.””
“You destroyed my gown.””
“Your gown was an unfortunate casualty of a disagreement.””
“You threw it into a trash bin.””
“And yet you managed to produce another one.””
She glanced at my sapphire skirt.
“I must admit, it's impressive.””
I hated that a small part of me still wanted her approval.
I hated even more that she knew it.
“Where is the contract?”” I asked.
Vanessa opened a drawer and removed a thick document folder.
She placed it on the desk.
“Here.””
I opened it.
The first page was a licensing agreement dated April 20.
The document stated that I had agreed to transfer exclusive rights to a collection of designs to Bennett Atelier in exchange for a payment of ten thousand dollars.
My name appeared beneath the signature line.
Nia Bennett.
The signature looked like mine.
The capital N curved in the right direction.
The final stroke of the t resembled the way I signed invoices.
But I had never signed this document.
I turned to the next page.
There was a list of designs included in the agreement.
The lilac gown.
A sapphire evening dress.
A sculpted black jumpsuit.
A series of embroidered jackets.
Every single one had come from my private sketchbooks.
I turned another page.
The contract included a clause stating that the company could assign the designs to any affiliated designer.
Maya's name appeared in an appendix.
I looked up.
“You forged my signature.””
Vanessa folded her hands.
“That's a serious accusation.””
“Then explain how this document exists.””
“You signed a preliminary release when you were younger. This agreement simply formalizes the arrangement.””
“When?””
“Years ago.””
“Show me the original release.””
Vanessa's expression tightened.
“I don't have it with me.””
“Then how do you know it exists?””
“Because I know what my company has done.””
I turned the contract toward her.
“This signature isn't mine.””
“It's very close.””
The words came out too easily.
For a second, nobody moved.
Maya stared at her mother.
I slowly looked up.
“What did you say?””
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
“I said the document was prepared using the signature on your old invoices.””
“That doesn't make it mine.””
“It was done to protect the company's investment.””
“You stole my designs.””
“We developed them.””
“You took them from my studio.””
Vanessa stood.
“Do you have any idea how much money it costs to develop a collection? How much it costs to secure suppliers, arrange fittings, pay models, and market a designer?””
“I paid for my own fabric.””
“And who do you think gave you access to professional workrooms?””
“You did, because you wanted me to make Maya's dresses.””
Maya finally spoke.
“Mom, stop.””
Vanessa turned sharply.
“Don't interfere.””
“But you said Nia had agreed to the contract.””
“She did agree to the arrangement.””
“No, she didn't.””
The silence that followed was absolute.
I looked at Maya.
She had gone pale.
Vanessa's voice dropped.
“Go downstairs.””
Maya shook her head.
“Mom—”
“Now.””
For once, Maya didn't obey.
She looked at me, then at the contract.
“I thought you knew,” she whispered.
I felt something inside me break.
“Knew what?””
Maya's eyes filled.
“Mom told me you had agreed to let the company use your designs. She said you didn't want the attention and that you'd rather work behind the scenes.””
I stared at her.
“And you believed her?””
“She showed me the agreement.””
“So you stole my notebook to help her?””
Maya's face crumpled.
“I didn't know she was going to destroy the gown.””
“But you knew she was using my work.””
She looked down.
“Yes.””
The admission was quiet.
It was also the first honest thing I had heard from her in years.
I closed the folder.
“How long have you known?””
Maya wiped her cheek.
“Since last month.””
“And the key?””
She looked at Vanessa.
Her mother didn't move.
Maya took a breath.
“Mom gave it to me.””
Vanessa slammed her palm against the desk.
“That's enough.””
“No,” I said.
“It's not.””
I opened my folder and removed the photograph of the competition submission.
“This scan came from my missing notebook. It contains your company letterhead and a reference to a proposed transfer of design assets. I want to know what that means.””
Vanessa glanced at the photograph.
For the first time, her composure faltered.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“Where did you get this?””
“From the competition's records.””
She reached for the photograph.
I pulled it away.
“Don't touch it.””
Her eyes hardened.
“You have no idea what you're accusing me of.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
Vanessa walked around the desk.
“The truth is that you have been given every opportunity to become part of this family, and you've spent years resenting the person who actually knows how to succeed.””
I stared at her.
“Is that what you tell yourself when you take something that belongs to me?””
“Your mother left you nothing useful.””
The words struck with such cruelty that for a moment I couldn't breathe.
Vanessa continued.
“You have a sentimental attachment to scraps of fabric and old notebooks. Maya understands the business. She understands how to turn an idea into something profitable.””
“My mother taught me to make things.””
“And what has that ever earned you?””
I thought of the gown on my body.
The applause in the competition hall.
The judge who had praised my construction.
The years of work Vanessa had dismissed as worthless.
I straightened.
“More than you seem to understand.””
I picked up the folder.
“You have until the end of the day to provide the original agreement, the payment record, and every document showing how you acquired my designs.””
Vanessa laughed.
“Or what?””
“Or I'll give the evidence to the competition, my lawyer, and every publication that has ever featured Bennett Atelier.””
Her laughter stopped.
Maya looked at me with something like disbelief.
“You'd really do that?””
I turned toward her.
“You stood beside Mom while she destroyed my gown. You accepted a finalist certificate for my work. You let me believe I had lost everything because I wasn't good enough.””
My voice shook, but I didn't look away.
“So yes, Maya. I'd really do that.””
I walked out.
Neither of them followed me.
In the elevator, I called Rachel and told her what I had found.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said, “Nia, don't send that contract to anyone else yet. We need to verify the documents and preserve the originals.””
“I have photographs.””
“Good. Keep them backed up.””
“Do you believe me?””
Rachel answered immediately.
“I believe the evidence deserves a proper investigation.””
It wasn't the promise I wanted.
But it was enough to keep me moving.
When I reached the lobby, my phone buzzed with an email from an unfamiliar address.
The subject line read:
*YOUR MOTHER'S FINAL DESIGN.*
My fingers went numb.
I opened the message.
There was no greeting.
No explanation.
Only a photograph of an old cream envelope resting on a wooden table.
My mother's name was written across the front in her handwriting.
Beneath it, someone had typed a single sentence.
If you want to know why Vanessa needed your designs, ask her what happened to the original Blue Room collection.
I read the sentence three times.
Then I noticed the date in the corner of the photograph.
The envelope had been mailed eleven years earlier.
May you like
The year my mother died.
And the return address belonged to a lawyer whose name I had never heard before.
