Chapter 7: The Dress That Was Never Supposed to Exist
My mother didn't speak for almost a minute.
She stood in Helena's office, staring at the photograph of the thirteenth dress as if she were looking at a ghost.
The dress was turquoise, but darker than mine. Its bodice was covered in intricate silver embroidery, and its skirt flowed into a train that appeared to contain hundreds of tiny handwritten symbols.
It was beautiful.
It was also unmistakably familiar.
The neckline resembled the gown I had just presented at the competition.
The train had the same dramatic shape.
But there was something different about it.
Something hidden.
"Mom," I said quietly.
"What is that dress?""
Margaret finally turned away from the screen.
"Your grandmother's final design.""
Camille crossed her arms.
"Then why did you say it wasn't supposed to exist?""
My mother sat down.
"Because Evelyn destroyed it.""
Helena frowned.
"Destroyed it?""
"That's what she told me.""
My mother looked at the photograph again.
"Six months before she died, your grandmother was working on a collection she called The Thirteenth Hour. She said it would be her final statement as a designer.""
I stepped closer to the screen.
"Why thirteen?""
"Because there were supposed to be thirteen designs. Twelve were already registered in the archive. The last one was different.""
"Different how?""
My mother swallowed.
"It contained the original documents proving who created the collection.""
I stared at her.
"Documents inside a dress?""
"Your grandmother had a habit of hiding important things in unusual places. She didn't trust filing cabinets anymore.""
Helena leaned forward.
"Do you know where she kept it?""
My mother shook her head.
"She said she had destroyed it after Daniel discovered what she was doing.""
Camille looked toward the auction listing.
"Then how does Dad have it?""
Nobody answered.
The room seemed suddenly colder.
Helena picked up her phone.
"I'll contact the auction house.""
She dialed a number and paced toward the window.
I could hear her speaking in a firm voice.
"Yes, this is Helena Brooks. I'm calling regarding the Carter collection scheduled for tomorrow. I need an immediate hold placed on the thirteenth item.""
She listened.
Then her expression changed.
"Who authorized the sale?""
Another pause.
"Daniel Carter?""
She closed her eyes.
"Understood.""
When she ended the call, she turned toward us.
"The auction house has received a certificate of ownership signed by your father.""
My mother shook her head.
"He can't sell that collection.""
"They're relying on the documents he provided.""
"But those documents are fraudulent.""
Helena nodded.
"Which means we need to prove it before the auction begins.""
I looked at the photograph.
"Then we find the dress.""
My mother turned toward me.
"Nia, you don't understand. If that gown contains what I think it does, Daniel will do anything to keep it from being examined.""
I looked at the turquoise crystal Helena had given me.
"Then we shouldn't give him time.""
We spent the afternoon searching Grandma's old studio.
The building had been sold years earlier, but my mother still had a key to the storage room behind the main workshop.
It was a narrow space filled with dusty boxes, broken mannequins, and old fabric rolls.
The smell of cedar wood and aging cotton brought back memories.
I remembered sitting beneath the worktable while Grandma stitched elaborate patterns.
I remembered her teaching me how to thread a needle.
And I remembered the way she used to tap my fingers whenever I rushed.
"Beautiful work takes patience, sweetheart.""
My mother opened a cardboard box.
"These are the remaining archive records.""
Camille lifted a bundle of old photographs.
"Why did Grandma keep all this?""
"Because she believed someone would eventually need it.""
I examined the shelves.
There were old pattern books, fabric samples, and dozens of wooden sewing boxes.
Then I noticed something.
A small turquoise thread was tied around the handle of a drawer.
I pulled it open.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
The handwriting was familiar.
When the ocean disappears, follow the stars.
I read it twice.
"Mom?""
She came over.
Her face changed when she saw the note.
"That's Evelyn's handwriting.""
"What does it mean?""
My mother took the paper.
Then she looked toward the ceiling.
"She used to say that when she wanted us to find something.""
Camille frowned.
"Follow the stars?""
I looked around.
The studio windows were covered in dust.
But on the wall behind the main worktable were faint marks.
Small silver stars.
Thirteen of them.
I counted.
Twelve were arranged in a circle.
The thirteenth was positioned slightly apart.
I walked toward it.
Behind the star was a small wooden panel.
I pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Then Camille noticed a tiny brass screw.
"Wait.""
She removed a hairpin from her purse and carefully loosened the screw.
The panel opened.
Inside was a narrow compartment containing an old cassette recorder and a folded envelope.
My mother gasped.
"That's Evelyn's.""
I picked up the envelope.
It had three names written across the front.
MARGARET.
DANIEL.
EVELYN.
And beneath them, in smaller handwriting:
For the three people who know what really happened.
I looked at my mother.
"Should we open it?""
She nodded.
I carefully unfolded the letter.
Margaret, if you are reading this, then Daniel has found the final dress.
My mother covered her mouth.
I continued.
I know he will try to sell it. He has always believed that everything beautiful can be turned into money.
But the final dress was never made for an auction.
It was made to tell the truth.
I turned the page.
There was a drawing of the thirteenth gown.
At the bottom was a small instruction.
The original contract is hidden beneath the left shoulder seam. The recording is inside the lining.
My mother sat down heavily.
"The contract.""
Camille looked at her.
"Mom, what contract?""
My mother stared at the letter.
"The real agreement. The one your father never wanted anyone to see.""
I picked up the cassette recorder.
A handwritten label was attached.
*EVELYN — FINAL TESTIMONY.*
Before I could press play, my phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
Unknown number.
Stop looking for the dress.
Another message followed.
Your father knows where you are.
Then the studio's front door slammed.
Camille turned sharply.
"Did someone come in?""
My mother stood.
I heard footsteps approaching the hallway.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then a man's voice spoke.
"Girls, I think it's time we stopped playing detective.""
My father stepped into the room.
And in his hand was the original sewing box.
The one Grandma had given me.
Daniel placed the wooden box on the table.
"Interesting place to spend an afternoon.""
I stood between him and the hidden compartment.
"What do you want?""
He glanced at the cassette recorder.
"That belongs to me.""
"No, it doesn't.""
He smiled.
"Everything in this studio was purchased by Carter Atelier.""
My mother stepped forward.
"Not the archive.""
Daniel looked at her.
"Margaret, don't start.""
"You knew about the thirteenth dress.""
He sighed.
"Of course I knew.""
Camille stared at him.
"You told me Grandma destroyed it.""
"She did.""
"Then where is it?""
Daniel looked at the photograph on the tablet.
"Your grandmother was sentimental. She made another version after the original collection was completed.""
I shook my head.
"Why are you selling it?""
"Because it has value.""
"It's evidence.""
His smile disappeared.
He reached for the cassette recorder.
I moved it behind my back.
"Don't touch that.""
His eyes hardened.
"Nia, I have been patient with you.""
I stared at him.
"You have never been patient with me. You've just expected me to be quiet.""
He stepped closer.
"You're a child. You don't understand what you're interfering with.""
"I'm old enough to recognize a stolen design.""
My father looked at Camille.
"Are you going to let her speak to me like that?""
Camille didn't move.
He looked genuinely surprised.
"Camille?""
She lifted her chin.
"Tell us where the dress is.""
Daniel laughed.
"You're both making a terrible mistake.""
He picked up the wooden sewing box and walked toward the door.
Then he stopped.
Without turning around, he said:
"The auction is tomorrow at noon. If you want to see the dress again, you'd better be there.""
He left.
My mother rushed to the door.
"Daniel!""
But he was already gone.
I looked at the empty space where the sewing box had been.
Then I looked down at the cassette recorder.
The cassette was still inside.
I pressed PLAY.
Static filled the room.
Then my grandmother's voice emerged.
"Margaret, if Daniel has taken the final dress, there is only one thing you must understand.""
A pause.
Then she whispered:
"The person who signed the false contract wasn't Daniel.""
My mother stopped breathing.
Grandma continued.
"It was someone who loved me enough to destroy my life.""
May you like
The recording clicked.
And ended.
