Chapter 3: What the Paper Said
Carla Voss did not reach for the paper immediately.
She looked at Nia first.
Then at Dessa.
Then she picked it up with both hands.
The second judge, a compact man named Roland Fitch who had spent thirty years in European fashion, leaned sideways to read over Carla's shoulder.
His expression didn't change.
That was how Nia knew he understood exactly what he was looking at.
The third judge, a younger woman named Priya Sandhu who had made her name in sustainable textiles, pressed two fingers to her lips.
Dessa hadn't moved.
She was still standing in the champagne gown, its silk panels catching the stage light, the delicate lattice of hand-stitched beading across the bodice glowing exactly the way Nia had always imagined it would.
She had imagined it because she had designed every inch of it.
"This is a timestamped design file," Carla said.
She was not asking.
"Yes," Nia said.
"Created fourteen months ago.
The file metadata shows the creation date, the editing history, and my studio's cloud storage address."
Carla set the paper down.
"And the original construction sketches?"
Nia's assistant, a quiet young man named Theo who had worked with her for three years, stepped forward and placed a second folder on the judges' table.
Inside were twelve pages.
Hand-drawn.
Dated.
The first sketch in the sequence showed the champagne gown in its earliest form — a rough outline, proportions noted in Nia's handwriting in the margins.
Roland lifted one page.
He tilted it toward the light.
"These margin notes," he said.
"The drape calculation on the left hip panel."
"That's my notation system," Nia said.
"I've used it since my first year at Parsons.
My former professors can confirm it."
Dessa's voice came out sharper than she intended.
"Anyone could have copied her style."
The room shifted.
Carla turned slowly.
"Ms.
Dessa.
You will have an opportunity to speak.
That moment is not now."
Dessa pressed her lips together.
Priya was still studying the sketches.
She picked up the page Roland had set down and held it next to the gown Dessa was wearing.
She looked between them twice.
Then she set the page back without a word.
She didn't need to say anything.
The look she exchanged with Roland said everything.
Nia stood quietly while this happened.
She had rehearsed many versions of this moment over the past three weeks.
In most of them, she had imagined herself feeling triumphant.
What she actually felt was something quieter and older than triumph.
Something closer to exhaustion finally being allowed to rest.
"Nia," Carla said, "how did these designs come to be in Ms.
Dessa's possession?"
"I don't know the full answer to that yet," Nia said.
"What I know is that six weeks ago, the external hard drive I used to store original project files went missing from my studio.
I filed a report with building security.
I have a copy of that report in the folder as well."
Theo placed a third page on the table.
Dessa made a sound.
It wasn't quite a word.
"She's fabricating a timeline," she said.
"This is a performance.
She lost the competition and now she's trying to—"
"Ms.
Dessa." Carla's voice did not rise.
It didn't need to.
"I will ask you one question, and I want you to think carefully before you answer it."
Dessa went still.
"Can you show us your original design file for this gown?
Not the final submission.
The working file.
With its full edit history?"
The silence that followed was the loudest thing Nia had ever heard inside a competition hall.
Dessa's hand moved toward her clutch.
Then stopped.
"I'd need to access my laptop," she said finally.
"Of course," Carla said.
"We'll wait."
But even as she said it, something in Carla's expression made clear that waiting was a courtesy, not a belief.
Dessa looked across the stage at Nia for the first time since the judges had begun speaking.
Her eyes were not angry.
They were calculating.
May you like
She was not thinking about the gown anymore.
She was thinking about what else Nia might have brought with her tonight.
