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Carla’s face had gone pale.
No one was laughing anymore.
The truth Carla never understood
The man finally stepped onto the stage.
He took the microphone from the principal, who was too stunned to stop him.
“My name is Victor Hale,” he said. “I’m a fashion curator. I was once part of the team your mother worked with.”
He turned toward me.
“She was one of the most talented designers we ever had.”
My throat tightened.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
“She didn’t want you to,” he replied gently.
That hit harder than anything else.
He lowered his voice.
“She left because she was being pressured to sell her work under someone else’s name.”
A murmur rippled through the room again.
Victor looked directly toward the audience.
“And that pressure didn’t come from strangers.”
His gaze shifted.
And landed on Carla.
For the first time that night, Carla wasn’t smiling.
Victor continued calmly.
“I recognize that woman,” he said. “She worked briefly in corporate distribution for one of our sponsors years ago.”
Carla’s face twitched.
“That’s not—” she started.
But he raised a hand.
“I also recognize her involvement in handling unauthorized design assets that belonged to independent creators.”
The gym went completely silent.
My pulse roared in my ears.
Carla stepped forward angrily.
“This is ridiculous—this is a school event!”
