Chapter 6 - They Stole the Dream She Built for Her Mother
Emily stared at the competition website.
Her name appeared above a design she'd never created.
The building was a disaster.
The entrances were too narrow.
The apartments had almost no natural light.
Several rooms didn't even have proper access to the central staircase.
The design was everything Emily had spent three years learning not to do.
And it had been submitted under her name.
Jasmine looked at her.
"Emily, we need to tell Professor Anderson."
Emily shook her head.
"He'll think I did it."
"Why would he think that?"
"Because it's my account."
Jasmine leaned forward.
"Someone can use your account without your permission. That doesn't make it your work."
Emily looked at the screen again.
The competition offered a fifteen-thousand-dollar educational award, a summer internship with a respected architecture firm, and the opportunity to have the winning design featured at a regional housing conference.
For Emily, it was more than a competition.
It was her chance to begin the career she'd dreamed about since childhood.
She had spent six months developing the Porch Project.
Six months researching affordable housing.
Six months interviewing working families.
Six months asking her mother what she wished their old apartment had been like.
Margaret's answer had been simple.
"A porch."
Emily had laughed.
"That's it?"
"Somewhere I could sit after work. Somewhere you could play when you were little."
She'd smiled sadly.
"Somewhere that felt like ours."
So Emily had designed a small residential community with shared green spaces, affordable materials, accessible ground-floor units, and covered front porches.
Not luxury apartments.
Homes.
And now somebody had replaced her work with a deliberately terrible design.
Professor Anderson listened without interrupting.
Emily sat across from him with Jasmine beside her.
When they finished explaining, he examined the competition page.
"Do you have your original files?"
Emily nodded.
"On my laptop. And some earlier versions in cloud storage."
"Good. Don't overwrite anything."
He wrote down the submission time.
Then he contacted the competition administrator and the university's information technology department.
"I need an account access review and preservation of the relevant records," he explained.
Emily watched him.
"Professor?"
He looked up.
"What is it?"
"Am I going to be disqualified?"
"I don't know yet. But we're going to establish what happened and make sure the competition committee receives that information."
Emily pressed her lips together.
He continued.
"I won't be deciding the dispute myself. There's a separate committee for that. Your job right now is to preserve your original work."
She nodded.
Then he added, "And Emily?"
"Yes?"
"That housing design deserves to be evaluated on its merits."
For the first time that day, she managed a small smile.
That evening, Sophie helped Emily organize her files.
They found twenty-three previous versions of the Porch Project.
Sketches dated months earlier.
Research documents.
Cost estimates.
Building plans.
Photographs of the cardboard scale model she'd built in their dormitory.
Sophie held up one photograph.
"Remember when you made me spend four hours cutting tiny cardboard windows?"
Emily laughed weakly.
"You complained the entire time."
"Because you made me redo the same window seven times."
"It was crooked."
"It was three millimeters crooked!"
Emily smiled.
Then Sophie noticed the timestamp on the fraudulent submission.
"Em, look."
The false design had been uploaded at 2:14 a.m.
On the morning after the restroom attack.
Emily stared at it.
"I was with you."
"Exactly."
They'd been sitting in their dormitory when the video first appeared.
Sophie remembered every minute.
She'd brought Emily a cup of tea at two.
They'd spent the next hour reporting the video and saving threatening messages.
Emily hadn't opened the competition website.
The timing alone didn't prove who had changed the file.
But it gave the university a precise event to investigate.
The next morning, the competition administrator called.
She had reviewed the information Emily provided and contacted IT.
Their preliminary records showed an unusual login from a device and network location that didn't match Emily's recent activity.
The university was still investigating.
But the administrator had authorized a temporary hold on the disputed submission.
Emily would be allowed to provide her original project and supporting files for review under an account-compromise procedure.
She almost dropped the phone.
"So I can still compete?"
"Your eligibility is being preserved while we review the submission issue."
Emily covered her mouth.
"Thank you."
After hanging up, she called her mother.
"Mom?"
"Hi, sweetheart."
"They're letting me submit my real project."
Margaret laughed.
"Of course they are. You worked too hard on that thing."
Emily sat on her bed.
"I thought I'd lost it."
"I know, baby."
Margaret paused.
"But your dream is bigger than one competition."
Emily smiled.
"That's easy for you to say."
"You're right. I've never had to cut seventy-six little cardboard windows."
Emily burst out laughing.
Meanwhile, the university investigation was taking an unexpected turn.
Tyler's attorney had arranged to provide relevant preserved messages through the appropriate process.
Those messages documented weeks of discussions about Emily.
They also showed that Brandon had encouraged Tyler to record the restroom incident.
But one conversation caught the investigator's attention.
It took place the night before the fraudulent competition submission.
Kyle had written:
I still have access to her school stuff.
Brandon replied:
Then make sure her big project doesn't win anything.
The investigators did not assume that the messages alone established who had altered the competition file.
But they provided a specific lead.
IT began comparing the login records against available device and network information.
Kyle was asked to respond to the evidence.
He refused to answer several questions and requested additional time to consult his adviser.
Within hours, his temporary restrictions were reviewed and strengthened in response to the expanding allegations.
Brandon received the news while sitting in his father's kitchen.
His mother was crying.
His father stood beside the refrigerator, staring at him.
"You told Kyle to sabotage her schoolwork?"
Brandon crossed his arms.
"It was just a joke."
Richard's face hardened.
"Stop saying that."
Brandon looked up.
"What?"
"Every time you do something cruel, you call it a joke."
His mother wiped her eyes.
"Brandon, that girl could lose her scholarship."
"She's not going to lose anything!"
"How do you know?" Richard demanded.
Brandon slammed his hand on the table.
"Because she has everybody on her side now!"
The room went silent.
Richard stared at his son.
"Is that what this is about?"
Brandon looked away.
"You think she's stealing something from you because people are finally listening to her?"
Brandon didn't answer.
His father pulled out a chair.
"Sit down."
"No."
"Sit down, Brandon."
For the first time in his life, Brandon obeyed without arguing.
Richard placed a folder on the table.
Inside was a list of payments he'd made over the previous five years.
Traffic fines.
Damaged property.
A private-school disciplinary settlement.
Legal fees.
Expenses related to complaints about Brandon's conduct.
Richard looked at the papers.
"I thought I was protecting you."
Brandon stared at the folder.
His father continued.
"I've been paying to make every problem disappear, and you've learned absolutely nothing."
His voice cracked.
"I should have stopped this years ago."
Brandon looked frightened.
"Dad?"
Richard closed the folder.
"I'm not making another phone call to pressure the university. You have an attorney. Tell the truth and face the process."
Then he stood and left the kitchen.
Brandon sat alone.
For the first time, there was no one offering to make his problems disappear.
That afternoon, Emily returned to the architecture studio.
Her cardboard housing model sat on a large worktable beneath the windows.
She approached it slowly.
The tiny porches.
The shared courtyard.
The little benches she'd built from wooden coffee stirrers.
For months, this had been her favorite place.
Now she was afraid even to touch her own work.
She picked up the model's smallest house.
A tiny porch railing had come loose.
She reached into her backpack and took out her grandmother's sewing kit.
There was a little tube of craft glue inside.
Sophie laughed.
"Of course you carry glue in a sewing kit."
Emily smiled.
"My mom says it's for fixing hopeless things."
She carefully repaired the railing.
Then she placed the house back on the model.
Professor Anderson appeared in the doorway.
He watched quietly.
"How's the restoration coming?"
Emily looked up.
"Almost done."
He nodded.
"Good."
Then he handed her a sealed envelope.
"It's from the competition committee."
Emily opened it.
Her original design had been accepted for evaluation.
She was still in the competition.
And the committee had approved an opportunity for her to present her work.
Emily sat down, overwhelmed.
Sophie hugged her.
Jasmine cheered.
But before they could celebrate, Professor Anderson's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then his expression changed.
"You're suspending me?"
Emily looked up.
The professor stood perfectly still.
"On what grounds?"
A pause.
He looked at Emily.
Then turned toward the window.
"I understand. Please send me the allegations in writing."
He hung up.
The room went silent.
"Professor?" Emily whispered.
He slowly put his phone away.
"Someone has accused me of interfering with the investigation."
Emily's face went pale.
"What?"
He picked up his briefcase.
"I've been placed on administrative leave pending a review."
Emily stared at him.
She had finally begun to get her life back.
May you like
Now the man who had opened the bathroom door was being accused of wrongdoing.
And she knew exactly whose interests might benefit from discrediting him.
