Chapter 6 - The Livestream That Changed Everything
Rachel told me not to post the contract.
Not yet.
"I understand why you want everyone to see it," she said. "But we need to preserve the original file, request the underlying records, and establish exactly how it was created."
I stared at the signature.
"It has my name on it."
"And the evidence needs to do more than convince your followers. It needs to stand up when someone challenges it."
She was right.
I saved the email and attachment, preserved the message headers, and sent copies to her.
Then I sat at Tasha's kitchen table, watching the sun rise over the apartment buildings across the street.
I had slept for ninety minutes.
The comments on Harper's video were still multiplying.
My real store had received only two orders overnight.
Before the scandal, an ordinary Friday could bring forty.
My savings were gone.
My rent was overdue.
And my mother's collection had been advertised under someone else's name.
For one terrifying moment, I wondered whether Harper was right.
Maybe I couldn't fight her.
Maybe I should take the money.
Then I heard Mrs. Alvarez humming in the next room.
She had arrived before dawn to finish Olivia's ivory dress.
The sewing machine clicked steadily.
A familiar rhythm.
My mother's rhythm.
I opened the notebook.
For Mia. Something beautiful for a woman brave enough to begin again.
I picked up my phone.
There was one thing Harper couldn't stop me from doing.
I could tell my own story.
At ten that morning, I called a meeting.
Tasha sat at the dining table with a notebook.
Mrs. Alvarez stood beside the dress form.
Noah arrived with a bag of breakfast sandwiches and a stack of corrected shipping records.
Rachel joined us by video call.
I explained my idea.
"A livestream. Tonight. I want to show people the real business."
Tasha nodded.
"The sewing. The fabrics. Your mom's sketches."
"The orders," I added. "The actual website. The correct customer service contact. I want people to understand which purchases I can fulfill and which payments never reached me."
Rachel raised a hand.
"Good. But keep it factual. Don't publish personal financial information, speculate about crimes, or show documents containing private details. We can address those matters separately."
I nodded.
"No accusations I can't prove."
"And don't promise every customer a refund from money you never received," she continued. "Offer assistance and accurate information instead."
Noah leaned back.
"What about the shipment records?"
"Those may become evidence," Rachel said. "For now, Mia can explain that unauthorized deliveries are under review without showing signatures or customer addresses."
Tasha looked at me.
"Sounds like we've got a plan."
Mrs. Alvarez lifted Olivia's nearly finished dress.
"And we've got something worth showing."
At six, I set up my ring light.
Not in my apartment.
At Tasha's dining table.
Behind me hung three dresses.
An ivory wrap dress.
A blue linen sundress.
And the green dress my mother had designed.
I placed her photograph on the table.
Then I opened my livestream.
Forty-three viewers joined.
Then seventy.
Then one hundred and twelve.
I smiled nervously.
"Hi, everybody. It's Mia."
The comments began immediately.
Are you going to explain the stolen designs?
I want my money back!
Why did you lie about Harlow House?
I swallowed.
"I know many of you have questions. I'm going to answer what I can, and I'm going to show you what I know."
I explained the copied website first.
I showed my official store address and customer service email.
I explained how to distinguish legitimate order confirmations from the imitation site's receipts.
I told affected customers how to preserve their purchase records and contact their payment providers.
Then I paused.
"There's something else I want to show you."
I lifted the green dress.
The comment section accelerated.
That's Harper's dress!
You really have no shame.
I took a breath.
"This dress began as a drawing my mother made in 2018."
I held up a copy of the sketch.
The date was visible.
Then I showed a photograph of my mother standing beside the unfinished garment.
"This is my mom, Rose Parker. She passed away before she could finish the collection."
My voice wavered.
I steadied it.
"I completed her design because I wanted something of hers to survive."
Comments slowed.
I held up another photograph.
"This was taken six years before the collection was released."
Then Mrs. Alvarez stepped into the frame.
"Hello, everyone. I'm Elena Alvarez. I worked with Rose for seventeen years."
She held up the original fabric samples.
"I remember when she made this pattern. I helped her select the lining."
The viewer count climbed.
Eight hundred.
One thousand.
Then a comment appeared.
My grandmother bought clothes from Rose Parker! She was a beautiful seamstress.
Another followed.
I remember Mia showing this notebook two years ago!
A longtime follower uploaded a screenshot from an old livestream.
There I was, sitting in my apartment, holding the exact green dress sketch.
The date was clearly visible.
Tasha whispered, "Mia. Look."
The screenshot was spreading through the comments.
I continued.
"I haven't authorized Harlow House to present my business as its partner. I haven't authorized anyone to use my name on another storefront. I'm working with an attorney to address the situation."
A thousand viewers became two thousand.
Then three.
I didn't feel triumphant.
I felt terrified.
But I kept speaking.
At 6:28, Harper entered the livestream.
Her account was verified.
Her comment appeared in bright letters.
HARLOW HOUSE: THIS IS DEFAMATION. REMOVE THIS VIDEO IMMEDIATELY.
Tasha leaned toward me.
"Don't respond."
I nodded.
But Harper kept typing.
YOU SOLD THE DESIGNS. WE HAVE A CONTRACT.
My heart pounded.
I looked directly into the camera.
"The ownership of these designs is disputed. I'm preserving the relevant records and addressing it through the appropriate channels."
Harper replied almost instantly.
YOU'LL HEAR FROM OUR LAWYERS.
Then an unexpected name appeared.
Olivia Reynolds.
She'd been watching quietly.
Hello, everyone. I'm one of the customers who ordered from the wrong website.
My stomach tightened.
Olivia continued.
I lost $500, and Mia didn't receive that money. She still offered to help me make a dress for my daughter's bridal shower.
The comments shifted.
She did WHAT?
That's actually so sweet.
Wait, the fake store kept the money?
I didn't interrupt.
Olivia added another comment.
Her mother made my daughter's favorite dress when she was little. I've been shopping with this family for over twenty years. I know whose work this is.
I covered my mouth.
Tasha reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
The viewer count passed five thousand.
Then Noah walked into the room carrying a package.
He stopped when he noticed the camera.
"Sorry. Didn't realize you were live."
I laughed nervously.
"It's okay."
He held up the package.
"Delivery for Mia Parker. Properly authorized this time."
The entire room burst into laughter.
Even Mrs. Alvarez.
For a few seconds, the terrible tension broke.
Then a woman in the comments asked whether she could buy the green dress.
Another requested the blue sundress.
Another asked if I was accepting preorders.
I shook my head.
"Not tonight. I need to make sure my inventory and fulfillment are stable first."
Tasha gave me an approving nod.
I continued.
"But if you'd like to receive an update when the collection is available again, you can join the mailing list on my official site."
People began signing up.
Hundreds of them.
My phone vibrated continuously.
And for the first time in days, I could imagine having a business again.
When the livestream ended, we sat in stunned silence.
Tasha refreshed the mailing list.
"Three thousand, eight hundred and fourteen new subscribers."
I stared at her.
"You're kidding."
"Nope."
Mrs. Alvarez wiped her eyes.
"Your mother would be so proud."
I looked at the photograph on the table.
For the first time since her funeral, I smiled without immediately wanting to cry.
Then Noah's phone rang.
He listened.
His expression changed.
"Are you sure?"
He walked toward the window.
"When?"
I watched him.
Something was wrong.
He hung up and looked at me.
"That warehouse where Harper's company is making the dresses?"
I nodded.
"One of the companies we work with just flagged a shipment from there."
"What kind of shipment?"
"Finished clothing. They're preparing to send it to several boutiques."
My stomach tightened.
"How many dresses?"
He hesitated.
"According to the shipping manifest, twelve hundred."
Twelve hundred.
Cheap reproductions of my mother's designs.
Ready to be sold under Harper's name.
Noah continued.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"The shipment is scheduled to leave tonight."
I stared at the green dress hanging behind me.
I'd just shown thousands of people where it came from.
But Harper wasn't slowing down.
May you like
She was preparing to flood the market with copies before anyone could stop her.
And she was betting that by the time the truth caught up, she'd already have the money.
