Chapter 2: The Label Inside the Seam
For three seconds, Brielle looked as if someone had pulled the floor out from beneath her.
Then she laughed.
It was a thin, brittle sound that didn't match the panic in her eyes.
"My family's company supplies fabric to half the state," she said.
"That label could be anywhere.""
Principal Carter didn't lower her hand.
"The label bears the name Lawson Atelier, your father's private design company. It also carries a production code.""
"So?"" Brielle snapped.
"Are we investigating labels now? This is a fashion showcase, not a courtroom.""
A few students exchanged uneasy glances.
Principal Carter remained calm.
"That code belongs to a sample garment recorded in your father's company's inventory three years ago. The garment was reported missing.""
Brielle's face tightened.
I looked down at the red roses covering my dress.
Three years ago?
That made no sense.
I had purchased the blue fabric from a small shop on the other side of town. My grandmother had taught me to check the grain, examine the weave, and inspect every bolt before buying it.
I had designed the dress from scratch.
At least, I thought I had.
Principal Carter stepped down from the stage.
"Emily, may I ask you something?""
I nodded.
"Where did you get the original fabric?""
"Maribel's Fabric Corner," I said.
"I bought it in January. I still have the receipt.""
"Did you buy any part of the dress from Lawson Atelier?""
"No.""
Brielle folded her arms.
"Maybe she stole something and forgot.""
The words struck harder than I expected.
"I didn't steal anything.""
"Then explain the label.""
"I can't. I didn't know it was there.""
Principal Carter looked at the repaired seam.
"That is precisely why we need to understand how it got there.""
She turned toward the audience.
"I would like everyone to give Emily and Miss Lawson some privacy while we examine this matter.""
But nobody moved.
Madison leaned toward Brielle and whispered something I couldn't hear.
Brielle shook her head sharply.
"Don't," she muttered.
The principal noticed.
"Miss Madison, do you know something about this?""
Madison's eyes widened.
"No, ma'am.""
"Then I suggest you stop whispering and allow me to finish.""
A few students lowered their phones.
Brielle stepped forward.
"My father will be furious when he hears you're accusing his company of something.""
"I'm not accusing anyone," Principal Carter replied.
"I'm asking questions about a piece of evidence.""
She turned back to me.
"Emily, would you be willing to let our school's independent showcase coordinator inspect the dress?""
I hesitated.
The gown had taken nearly twelve hours to repair. The flowers were stitched directly into the fabric, and removing them carelessly could damage the work.
But I remembered Brielle tearing the original seam apart.
If the label had been hidden inside it, then her attempt to destroy the dress might have revealed something neither of us understood.
"Yes," I said.
"But I want to know what you find.""
"That's fair.""
Principal Carter invited me into a small office beside the ballroom. Brielle followed, despite being told she could wait outside.
"I have every right to be here," she insisted.
"Then you can sit quietly," the principal replied.
Brielle sat.
She crossed one leg over the other and pulled out her phone.
A moment later, the screen lit up with a message.
She glanced at it and immediately turned the phone facedown.
I noticed the name at the top.
*Dad.*
Principal Carter asked me to explain how I had repaired the dress.
I described the roses, the reinforcement stitches, and the beadwork.
When I finished, she studied the tiny label through a magnifying lens.
"Interesting," she murmured.
"What?"" I asked.
"The label appears to have been sewn into the original lining, not attached to the fabric itself.""
Brielle's jaw tightened.
"That doesn't prove anything.""
"No," Principal Carter agreed.
"But it raises another question. Why would a production label from a missing sample be concealed inside a garment supposedly made entirely by a student?""
"Maybe Emily bought counterfeit fabric," Brielle said.
I turned toward her.
"You just said your company supplies fabric everywhere. Now you're saying I bought counterfeit fabric?""
"Don't twist my words.""
"Then stop changing them.""
Brielle stood so abruptly that her chair scraped across the floor.
"You're acting like you're some innocent little victim," she said.
"You have no idea how much work goes into building a name in fashion.""
"I know exactly how much work goes into making a dress.""
"Not the kind of work my family does.""
"You're right," I said.
"I've never needed someone else to put their name on my work.""
Her face flushed.
Principal Carter raised a hand.
"Enough.""
Brielle sat down again, but she kept her eyes on me.
The door opened.
A woman in her forties entered carrying a laptop and a thin folder. She introduced herself as Denise Harper, the independent coordinator responsible for reviewing all showcase entries.
Principal Carter explained what she had found.
Denise examined the label.
"May I see the inside of the dress?""
I carefully turned the fabric so she could inspect the repaired section.
She traced the seam with her eyes, then opened the folder.
"Lawson Atelier supplied the school with several archival design samples for a fundraising exhibition three years ago," she said.
"One of those samples was a blue evening gown.""
Brielle looked up.
"That was a display piece.""
"Yes," Denise said.
"And according to the inventory, it was never returned.""
"My father donated those samples.""
"The paperwork says they were loaned.""
"Then the paperwork is wrong.""
Denise turned a page.
"The sample was designed by a woman named Eleanor Bennett.""
My breath caught.
Eleanor Bennett.
My grandmother's name.
I gripped the edge of the chair.
"My grandmother was a seamstress," I said.
"She worked from home. She never mentioned working for Lawson Atelier.""
Denise looked at me carefully.
"Was your grandmother's full name Eleanor Rose Bennett?""
"Yes.""
For the first time since entering the office, Brielle looked genuinely frightened.
Not angry.
Not embarrassed.
Frightened.
Principal Carter noticed.
"Miss Lawson, do you know who Eleanor Bennett was?""
Brielle swallowed.
"No.""
But the answer came too quickly.
Denise opened her laptop.
"I think we need to contact Lawson Atelier and request the original design records.""
Brielle sprang to her feet.
"That's ridiculous. You're going to drag my father into this because of some old label?""
"Your father's company is directly connected to the garment," Denise said.
"Contacting him is reasonable.""
Brielle snatched her phone from the desk.
"Fine. I'll call him myself.""
She walked into the hallway.
Through the open door, I heard her voice drop to a frantic whisper.
"Dad, they found the label.""
Silence.
Then Brielle spoke again.
"No, I don't think she knows yet.""
My stomach tightened.
She had said she didn't know what the label meant.
Now she was telling her father that I didn't know something.
Principal Carter moved toward the doorway, but I stood before she could reach it.
"What does she think I don't know?"" I asked.
Nobody answered.
A few seconds later, Brielle returned.
Her face was pale, but her expression had changed. The panic was gone, replaced by a cold determination that made my skin prickle.
"My father says this is a misunderstanding," she announced.
"He'll come here personally to clear everything up.""
Denise closed her laptop.
"Good. We can discuss the inventory records with him.""
Brielle looked directly at me.
"And Emily?""
I met her gaze.
"Yes?""
"Don't get excited. Whatever you think you've discovered, it won't change who owns that design.""
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Who said anyone owned it?""
Brielle's lips parted.
For one fleeting moment, she looked as if she had revealed something she hadn't meant to say.
Then she turned away.
Ten minutes later, a tall man in a charcoal suit entered the office carrying a leather portfolio.
He didn't look at Principal Carter.
He didn't greet Denise.
He stared at the blue dress, at the red roses covering the ruined seam, and finally at me.
May you like
Then he said five words that made my knees feel weak.
"Eleanor should never have kept it.""
