Not because anything was funny.
Because she seemed unable to believe that the mysterious designer whose garments she'd spent weeks repairing was standing beside her in a pale-yellow dress.
She looked toward my face.
Then said, "Well, honey, you've got some explaining to do."
I laughed softly.
"Apparently."
Her expression grew serious.
She gestured toward the damaged gown.
"Because these aren't the clothes we were supposed to make."
I looked at the garment.
"I know."
She swallowed.
Then whispered something that made the entire room seem colder.
"They told us not to tell you."
I asked the seamstresses to explain exactly what they had been instructed to do.
The older woman told me that several garments arrived late from a subcontracting facility.
The packaging used the correct collection name.
But the labels inside contained manufacturing codes she didn't recognize.
Some dresses had missing structural elements.
Others used substitute materials.
A few had visible defects that would have been embarrassing on the runway.
The production contractor instructed the team to correct the problems quickly and avoid discussing the original manufacturing arrangements.
When one worker asked why so many garments needed emergency alterations, she was told that the designer had approved the changes.
I felt anger rising.
I hadn't approved them.
Not even close.
The older seamstress described a meeting where the production supervisor said the collection had to be ready regardless of technical concerns.
She also said the workers had been warned that any delays could cost them future contracts.
I listened.
Then asked whether they had been pressured to sign inaccurate completion records.
One woman nodded.
She had been asked to certify that certain garments passed final inspection despite not having completed all required checks.
She refused.
Her supervisor became angry.
Another worker signed because she believed she had no choice.
I took notes.
But I didn't tell them to hand over their private records directly to me.
I wanted an independent process.
I asked whether they would be willing to speak with a neutral investigator and provide relevant documents through appropriate channels.
The older seamstress looked skeptical.
"Will that get us blacklisted?"
I felt my chest tighten.
I had heard versions of that question throughout my career.
Young designers worried about being blacklisted for negotiating contracts.
Factory workers worried about losing assignments for reporting problems.
Hotel servers worried about having their shifts reduced if they complained about customers.
Different industries.
The same fear.
I looked toward her.
"Retaliation for good-faith reporting is not acceptable. We can put protections into the process and take concerns seriously, though I won't pretend I can guarantee how every other company will behave."
She studied me.
For a moment, she seemed surprised by the honesty.
Then she nodded slowly.
"All right."
I looked at the other women.
They agreed.
One of them began crying quietly.
She explained that she had worked nearly sixty hours that week and needed the money to pay for her daughter's college expenses.
She feared the canceled show meant the overtime would disappear.
I knelt beside her chair.
"Your time doesn't become worthless because the runway is canceled."
Her eyes filled.
I continued.
"AVERY will review the labor arrangements and establish what payments are owed under the applicable contracts and law. We'll make sure the workers have a clear contact for questions."
She nodded.
I didn't promise immediate money from accounts I didn't control.
But I could commit my own company to taking responsibility for its contractual obligations and pursuing the rest properly.
When I stood, the older seamstress caught my hand.