I leaned back.
For a moment, I wanted to be twenty-one again.
Sitting in our Pennsylvania kitchen.
Complaining about a terrible customer.
Knowing my parents would listen.
I had spent years building financial independence.
I could afford lawyers.
Security.
Private transportation.
And the best hotels in the city.
But none of those things replaced the comfort of hearing my father's voice when the world felt hostile.
He asked whether I had eaten.
I admitted I hadn't.
He told me to order food.
Then he reminded me to rest my arm.
I promised I would.
Before hanging up, he became quiet.
"Sweetheart?"
"Yes?"
"I'm proud of you."
My eyes filled.
"For canceling the show?"
"No."
I waited.
He continued.
"For refusing to let somebody tell you that needing a job makes you less important."
I pressed my hand against my mouth.
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
Then he added something that made me cry harder.
"Your mother raised you better than that room raised its guests."
I laughed through tears.
"She really did."
My father chuckled.
Then said goodbye.
I sat quietly after the call ended.
And for the first time since the gala, I allowed myself to feel how deeply the confrontation had hurt.
Not because the investor didn't know I was AVERY.
Because she believed someone who carried a tray deserved less dignity than someone who paid for the champagne.
I had experienced that contempt years earlier.
I had worked hard to escape the financial vulnerability that accompanied it.
But the insult had never belonged to my bank account.
It belonged to her character.
And becoming wealthy hadn't changed that.
The fashion industry's reaction was divided.
Some designers publicly praised the decision to stop the launch.
They argued that a brand should be willing to sacrifice publicity rather than approve garments that failed its quality requirements.
Others worried about the practical consequences.
Canceled shows could harm freelancers.
Models.
Stylists.
Makeup artists.
Production crews.
Small contractors.
And suppliers who depended on the work.
They were right.
The cancellation had consequences far beyond the two women standing beside the head table.
I knew that.
Which was why I spent the following days meeting with our finance team, legal advisers, and affected contractors to establish which obligations AVERY could fulfill directly and which belonged to the investor's company under our agreement.
We paid the freelancers we had contracted.
Provided clear instructions for submitting outstanding invoices.
And created a contact process for workers who believed they were missing compensation.
For contractors engaged solely by the investor's organization, we couldn't simply claim their obligations as our own.
But we could encourage appropriate documentation, offer information about the relevant counterparties, and fund an independent review of the production arrangements where we had contractual rights to do so.
I also authorized additional bridge financing for approved AVERY suppliers whose work had been completed but whose payments were delayed by the dispute.
The decision cost money.
A great deal of it.
Our chief financial officer was concerned.