Chapter 2 - THE PAPER TRAIN
The silence in the bridal salon felt heavier than it had when Megan kicked me out of the wedding. For eleven years, Megan and I had shared everything: high school heartbreaks, college late-night study sessions, my quiet courthouse wedding to Mark, and the tearful phone call when I told her I was finally pregnant after two years of trying.
Now, she was looking at the order form as if it were a active bomb.
"There must be a mistake," Megan said, her voice dropping an octave, losing its sharp edge and replacing it with defensive panic. "The shop must have logged it wrong. I would never change an order."
Aunt June didn't blink. She turned the tablet toward the group.
"Our system uses double-authentication for alterations submitted online," June said calmly, though her eyes were hard as flint. "The portal log shows the change request came directly from the designated bridal coordinator email address. The one registered under [email protected]."
Priya, who was still standing on her podium in her dusty-blue dress, gasped softly. Rachel looked down at the floor, uncomfortable.
"I... I gave my maid of honor access to that portal," Megan stammered, turning her head sharply toward her younger sister, Sophie. "Sophie? Did you touch the order?"
Sophie’s eyes went wide with shock. "What? No! Megan, you told me to keep out of the vendor portal! You said you wanted complete control over the budget and order details!"
"Don't lie to cover yourself!" Megan snapped.
"I'm not lying!" Sophie's voice cracked. She set down the garment bag she was holding. "You explicitly told me last month that Lauren's belly was going to 'ruin the sleek silhouette' of the photos. I thought you were just venting!"
The tension in the boutique reached a boiling point. The other bridesmaids were squirming, realizing they were witness to a public execution of a friendship.
"Let's step into my office," June said firm, leaving no room for argument. "Lauren, come sit down. Nora, please help the other ladies out of their samples."
I stood up slowly from the wooden stool, holding my baby bump, feeling a dull ache in my lower back that had nothing to do with pregnancy and everything to do with heartbreak. Mark, my husband, had texted me ten minutes ago asking if I wanted him to pick up lunch afterward. I slipped my phone out and typed: Please come to the shop. Now.
In June’s glass-walled office, the noise of the main showroom faded. June pulled out a soft armchair for me and offered a bottle of cold water. Megan stood near the door, her arms tightly crossed, her defensive posture hiding whatever guilt or embarrassment she felt.
"Here's what the log shows," June said, tapping the tablet screen. "The IP address that accessed the portal on September 18 matches the IP address used to make the initial deposit payment for the entire party. That's your home network, Megan."
Megan swallowed hard. "Look, fine! Maybe I did click something! I was managing six different orders, handling catering disasters, and dealing with Ryan's family! It was an honest mistake!"
"An honest mistake?" I spoke up, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay composed. "Megan, when I tried the dress on just now, you didn't say, 'Oh no, let me check what happened.' You immediately used it as an excuse to kick me out. You called me 'waddling.' You said I looked terrible."
"Because I was frustrated!" Megan yelled. "Do you have any idea how much pressure I’m under? Ryan’s parents spent forty thousand dollars on this venue! Everything has to be perfect. Perfect lines! Perfect photos! Is it so wrong that I wanted my wedding party to look cohesive?"
"I am your best friend," I said, tears finally burning the back of my eyes. "Or at least, I thought I was."
"Friends support each other’s vision!" Megan shot back. "You’ve complained about the shoes, you’ve complained about the rehearsal dinner time, you’ve complained about standing!"
"I am seven months pregnant!" I shouted back, matching her energy for the first time. "My doctor told me not to wear four-inch stilettos! I didn't complain, I asked for a simple accommodation so I wouldn't faint while supporting you on your wedding day!"
The door to the office pushed open. Mark walked in, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his forehead creased with worry. He took one look at my tear-streaked face, then at Megan, and immediately stepped to my side, placing a protective hand on my shoulder.
"What's going on here?" Mark asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Your wife is making a scene over a dress size," Megan said, attempting to regain her composure.
June stood up from behind her desk. "No, Megan. What happened here is fraud and breach of contract. Lauren paid a non-refundable $200 deposit for a custom-ordered size 12 maternity cut. You altered her order without her authorization, caused the garment to fail, and then used that failure to terminate her involvement while keeping her deposit money."
Megan went pale again. "I didn't steal her money!"
"The deposit was paid directly into the master account you control," June noted calmly. "And frankly, as the owner of this salon, I don't tolerate sabotage in my fitting rooms. You will refund Lauren’s deposit immediately, or I will void the remaining dress orders for your entire bridal party."
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Megan's mouth dropped open. "You can't do that! The wedding is in eight weeks!"
"Try me," June said.
