Chapter 10 - The Red Dress on Marketplace
By Tuesday afternoon, the scandal had migrated from financial columns to local internet forums and social media marketplaces, where schadenfreude turned into public theater.
Sierra Vaughn’s digital footprint was evaporating in real time, but not before a disgruntled former assistant at Holloway House Hospitality leaked a series of internal Slack messages to an anonymous Chicago gossip blog. The screenshots laid bare months of corporate bullying, luxury designer shopping sprees funded by marketing budgets, and text messages where Sierra openly bragged about how easy it was to manipulate “the old man with the ego.”
Worse still for Sierra, her designer wardrobe was already hitting the secondary market.
At 3:15 PM, Micah walked into the bakery kitchen holding his smartphone out like a prized artifact.
“Mom, you have to see this,” Micah said, stifling a laugh. “Look who’s clearing out her closet.”
Audrey wiped her hands on her apron and leaned over the screen. On a local Chicago buy-sell-trade group, an account under the handle S_Vaughn_28 had listed a barely worn, dry-cleaned crimson designer dress—the exact red dress she had worn to the Blackstone gala.
Item: Designer evening gown, red silk, size 4. Worn once to a high-profile corporate event. Minor tear near the bodice (repaired). Perfect for cocktail parties or sudden career changes. Asking $150 or best offer. Cash only. No lowballers.
The comments section beneath the listing was already a bloodbath of local trolling. Dozens of local chefs, line cooks, and regular bakery patrons had turned the thread into a roasting session.
“Does it come with a stolen family heirloom, or do we have to shoplift that separately?” one user wrote.
“Will trade for a bag of unbleached flour and an honest job,” commented another.
Audrey stared at the screen for a long moment, watching the public unraveling of the woman who had tried to step into her life. There was no surge of triumph, no dramatic spike of anger—just a profound, hollow quiet.
“Take it down, Micah,” Audrey said softly, pushing the phone away.
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“Take it down? Why? It’s hilarious!” Micah protested.
“Because we don't buy back what we already threw out,” Audrey said, her voice carrying a quiet, unshakeable finality. “Let the internet have its day. We have three hundred loaves of rye to proof before tomorrow morning.”
