My mother’s expression changed at once.
She tapped one finger once against her desk.
The sound was soft. It carried the weight of a hammer.
“Who is Thomas?” she asked.
Her tone made the room colder.
“Put him on the screen.”
I held the phone toward him.
Thomas braced one hand on my desk to keep himself upright.
“Madam Chairwoman,” he stammered. “I’m Thomas Reed, manager of the data department. There’s been a misunderstanding. A serious misunderstanding. I had no idea Miss Lisa—”
My mother cut him off before he could complete the sentence.
“I sent my biological daughter to that floor as an intern,” she said, “so she could build discipline, judgment, and character. I did not send her there so you could use a little borrowed authority to trample her for someone else’s vanity.”
She didn’t blink.
“Stay where you are. I’m coming down personally.”
The call ended.
The screen went black.
For a moment, no one in the department seemed to remember how breathing worked.
Thomas stood frozen in place, sweat already shining across his forehead. Then, with sudden frantic energy, he snatched the termination notice off my desk, ripped it into strips, and dumped the pieces into the trash.
“Miss Vance,” he said, forcing a smile so desperate it looked painful. “Please. Forgive me. I was misled. This was all Mia. I was under pressure. I’m just a middle manager trying to survive here.”
He reached for my hand.
I moved mine away before he could touch it.
Then I sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and watched him scramble.
Human nature can be deeply instructive when power changes hands in real time.
Just then, the sharp click of designer heels echoed down the corridor.
The glass doors swung open.
Mia walked in as if she owned the building.
She wore a form-fitting red dress, carried an Hermès bag with the casual carelessness of someone who had never paid her own rent, and had two assistants trailing behind her beneath the weight of shopping bags. Her makeup was perfect. Her attitude was worse.
The moment she saw me still seated at my desk, her face hardened.
She marched straight toward Thomas.
“What is wrong with you?” she snapped. “I told you to have her out of the building before three. Why is she still sitting here?”
Thomas made a jerking motion with his eyes, trying to signal her to stop talking.
Mia either didn’t notice or had never learned the skill of caution.
She stepped right up to my desk and looked down at me.
“You still haven’t left?” she said. “What exactly is your plan—sit here until someone pities you? You don’t belong in this company. You’re draining payroll and wasting oxygen. Pack your things before security does it for you.”
I stood.
I’m taller than she is, and the difference mattered.
“Dead weight,” I said softly. “An embarrassment. Someone who doesn’t belong here.”
I let the words hang there between us.
“Tell me, Mia. Do you have any idea whose money paid for your tuition, your luxury apartment, and the bag on your arm after your father moved into my mother’s house?”
Color surged up her neck.
“My father is a respected Ivy League professor,” she snapped. “He brought influence and credibility into this family. I am his daughter, which means I have a place here. In time, this corporation will be mine to help lead. You, on the other hand, are just a spoiled mystery project your mother keeps indulging.”
The room went so still that the hum of the air vents sounded loud.
I slapped her pointing hand away from my face.
Not viciously. Decisively.
She staggered, caught herself on the edge of a cubicle, and glared at me with open fury.
“Mia,” I said, “if you intend to survive in this world, learn where you stand before you start issuing orders. You say I’m incompetent. Fine. Let’s speak in the language this company claims to respect—performance, data, and results.”
I turned to Thomas.
“You oversee project records and personnel metrics. Pull my work logs, performance evaluations, and project assignments from the last three months. Put them on the main conference screen. If I’m really dead weight, let’s let the whole floor see it.”
Thomas wiped his face.
“The system is under maintenance,” he said quickly. “I can’t pull it right now.”
“You’re lying.”
The voice came from the opposite row of desks.
Lily—small, quiet, easily overlooked—stood up with both hands trembling at her sides. Her voice shook, but not enough to fail.
“The system was working this morning,” she said. “For three months, Lisa has been the last person to leave almost every night. Whenever there was a difficult risk analysis task, Thomas handed it to her. When the consolidated report for the Westside Smart City project nearly collapsed last month, Lisa stayed here three nights in a row to fix it. There is nothing incompetent about her work.”