«You’re fired, you useless waste!» bellowed the boss. But he paled instantly when the company owner entered the office, embraced me, and said, «Darling, let’s go home.»
«Youyou’re fired!»
The shout from Vincent Prescott, the department head, seemed to etch itself into the white walls of the office. He slammed a thin folder onto the desk, sending papers scattering across the polished surface, some fluttering to the floor.
«A whole month! A whole month you spent bungling the report for Ironbridge Steel! And what was the result? A complete disaster!»
I watched his face twist with rage, red blotches creeping up his neck, eyes bulging. A textbook tantrumhis weekly ritual, always with a new victim. Today, it was my turn.
I stayed silent. Any word now would be like a match to petrol. And that was precisely what he wanted.
«What, nothing to say? No excuses? I trusted you with our biggest client, and youyou’re utterly incompetent! A waste of space!»
He loomed over the desk, jabbing a finger toward my face. The sharp scent of his expensive colognebitter, woodyhung in the air.
«I dont understand,» I said, voice steady. «What failure are you referring to? All the data was triple-checked. I personally verified everything.»
My calm tonetoo calm, perhapsonly enraged him further.
«Oh, she doesnt understand!» he sneered. «Their commercial director just called me, furious! Said our figures had no basis in reality!»
Now I was genuinely curious. I knew for a fact there were no errors in my calculations. So someone had altered the report after Id submitted it for his review.
«Pack your things. I want you out in ten minutes.»
He turned to the window, signaling the conversation was over. His posture radiated triumph. Another «waste of space» banished from his delusional fantasy of perfection.
Slowly, I stood. I felt no anger, no hurtjust cold, clear understanding. Everything was going according to plan. Better, even.
I quietly gathered my few belongingsnotebook, pen, purse.
Then the office door swung open without a knock.
Vincent spun around, annoyed.
«What the devil»
He choked on the words. His face drained of colour, leaving a sickly pallor.
In walked Oliver. My husband. And, incidentally, the owner of the entire company.
He took in the scattered papers, glanced at Vincents stunned expression, then at me. A faint smile flickered in his eyes.
Oliver stepped forward, slipped an arm around my shoulders, and kissed my temple.
«Darling, shall we go home?»
Vincent gaped at us, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land. His flawless world had just shattered at the seams.
«Oliver… Mr. Whitmore…» he finally croaked.
«Vincent,» Oliver said, voice deceptively soft. «I see you’re making some… staffing adjustments? Decided to fire my best analyst?»
He lingered on the word *my*, and Vincent flinched.
«II didnt know… ShesEllis»
«My wife chose to work under her maiden name,» Oliver said smoothly, plucking a stray sheet from the floor. «Wanted to observe operations from the inside. Without bias.»
He skimmed the numbers.
«And, I must say, her observations were quite illuminating. Especially regarding this report.»
Vincent swallowed hard. He was beginning to realise this wasnt an accident. It was a trap.
«Mr. Whitmore, theres been a mistake! Ellisyour wifesreport was a disaster! Ironbridge called me!»
«Did they?» Oliver arched a brow. «Strange. Because their commercial director was in my office five minutes ago. We had coffee and signed an expanded contract.»
A pause for effect.
«Based on the original draft of Eleanors report. The one she submitted to you a week ago.»
Vincent turned as white as the office walls. Now he understood.
«Buthowthose figures»
«Ah, *those* figures?» Oliver tossed the paper aside. «The ones you sent to the client bore no relation to reality. You altered them. Quite clumsily, I might add.»
He leaned over Vincents desk, looming.
«Two months ago, security flagged unusual activity. A systematic data leaktenders, client details. Someone was feeding information to our biggest competitor, Ridgefield Holdings.»
Vincent shrank into his chair.
«We couldnt pinpoint the source. Then my wife volunteered. Eleanors a brilliant economistshe suspected the mole wasnt just stealing data but sabotaging us from within. Creating chaos.»
Oliver spoke calmly, almost academically. Vincent shuddered.
«She joined your department. Saw everythingyour incompetence, your bullying, your habit of claiming others successes and shifting your failures onto them.»
He stepped back.
«But most importantly, she noticed you editing her report late at night. And saving it to a flash drive. A rather distinctive onewith a football club keyring. The camera above your desk caught everything.»
Vincent was broken.
«And now,» Olivers tone hardened, «lets discuss damages. And the criminal charges for corporate espionage. Sit down. This will take a while.»
He nodded toward the door, where two security men stood waiting. Then he took my bag and led me out, leaving Vincent to face the ruins of his world.
As we walked through the open-plan office, employees stared in shock. They didnt understandonly that their tyrannical boss had just been cornered by the company owner, and the woman hed fired moments ago was walking out beside him.
That night, Oliver told me the rest.
«Ridgefield didnt just buy information from him. They *owned* him. Found out about his debts, helped pay them off, then reeled him in. They werent just sabotaging usthey were waiting for him to climb higher so they could strike harder.»
I listened, realising how deep it went.
«So hed have kept crushing talented people to clear his path?» I asked.
«Exactly. Burning everything around him so no one outshone him. Classic weak leadership.»
The next day, I didnt return to the office. My mission was done. But that evening, Oliver came home energised.
«We promoted Edward as interim department head. Know what he did first? Gathered everyone and said, I dont know how to lead perfectly, so lets learn together. Every idea matters.»
He smiled.
«Remember Mary? The one Vincent reduced to tears? She proposed a new accounting system that cuts report prep by 20%. He rejected it months ago, called it amateur nonsense.»
That was the real victory. Uproot one toxic weed, and healthy growth followed.
A year later, I sat in my new officeDirector of Corporate Culture. No fear here, just open dialogue. Edward visited often, now confident, respected.
Oliver squeezed my hand one evening.
«You were right. The real victory wasnt catching one traitor. It was building something better.»
And that was worth every moment.
