Chapter 4
Turns out, the office they're using is actually mine.
Back when Charles was just starting out, he couldn't afford a real office. I let them have the floor my dad left me for half what it was worth.
The contract? It's a handshake deal, renewed every year.
And next month, that deal's up.
Emily keeps talking about cutting costs and boosting efficiency, right?
Why not kick things off with the rent?
The next few days were surprisingly laid-back for me.
Emily, on the other hand, barely had time to catch her breath. She was managing the operations department and preparing for Mr. Stone's arrival.
She treated the Rolls-Royce Cullinan like her trophy, making Mike polish it three times a day.
She posted all kinds of selfies in the car on her social media, with captions full of hints.
[True ability isn't just about your job title. It's about the perks you get.]
[Being in this position means taking on real responsibility. It's tiring, but totally worth it.]
Her colleagues liked her posts, calling her a "rising star" and saying she had a "bright future ahead."
But only I knew she was playing with fire.
On Friday night, I was at home building blocks with my daughter when my phone suddenly rang.
It was Charles.
"Susan, where are you?" he asked, sounding a bit rushed.
"At home," I replied.
"Why isn't the gas card working? Mike tried to fill up, but it says the card's frozen."
"Oh, that card's in my name. I lost it, so I reported it as missing," I said offhand.
"You" Charles paused, a bit flustered. "Then hurry up and get it unfrozen. We need the car tomorrow."
"To unfreeze it, I have to go to the bank myself with my ID. The bank's closed this weekend, and besides, I've got things to do."
"Susan. Are you doing this on purpose?" Charles's voice shot up. "All this just because you had to pay a fine? Do you really have to be so petty? If something goes wrong with company business, are you going to take the blame?"
"Mr. Grant." I cut him off, my tone cold.
"First of all, that's my card. I can report it lost whenever I want. Second, why is my personal card being used to fill up the company car? Doesn't finance give Mike a gas allowance every month?"
There was a long silence on the other end.
Finance handed out the gas allowance.
But Charles and Mike both knew whose pocket that money really went into.
I used to let it slide, thinking the company was like family, and it didn't bother me to chip in a bit more.
Now, I wasn't going to let it slide anymore.
"Alright, Susan, have it your way," Charles said through gritted teeth. "The company will cover the gas. But from now on, don't even think about using any company resources."
"Got it, Mr. Grant."
After hanging up, I stared out at the night sky.
'This is nothing yet.'
On Sunday night, I made a copy of the stack of receipts I'd organized.
Then I dug out the office lease agreement.
It was written in black and white: the lease ended on 202X-XX-XX.
And that was tomorrow.
If they didn't renew, they'd be occupying the place illegally.
I thought for a moment, then texted the agent.
[Bring a potential tenant to check out the place at 10 AM tomorrow.]
The agent replied: [Got it, Susan. That spot's a hot property. A finance company is offering double the rent.]
I replied: [No problem. As long as it's not the ones renting now, anyone's fine.]
After I finished, I poured myself a glass of red wine.
Tomorrow was going to be one for the books.
Mr. Stone was coming to check things out.
The agent was showing the place to a new tenant.
Emily was gearing up to impress.
And me? I was about to reel them in.
I pulled out a sheet of paper and started listing out the numbers.
Rolls-Royce Cullinan: 1.07 million dollars.
Tax: 93,000 dollars.
Two years of insurance: 33,000 dollars.
Two years of maintenance and repairs: 27,000 dollars.
Two years of gas: 20,000 dollars.
Office rent difference: 400,000 dollars.
Employee salaries I fronted: 167,000 dollars.
Total: 1.81 million dollars.
And that was the money I could actually count.
There were also my connections, my resources, and all the effort I'd poured in.
Staring at that number, I couldn't help but laugh at how absurd it all was.
I'd spent over 1.67 million dollars, only to raise a pack of ungrateful wolves.
Not only did they show zero gratitude, they even had the nerve to accuse me of taking advantage of the company.
43,000 dollars in fines?
Ha.
Tomorrow, I'll make them cough up everything they took: plus interest.
*****
Monday morning, 9 AM.
The office was filled with tense anticipation and excitement.
Emily was dressed in a crisp new white business suit, her makeup immaculate, standing at the entrance like she was about to be reviewed by a general.
Mike had parked the Rolls-Royce Cullinan right out front, the car gleaming. He'd even polished the tires until they shone.
Charles was in his sharpest suit, glancing at his watch every few seconds.
"How much longer till Mr. Stone gets here?" Charles asked, glancing at his watch.
"He just got off the plane. About forty minutes," Emily said, her voice shaking. She was so excited she could barely keep it together.
I sat at my desk, slowly packing up my things.
Photo frames, a mug, a potted plant, and a stack of files.
Everyone else was busy tidying up; nobody even glanced my way.
Or maybe they didn't care.
To them, I was already a has-been director, pushed aside and forgotten, while Emily was the new star everyone was rooting for.
At 9:30, Emily's phone rang.
Emily answered, "Mr. Stone's arrived? Perfect, I'll have Mike drive the Rolls-Royce over and escort you to the company entrance."
As a formal gesture, Mr. Stone's convoy waited at the gate, and it was our job to lead them in with the company car. That's standard business protocol.
Emily turned and called out to Mike, "Mike, hurry. Drive the car to the gate."
Mike nodded, opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat.
He pressed the start button.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again, frowning slightly.
The car stayed dead silent: still no response at all.