“Granny, youre in the wrong department,” smirked the young employees, glancing at the new hire. Little did they know shed just bought their company.
“Who are you here for?” snapped the lad behind the reception desk, eyes glued to his smartphone. His trendy haircut and designer hoodie screamed self-importance and utter indifference to the world around him.
Elizabeth Middleton adjusted her plain but well-made handbag on her shoulder. Shed dressed deliberately to blend ina modest blouse, a skirt just below the knee, sensible flats.
The previous director, Gregorya silver-haired man exhausted by office politicshad grinned when she laid out her plan during the acquisition.
“A Trojan horse, Elizabeth,” hed said admiringly. “Theyll swallow the bait without noticing the hook. Theyll never see you cominguntil its too late.”
“Im your new documentation assistant,” she said, her voice calm and quiet, deliberately stripped of authority.
The lad finally looked up, scanning her from scuffed shoes to neatly styled grey hair. Unmistakable mockery flashed in his eyes. He didnt even try to hide it.
“Oh, right. Heard we were getting fresh blood. Got your pass from security?”
“Yes, here.”
He lazily jerked a thumb toward the turnstile, as if directing a lost moth.
“Your desks down there, end of the hall. Youll figure it out.”
Elizabeth nodded. *Oh, Ill figure it out*, she thought, stepping into the buzzing open-plan office.
Shed been figuring things out for forty years. Shed figured out how to salvage her late husbands near-bankrupt business and turn it profitable. Shed navigated complex investments that multiplied her fortune. Shed even figured out how not to lose her mind from loneliness in her empty mansion at sixty-five.
Buying this thrivingyet, she suspected, rottenIT company was her most entertaining “figure-out” project in years.
Her desk was tucked at the back, near the archive door. Scratched and creaky, it was like an island of the past in a sea of shiny tech.
“Settling in?” came a saccharine voice. Olga, the head of marketing, stood before her in an immaculate ivory suit, smelling of expensive perfume and success.
“Trying,” Elizabeth replied with a mild smile.
“Youll need to sort the Altair project contracts from last year. Theyre in the archive. Shouldnt be too hard,” Olga said, her tone dripping with condescension, as if assigning a task to someone with limited capabilities.
When Olga strutted off, Elizabeth heard a snicker behind her: “HRs lost the plot. Next, theyll be hiring dinosaurs.”
Elizabeth pretended not to hear. She had work to do.
The archive was a stuffy, windowless room. The Altair file was easy to find. As she sifted through the paperwork, her sharp eye caught irregularitiesrounded sums, vague descriptions like “consultancy services” and “process optimisation.” Classic money-shuffling tricks shed seen since the nineties.
A timid knock interrupted her. A young woman hovered in the doorway.
“Hi, Im Lucy from accounting. Olga said you might need help with the digital system?”
Her voice held no sneer, just kindness.
“Thank you, Lucy. That would be lovely.”
“Its no trouble. They can be a bit impatient with people who didnt grow up with tablets,” Lucy mumbled, blushing.
As Lucy patiently explained the system, Elizabeth thought: *Even in a swamp, youll find a clear spring.*
Lucy had barely left when Stan, the lead developer, barged in.
“I need the Cyber-Systems contract. Now.”
“Good afternoon,” Elizabeth said evenly. “Im reviewing these documents. Give me a moment.”
“I dont *have* a moment! Why isnt this digitised? What do you even *do* here?”
She met his arrogance with cool patience. “Im fixing what wasnt done before me.”
“I dont care!” He snatched the folder. “You relics are nothing but trouble.”
When he slammed the door, Elizabeth didnt react. Shed seen enough.
She dialled her lawyer. “Archibald, check a company called Cyber-Systems. Something tells me the ownership will be interesting.”
The next morning, her suspicions were confirmed. Cyber-Systems was a shell company, registered to one Mr. PetrovStans cousin.
The reckoning came at the weekly meeting.
“Oh dear, I forgot the conversion report,” Olga announced over the microphone. “*Lizzie*, be a lamb and fetch the Q4 folder from the archive. Try not to get lost.”
The room tittered. Elizabeth returned minutes later to find Stan and Olga whispering smugly.
“Here comes our saviour!” Stan crowed. “Work faster next time. Times money*our* money.”
That word*our*was the final straw.
Elizabeth straightened. The meekness vanished.
“Youre right, Stanley. Time *is* money. Especially the money funneled through Cyber-Systems. Care to explain why your cousin owns that company?”
Stans smirk withered. Olga spluttered, “What business does this *clerical* staff have with finances?”
Elizabeth ignored her. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. Elizabeth Middleton. Your new owner.”
The room froze.
“Stanleyyoure fired. My lawyers will be in touch. Olgayoure dismissed for incompetence and fostering a toxic workplace.”
Olgas face purpled. “You cant!”
“I *can*. Collect your things. Security will escort you out.”
Her gaze landed on Lucy, trembling at the back.
“Lucy, step forward. In two days, youve shown more professionalism and decency than this lot combined. Im forming an internal audit team. Youre leading it.”
Lucy gaped.
“Youll do brilliantly,” Elizabeth said. “Noweveryone elseback to work.”
She walked out, leaving shattered egos in her wake.
No triumph, just cold satisfaction. After all, to build something solid, you first clear away the rot.
And her renovation had only just begun.
