“Grandma, you’re in the wrong department,” smirked the young employees as they glanced at the new hire. They had no idea shed just bought their company.
“Who are you here for?” muttered the lad behind the reception desk, barely looking up from his phone. His designer hoodie and meticulously tousled haircut screamed self-importance and complete indifference to the world around him.
Elizabeth Fairchild adjusted her plain but well-made handbag. She had dressed deliberately to avoid attentiona modest blouse, a skirt just below the knee, sensible flats without a hint of a heel.
The previous director, Gregorya silver-haired man weary of corporate gameshad smiled when she laid out her plan during the acquisition.
“A Trojan horse, Elizabeth,” hed said with quiet respect. “Theyll swallow the bait without noticing the hook. Theyll never see you cominguntil its too late.”
“Im your new documentation clerk,” she said, her voice deliberately soft, stripped of authority.
The boy finally looked up. His eyes swept over herfrom her worn shoes to her neatly pinned grey hairand an open sneer flickered across his face. He didnt even try to hide it.
“Oh, right. They said someone was joining. Got your pass from security?”
“Yes, here.”
He lazily jerked a thumb toward the turnstile, as if directing a lost insect.
“Your desks somewhere down there, end of the hall. Youll figure it out.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Ill figure it out,” she repeated silently, stepping into the buzzing open-plan office, humming like a hive.
Shed been figuring things out for forty years. Shed salvaged her late husbands near-bankrupt business and turned it profitable. Shed navigated complex investments that multiplied her fortune. Shed learned how to keep loneliness at bay in her empty manor at sixty-five.
Buying this thriving butshe suspectedrotten IT firm was her most interesting challenge yet.
Her desk sat at the far end, near the archive door. Scratched and creaky, it looked like an island of the past in an ocean of gleaming tech.
“Settling in?” came a saccharine voice. Olga, the marketing lead, stood before her in an immaculate ivory suit, smelling of expensive perfume and success.
“Trying to,” Elizabeth replied mildly.
“Youll need to sort last years Altair contracts. Theyre in the archive. Shouldnt be too hard,” Olga said, her tone dripping with condescension.
She gave Elizabeth the sort of look reserved for museum relics, then strutted off, heels clicking. A snicker followed: “HRs lost the plot. Next theyll hire 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. She leafed through paperscontracts, addendums, invoices. At first glance, everything was pristine. But her sharp eye caught details. Payments to “Cyber-Systems” were rounded to the nearest thousanda classic sign of sloppy fraud. The vague descriptions”consultancy services,” “analytical support”were textbook money-laundering.
Hours later, the door creaked open. A girl hovered nervously. “Im Helen from accounts. Olga said you might need help with the digital system.”
No mockery. Just kindness.
“Thank you, dear. That would be lovely.”
Helen blushed. “They forget not everyone was born with a tablet in hand.”
As Helen explained the software, Elizabeth thought: even in a swamp, youll find clear water.
Before Helen left, the lead developer, Stanley, 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. Just hand it over. Why isnt this digitized? What do you even do here?”
His arrogance was his downfall. Hed never expect this old woman to catch him.
Elizabeth called her lawyer. “Archibald, look into Cyber-Systems. I suspect interesting ownership.”
The next morning, confirmation came. Cyber-Systems was a shell company, registered to a cousin of Stanleys.
The reckoning came at the weekly meeting. Olga beamed, until she “forgot” a report. “Elizabeth,” she purred into the mic, “fetch the Q4 folder from the archive. Try not to get lost.”
The room tittered. Elizabeth returned calmly. Stanley smirked. “Time is money. Especially our money.”
That wordourwas the last straw.
Elizabeth straightened. No more meekness. “Correct, Stanley. Especially the money funneled through Cyber-Systems. Care to explain why your cousin owns it?”
Silence. Olga sputtered, “What business does a clerk have with finances?”
Elizabeth didnt look at her. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. Elizabeth Fairchild. Your new owner.”
The room froze.
“Stanley, youre fired. My lawyers will contact youand your cousin. Olga, youre dismissed for incompetence and fostering toxicity.”
Olga spluttered.
“Youve got an hour. Security will escort you out.”
Her gaze found Helen, trembling at the back. “Helen, step forward. In two days, youve shown more professionalism and decency than anyone here. Im forming an internal audit team. Youll lead it.”
Helen gaped.
Elizabeth turned to the room. “Everyone elseback to work.”
She walked out, leaving shattered arrogance behind. No triumphjust cold satisfaction. To build something strong, you must first clear away the rot.
And her renovation had only just begun.
