“Gran, you’re in the wrong department,” smirked the young employees, glancing at the new hire. They had no idea shed just bought their company.
“Who are you here to see?” muttered the lad behind the reception desk, eyes glued to his smartphone. His designer haircut and high-end hoodie screamed self-importance and utter indifference.
Elizabeth Whitmore adjusted her plain but well-made handbag on her shoulder. Shed dressed deliberately to avoid attentiona modest blouse, a knee-length skirt, sensible flats.
The previous director, Gregorya silver-haired man exhausted by corporate gameshad grinned when she laid out her plan.
“A Trojan horse, Elizabeth,” hed said with 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 calm, deliberately stripped of authority.
The boy finally looked up. His gaze travelled from her worn shoes to her neatly pinned grey hair, and his lips curled with open derision. He didnt bother hiding it.
“Right. Heard we were getting someone new. Got your pass from security?”
“Yes, here.”
He lazily jerked his thumb toward the turnstile, as if directing a stray insect.
“Your desks somewhere down there. Youll figure it out.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Ill manage,” she echoed silently, stepping into the hive-like open-plan office.
Shed been managing for forty years. Managing her late husbands near-bankrupt business after his sudden death, turning it profitable. Managing high-risk investments that multiplied her wealth. Managing the crushing loneliness of a vast, empty house at sixty-five.
Buying this thrivingbut, she suspected, morally bankrupttech firm was her most interesting challenge in years.
Her desk was tucked away by the archive dooran old, scratched thing with a creaky chair, an island of the past in a sea of gleaming tech.
“Getting settled?” came a saccharine voice. Olga, the marketing lead, stood before her in a perfectly pressed ivory suit, smelling of expensive perfume and success.
“Trying to,” Elizabeth smiled mildly.
“Youll need to sort the contracts for Project Altair from last year. Theyre in the archive. Shouldnt be too hard for you,” Olga added, oozing condescension.
As she clicked away on her heels, Elizabeth heard a snicker behind her:
“HRs lost the plot. Next theyll be hiring fossils.”
Elizabeth pretended not to hear. She had work to do.
—
The archive was a cramped, windowless room. The Altair file was easy to find.
She combed through the documentscontracts, appendices, invoices. Perfect on the surface. But her sharp eye caught the red flags: payments to “Cyber-Systems” rounded to neat thousands, vague terms like “consultancy” and “process optimisation.” Classic money-skimming tactics, familiar from the nineties.
Hours later, a timid knock. A girl hovered in the doorway.
“Hi. Im Lena from accounting. Olga said you might need help with the digital system?”
Her voice held no mockery.
“Thank you, Lena. Thats very kind.”
“Its no trouble. They just forget not everyone grew up with a tablet in hand,” Lena mumbled, blushing.
As Lena patiently explained the software, Elizabeth thought: even in a swamp, theres fresh water.
But before Lena could leave, in strolled Stanthe star developer.
“I need the Cyber-Systems contract. Now.”
He spoke like royalty addressing a servant.
“Good afternoon,” Elizabeth replied evenly. “Im reviewing those now. Give me a moment.”
“A moment? Ive got a call in five! Why isnt this digitised? What do you even do here?”
His arrogance was his weakness. He thought no oneleast of all this old womanwould dare check his work.
“Its my first day,” she said coolly. “Im fixing what wasnt done before me.”
“I dont care!” He snatched the file. “Always a hassle with you old-timers.”
The door slammed behind him. Elizabeth didnt watch him go. Shed seen enough.
She dialled her lawyer, Archibald.
“Check a company for me. Cyber-Systems. I suspect very interesting ownership.”
—
The next morning, her phone buzzed.
“You were right. Cyber-Systems is a shell company. Registered to a Mr. PetersStans cousin. Classic scheme.”
“Thank you, Archibald. Thats all I needed.”
The reckoning came after lunch.
The staff assembled for the weekly meeting. Olga beamed, boasting about achievements.
“OhI forgot the Q4 conversion report. Elizabeth,” she purred into the mic, “fetch it from the archive? Try not to get lost.”
The room tittered. Elizabeth rose calmly. The point of no return was past.
She returned to find Stan whispering with Olga.
“Heres our saviour!” Stan announced mockingly. “Faster next time. Times moneyour money.”
That wordourwas the last straw.
Elizabeth straightened. The meekness vanished. Her gaze turned steely.
“Quite right, Stanley. Time is money. Especially the money funneled through Cyber-Systems. Odd how that project benefited you far more than the company.”
Stans smirk faltered.
“II dont follow”
“No? Then explain to everyone who Mr. Peters is.”
Silence.
Olga tried to intervene. “What business does this clerk have with finances?”
Elizabeth ignored her. She walked to the head of the table.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself. Elizabeth Whitmore. This companys new owner.”
The room froze.
“Stanleyyoure fired. My lawyers will be in touch. Id advise against leaving London.”
Stan sank into a chair, deflated.
“Olga, youre dismissed for incompetence and fostering a toxic workplace.”
Olga spluttered. “You cant!”
“I can. Youve got an hour to leave. Security will escort youand the receptionist, and those two developers snickering earlier.”
She turned to Lena, trembling at the back.
“Lena, step forward.”
The girl obeyed, shaking.
“In two days, youre the only one who showed both professionalism and kindness. Im forming a new internal audit team. Youll lead it.”
Lena gaped.
“Youll excel,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Noweveryone else, back to work.”
She left without triumph. Just cold satisfactionlike clearing rot before rebuilding.
And her renovation had only just begun.
