I was shown the door because Id grown a bit long in the name of experience. As a parting gesture I handed each colleague a rose and slipped a thick file of my covert audit into my bosss desk.
Blythe, well have to part ways, Gordon said, his voice syrupy sweettoothed, the same tone he used when he was about to spin another little scheme. He leaned back in his massive leather chair, hands folded on his belly.
Weve decided the firm needs fresh eyes, new energy. You understand.
I stared at his polished face, the expensive tie Id helped him pick for last years Christmas party, and nodded. I understood perfectly the investors had started whispering about an independent audit, and Gordon needed to erase the one person who saw the whole picture. Me.
I get it, I replied calmly. By new energy you mean the reception clerk who mixes up debits and credits, is twentytwo, and giggles at every one of your jokes?
He grimaced.
Its not your age, Blythe. Its just your approach is a bit oldfashioned. Were stuck in a rut. We need a breakthrough.
Breakthrough. Hed been chanting that word for the last six months. Id built the company from scratch with him in a cramped office with paperstained walls. Now the office was sleek glass and steel, and I suddenly felt like a relic out of place.
Fine, I said, feeling something inside wilt. When do you want the desk cleared?
My composure seemed to throw him off his game. Hed expected tears, pleas, a scene that would let him pat himself on the back as a benevolent victor.
You can leave today if you like. HR will sort the paperwork. Full compensation, proper as ever.
I nodded, walked to the door, and turned one last time.
You know, Gordon, youre right. The company really does need a breakthrough. Ill be the one to deliver it.
He offered a thin smile, not quite understanding.
The openplan office, home to about fifteen people, hummed with a tense quiet. Everyone knew what was happening. The women glanced away, guilty. I went to my desk, where a cardboard box already waited, ready.
Silently I packed my life: photos of my children, my favourite mug, a stack of industry magazines. At the bottom I placed a tiny bunch of the lilies my son had handed me the day before, just because. Then I pulled out a prepacked bundle from my bag twelve red roses, one for each colleague whod stuck by me all these years, and a thick black folder tied up with string.
I made my rounds, handing each person a flower and whispering a simple thankyou. Some hugged, some wept. It felt like a farewell to family.
Back at my desk the only thing left in my hands was the folder. I walked past the bewildered faces, headed straight for Gordons office. The door was ajar; he was on the phone, laughing.
Right, the old guard is stepping aside yes, time to move on
I didnt knock. I slipped in, placed the folder on top of his papers and met his startled stare, hand covering the receiver.
Whats this?
Its my parting gift, Gordon. Instead of flowers. Inside are all your breakthroughs from the past two years numbers, dates, everything. I think youll enjoy a little bedtime reading, especially the section on flexible methodologies for cash extraction.
I turned and left, feeling his eyes drilling first into the folder, then into me. He tossed something onto the handset and cut the call, but I didnt look back.
I walked through the office with an empty box in my arms. All eyes were on me now, a mixture of fear and secret admiration. On every desk sat my red rose, a field of poppies after a battle.
Near the exit, the chief IT bloke, Simon, caught up with me. Hes the quiet one Gordon always called just a function. A year earlier, when Gordon tried to slap a hefty fine on Simon for a server crash hed caused himself, I handed over proof and saved Simons job. He hadnt forgotten.
Ms. Blythe, he said softly, if you ever need anything data, cloud backups you know how to find me.
I gave a grateful nod. It was the first voice of resistance.
At home my husband and my son a law student were waiting. They saw the box in my hands and understood instantly.
So, did it work? my husband asked, taking the box from me.
The seeds been planted, I said, slipping off my shoes. Now we wait.
My son, future solicitor, hugged me.
Mum, youre brilliant. I doublechecked every document you gathered. No auditor will ever bite this.
Hed helped me organise the chaotic doubleentry bookkeeping Id secretly compiled over the last year.
I spent the evening waiting for a call that never came. I imagined Gordon in his office, leafing through page after page, his oncepristine face turning a shade of grey.
At eleven that night the phone finally rang. I answered, speaker on.
Blythe? The voice was stripped of its former honeyed softness, only a thin veil of panic. Ive looked at your files. Is this a joke? Blackmail?
Why be so harsh, Gordon? I replied evenly. Its not blackmail. Its an audit. And a gift.
You know I could ruin you? For defamation! For theft of documents!
And you know the originals of those papers arent with me any more? If anything happens to me or my family, those files will automatically go to a few very interested parties the tax office, your main investors.
A muffled hiss filled the line.
What do you want, Blythe? Money? My oldboy seat back?
I want justice, Gordon. I want every penny you siphoned out of the company returned, and for you to walk away quietly.
Youve gone mad! he shrieked. This is my company!
It was OUR company, I said firmly. Until you decided your wallet mattered more than anyone elses. You have until tomorrow morning.
At nine Ill be expecting news of your resignation. If not, the folder will take a little trip. Good night.
I hung up, ignoring his choking curses.
The next morning there was no news. At 9:15 a message appeared in my inbox from Gordon.
Urgent allhands meeting at 10:00. Blythe, youre specifically required: Come. Lets see whos who.
Hed gone allin.
What are you doing? my husband asked.
Of course Im going. You dont miss the premiere of your own drama.
I slipped into my sharpest suit and walked in at 9:55. The conference room was already packed. Gordon stood by a huge screen, his smile a predators grin.
Ah, our star, he said. Please, take a seat. Were all eager to hear how the finance director, accused of incompetence, tries to blackmail the board.
He launched into a theatrical tirade about trust hed supposedly betrayed, brandishing my folder like a flag.
Here it is! A collection of fictions from someone who cant accept that her time is up!
The room fell silent. Eyes dropped. Shame and fear mingled. When Gordon paused to gulp water, I typed a single word to Simon: Start.
At that moment the screen behind Gordon blacked out, then flickered to a scanned payslip. It showed payment for a bogus consultancy to a oneday firm registered in his motherinlaws name.
Gordon froze. The display shifted to receipts for his private holidays, a budget for a cottage renovation, and screenshots of chat logs detailing kickback percentages.
What is this? he stammered.
Its called data visualisation, Gordon, I announced, standing tall. You talked about a breakthrough?
There it was the breakthrough he wanted, a purge of his own theft. My approach might be oldfashioned, but I still believe stealing is a terrible habit.
I turned back to the staff.
Im not asking you to pick sides. Im just showing you the facts. Draw your own conclusions.
I set my phone on the table.
By the way, Gordon, this is being sent in real time to our investors inboxes. I think a dismissal is the mildest thing youll face now.
His face turned ashen, the bravado evaporating, leaving a small, frightened man. I walked out.
First to rise was Simon, then Olivia, our top sales manager whod endured Gordons constant belittling, then Andrew, the analyst whose reports Gordon had stolen. Even quiet Miriam from accounts, whod often sobbed over his petty remarks, stood up. They werent following me; they were walking away from him.
Two days later a stranger called, introducing himself as a crisismanagement consultant hired by the investors.
Gordon has been suspended, the company is under investigation, he said. Thanks for the information. Theyd like you back to help stabilise things.
Thanks, but Id rather build something new than pick apart the wreckage of the old, I replied.
The first months were toughgoing. We set up shop in a cramped rented office that reminded me of our early days. My husband, son, Simon and Olivia all pulled twelvehour days. Our consultancy, Audit & Order, lived up to its name.
We chased our first clients, proving competence not with glossy pitches but with solid results. Occasionally Id drive past our former office; a new sign now hung there, the old firm having collapsed under its own scandal and failed breakthrough.
I wasnt let go because of my age. I was dismissed because I was the mirror in which Gordon saw his greed and incompetence. He wanted to smash that mirror, forgetting that broken glass cuts deeper.
