“I am perfectly fine, Martin,” I said, projecting my voice so it bounced off the glass walls. “But Vance Global is not. I want you all to take a very good look at me.”
Julian stepped forward, his face flushed with panic. “Martin, my wife is clearly unwell. A minor altercation downstairs has left her emotionally compromised. Let me escort her out.”
“Sit down, Julian,” Martin snapped. He looked back at me. “Explain, Evelyn.”
“This stain,” I said, gesturing to my ruined dress, “is how the Office of the President treats employees they deem beneath them. Your executive secretary, Julian, just threw a beverage on me because I dared to step into an elevator she claimed was reserved for ‘superiors’. I was told interns and staff must walk up five flights of stairs every day because they are unworthy of the machinery.”
A murmur of shock rippled through the older board members.
“If Julian Vance allows and encourages a culture this toxic, this rotten, right outside his own office door,” I continued, my voice rising, “what exactly do you think he is allowing in the shadows of our financial ledgers?”
Julian slammed his hand on the table. “That is an outrageous accusation based on a misunderstanding with a secretary!”
“Is it?” I challenged, turning my furious gaze on him. “I am stepping into the role of CEO effective immediately. And my first official directive, before I even change my clothes, is an immediate, unannounced, forensic audit of the President’s office. I want every vendor contract, every expense report, and every executive badge swipe from the last five years preserved. Now.”
The room erupted. Julian looked as though I had just stabbed him in the chest.
“You can’t do that!” he shouted.
“I am the CEO, Julian,” I said, the title tasting like sweet vengeance on my tongue. “I just did.”
By noon, I was in my new corner office, wearing a sharp, tailored black suit I had my assistant buy from a boutique down the street. The beige dress was in a trash bag.
At 12:15 PM, the lead forensic auditor knocked on my door. He looked pale.
“Ms. Vance,” he said, handing me a thick file. “We bypassed standard procedure as you asked. We looked at the immediate cash flows from the President’s discretionary fund.”
