Stephanie POV
The elevator doors opened to the Fiore Enterprises lobby on my first day as an intern. My heels clicked against marble floors as I clutched my leather portfolio. The receptionist eyed my badge. “Interns take the service elevator,” she said, not looking up from her computer.
I took the stairs instead.
My cubicle was a gray box near the copy room. Colleagues whispered as I passed. “That’s William’s granddaughter,” someone hissed. “Bet she’ll be CEO by Friday.”
I worked late. While others left for happy hour, I cross-referenced shipping manifests and inventory logs. Numbers didn’t lie. By week three, I noticed discrepancies—phantom shipments, inflated costs. I highlighted them in red and slid the report onto Grandpa William’s desk.
He promoted me to junior analyst the next day.
\---
Richard cornered me in the break room six months later. My uncle smelled like expensive cologne and envy. “Cute little reports you’ve been making,” he said, looming over my coffee cup. “Ever heard of teamwork?”
I stirred my latte slowly. “I’ll send you the spreadsheet templates.”
His laugh was ice. “You think you’re clever? This company eats clever girls for breakfast.”
The fraud was in the Midwest division. Trucking invoices billed for routes that didn’t exist. I traced it to a shell company owned by Richard’s golf buddy.
Grandpa William called me to his office after I presented the evidence. “Vice President of Operations,” he said, sliding a contract across his desk. “Effective immediately.”
I was twenty-five. The youngest VP in company history.
The boardroom buzzed when I entered my first executive meeting. Richard’s chair scraped loudly as he stood. “This is a joke,” he spat.
I took my seat at the table, back straight. “The joke was losing $2 million a year to fake truckers. But we’ve fixed that.”
Silence.
Grandpa William hid a smile behind his coffee cup.
Lila found me three years later.
I was reviewing contracts in my office when an email popped up: *Hi, Robot Girl. Still hate fun? —Lila Morales, LA Times*.
She waited in the lobby, camera bag slung over her shoulder. Time had softened her curls into waves, but her grin was the same. “Nice office,” she said, eyeing the glass walls. “Still a workaholic?”
“Still a snoop?”
She laughed. “I’m doing a piece on women executives. Thought you’d be good at faking humanity for an hour.”
We walked to the cafeteria. She asked about work-life balance. I lied.
“Remember when you set Jason Miller’s hair on fire with a Bunsen burner?” she said suddenly.
I choked on my coffee. “It was an accident!”
“Liar.” She leaned forward. “You’ve always been ruthless. But now you’ve got power. Why?”
The truth sat heavy in my throat. “To protect what’s mine.”
Richard’s sabotage started small. Meetings “accidentally” scheduled during my Taekwondo classes. Key files deleted from shared drives.
Then the rumors began. Whispers in hallways: She’s sleeping with the CFO. William’s covering for her.
Lila texted one night: Heard your uncle’s shopping a story to tabloids. Watch your back.
I started carrying pepper spray.
We found proof in a storage locker.
Lila’s journalist friend tipped her off to a warehouse manager willing to talk. We drove to a dusty industrial park, heels sinking into gravel.
The man handed me a ledger. “Richard’s been skimming construction materials. Selling ’em offshore.”
Lila snapped photos. “This could take him down.”
I traced the entries. “Not yet. We need more.”
At the office holiday party, Richard toasted my “brilliant future.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Lila elbowed me. “Want me to spill wine on him?”
I sipped champagne. “Too subtle.”
We hid in a corner, plotting. For the first time in years, I felt like the girl from the oak tree fort—armed with secrets and a friend who knew how to fight dirty.
\---
The promotion celebration was quiet. Grandpa William gave me Grandma Clara’s jade necklace. “She’d be proud,” he said.
I wore it to the next board meeting. Richard’s glare could’ve melted steel.
After, Lila met me on the rooftop. “Celebratory tacos?”
The city lights blurred below us. “I’m not done,” I said.
She bumped my shoulder. “Never thought you were.”
We ate greasy tacos and laughed until security kicked us out.
That night, I added two names to my encrypted files: Richard Fiore. Lila Morales.
One for destruction. One for hope.
The Monday after the rooftop tacos, Richard called an emergency budget meeting. He leaned back in his chair, smirking as he proposed cutting funding for my supply chain overhaul. “Austerity measures,” he said, tapping a chart showing imaginary losses.
I waited until he finished, then slid a folder across the table. “Interesting. Because these reports show a 15% profit increase since my reforms.”
The room shifted. Grandpa William’s gaze pinned Richard. “Approved,” he said.
Richard’s pen snapped.
Lila texted during my lunch break: *Warehouse manager flipped. Meet me at 8?
We met in a dim parking garage. The manager handed me a USB drive. “Payment records,” he muttered. “Richard’s offshore accounts.”
Lila grinned. “Front-page material.”
I hesitated. “If we publish now, he’ll bury the evidence.”
“So we wait.”
The USB burned in my pocket all day.
The next morning, my assistant quit. “Mr. Fiore said I’d ‘advance faster’ elsewhere,” she mumbled, avoiding my eyes.
Richard’s office door stayed shut, but I heard him laughing.
I made coffee myself, the pot trembling in my hand. Grandma’s voice whispered: Breathe, Stephanie. Then fight.
At Taekwondo practice that night, I broke two boards with a single kick. Master Kim nodded. “Control the anger. Use it.”
I showered in the empty locker room, water scalding my skin. Lila’s voice mail played: You okay? Call me.
I didn’t.
Friday’s gala was a sea of sequins and lies. Richard brought a date who looked like a model and laughed like a hyena. Lila snuck in with a press pass, snapping photos.
“He’s got a mistress in Miami,” she whispered, showing me a blurry shot. “Wanna crash his night?”
I straightened my jade necklace. “Watch me.”
I “tripped” near Richard, spilling red wine down his shirt. Lila’s camera flashed.
“Clumsy,” I said, echoing his smirk.
The following week, Grandpa William assigned me to lead the Tokyo expansion. Richard stormed into my office. “You’ll fail,” he hissed.
I opened my laptop. “You’ll watch.”
He slammed the door. My framed Taekwondo medal rattled.
Lila found me crying once—just once—in the stairwell. A vendor had quit, bribed by Richard. My flight to Tokyo left in six hours.
She sat beside me, shoulder to shoulder. “Remember when you beat up Jason Miller’s backpack?”
I snorted. “He deserved it.”
“So does Richard.”
We split a candy bar from her purse, chocolate smudging the budget reports.
\---
In Tokyo, I negotiated contracts by day and wandered neon streets by night. I texted Lila photos of cherry blossoms. She sent back memes of Richard’s disastrous TV interview.
Grandpa William called: “The board is impressed.”
I hung up and bought a postcard for Grandma’s recipe book. Wish you were here.
Returning home, I found my office vandalized. Files shredded, computer hacked. Security footage “malfunctioned.”
Richard passed by, whistling.
That night, I uploaded the USB files to a secure cloud. Lila’s headline draft glowed on my screen: FIORE VP EXPOSES CORRUPTION.
I typed: Not yet.