Hand over the company credit card, intern. The adults are taking over now

Vivian smirked and held the card up like a trophy. “Pack your little desk plant and go. HR will mail your last check.” The investor, Mr. Lindgren, cleared his throat. “Vivian, before you continue—who exactly is this young woman?” Vivian laughed. “Nobody. Some clerk my uncle felt sorry for.” I finally stood up. Slowly. I unclipped the lanyard I’d kept tucked inside my cardigan and laid it on the table. The title under my name read: H. Halston — Majority Shareholder & Acting CFO. The room inhaled all at once. Vivian’s smile cracked. “That’s… that’s a mistake. My uncle owns this company.” “Your uncle,” I said softly, “sold his shares to my late father six years ago to cover his gambling debts. Dad left them to me when he passed. I’ve been working from the floor up because I wanted to know which employees were worth keeping.” I turned to Mr. Lindgren. “You’ll be relieved to hear the quarterly numbers you were promised are real. I prepared them myself. From the printer room.” He chuckled, visibly impressed. Vivian’s voice climbed three octaves. “You can’t fire me, I’m family!” “I’m not firing you,” I said. “I’m reassigning you. Effective immediately, you’ll be shadowing Marta in reception. She’s the woman whose coffee order you threw in the trash on Monday. She’ll be deciding when, or if, you’re ready for a real role here.” Vivian’s Birkin slipped off her shoulder and thudded onto the floor. “You— you set me up.” “No,” I said, picking up the company card and tucking it back into my cardigan pocket. “You set yourself up the moment you decided kindness was a weakness. I just stopped being quiet.” I walked to the head of the table — my chair, the one I’d never sat in until that moment — and pulled it out. “Meeting resumed. Vivian, the door is behind you. Marta starts you at eight sharp. Don’t be late.”