Hand over the master account password, Mia, because a glorified secretary doesn’t get to

I didn’t reach for a pen. I reached for my tablet. “Derek,” I said softly, “before I give you anything, I think the board should know something.” He laughed. “The board doesn’t take memos from receptionists, honey.” I tapped my screen twice. The projector behind him flickered to life. On it, in crisp navy letters, was the Halverson Tech organizational chart, freshly updated that morning by the founder himself. At the very top, above the CEO box Derek had been circling for a week, was a single name: Mia Halverson-Reyes. Majority Shareholder. Acting Chair of the Board. The room inhaled all at once. Derek’s smile cracked down the middle. “That’s… that’s a mistake,” he stammered. “That’s a typo.” “It isn’t,” I said. “My grandfather built this company. He asked me to work every department from the ground up before I took my seat. Reception. Accounting. IT. Even the mailroom you walked past this morning without saying good morning to Hector.” I stood, smoothing my blazer. “For eleven days I’ve watched you talk over women, dismiss our engineers, and bill personal dinners to the company card. I have every receipt. I have every recording from the meetings you insisted on holding in my old cubicle, because the acoustics there are, as you said, ‘great for putting people in their place.'” Derek’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. I slid a single sheet of paper across the glass toward him. “This isn’t a relinquishment form. It’s your termination, effective the moment you sat down. Security is already at the door. You’ll leave the laptop, the card, and the parking pass.” I turned to the stunned department heads. “The rest of us have a 9:30. Let’s begin.” Derek walked out in silence, escorted past the same reception desk he’d sneered at all week. Hector, the mail clerk, held the door open for him and smiled. “Have a blessed day, sir.”