PART 6: Descent from Power
PART 6: Descent from Power
Executive directors enforce swift justice.
Marcus Vance and the store general manager walked with purpose, their crisp dark suits radiating corporate authority.
The moment their eyes landed on me, their hurried steps slowed into a respectful march, and their postures straightened into absolute deference.
They bypassed Brittany completely, stopping directly in front of me and bowing their heads in unison.
"Founder Reed," Marcus said respectfully, his voice carrying clearly across the boutique floor. "We are deeply honored to have you inspect the flagship today. The board review materials, the retail compliance reports, and the security footage archives from your arrival are fully prepared in the private boardroom."
Brittany turned completely white.
The color drained from her face so rapidly that she looked like a statue carved from chalk.
Her hands began to tremble so violently that her smartphone slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the marble floor.
Crack.
The glass screen shattered in a spiderweb pattern right across the center, mirroring the sudden destruction of her carefully constructed reality.
She staggered backward, her spine colliding hard against the clothing rack, sending several hangers sliding violently down the metal bar.
"F-Founder? Wait... Mr. Vance, there's a massive mistake!" Brittany shrieked, her voice pitching upward in sheer panic. "She’s lying! She doesn't have any money! She came here looking at the sale rack! She’s my mother-in-law!"
Marcus turned around slowly, fixing Brittany with a freezing, unimpressed glare that could have chilled boiling water.
"Watch your tone, Morales," Marcus commanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, authoritative register. "You are standing in the presence of Mrs. Eleanor Reed—the co-founder, majority shareholder, and sole legal owner of the Maison Reed luxury fashion group. Every single boutique, every atelier, and every square inch of retail space in this country exists because of her vision and her capital."
Brittany’s knees buckled slightly.
She gripped the clothing rack for dear life, her chest heaving as silent, frantic gasps escaped her lips.
"The dress you mocked at my husband's funeral," I said calmly, stepping forward with quiet, unshakeable grace, "was hand-woven mulberry silk, tailored in our Paris atelier twenty-five years ago. Arthur designed the silhouette for me on our tenth wedding anniversary. It doesn't scream with garish brand emblems because true luxury never needs to beg for approval."
"I... Mrs. Reed... Eleanor, I didn't know!" Brittany stammered, hot tears of mortification spilling over her lower eyelids and tracking down her cheeks. "I was just joking... I swear! Ethan and I—you know how much we love and respect you—!"
"You also didn't know that dignity, discretion, and character are mandatory, non-negotiable requirements to represent my company," I interrupted smoothly, letting my gaze sweep over her trembling frame. "I watched you ignore paying clients. I listened to you mock everyday shoppers behind their backs. And your personnel file contains three official warnings for mistreating people who didn't look rich enough for your superficial taste."
I turned my head toward Marcus.
"Terminate her employment contract immediately for gross misconduct, insubordination, and repeated breach of customer service protocols," I ordered. "Escort her off the premises. And ensure security permanently revokes her building access badge today."
"Right away, Founder Reed," Marcus answered firmly.
Within ten minutes, Brittany was standing outside the glass entrance of the flagship boutique on Fifth Avenue, sobbing quietly into her hands while holding a small cardboard box containing her personal desk items, watched closely by a stone-faced security guard.
May you like
The illusion was shattered.
The queen of the sales floor had been dethroned by the woman she thought she could bully.
