They let me go when I turned 55. As my farewell, I handed out roses to every colleague, while leaving a folder on my bosss deskfilled with the results of a secret audit Id done on my own.
“Margaret, were going to have to let you go,” said Mr. Thompson in that sickly-sweet tone he always used when delivering a knife in the back disguised as kindness. He leaned back in his leather chair, laced his fingers over his belly, and added, “The company needs fresh energy, new blood. You understand, dont you?”
I studied himhis well-groomed face, the expensive tie Id helped him pick at the last corporate dinner. Understand? Of course I did. The shareholders had been demanding an independent audit, and he needed to remove the one person who knew the full truth: me.
“I understand,” I replied calmly. “Is this fresh energy Lucy, the receptionist who mixes up debits and credits but laughs at all your jokes and is only 22?”
His expression hardened. “Its not about age, Margaret. Its your methods theyre outdated. We need a leap forward.”
That phrase had been his mantra for months. Id built this company with him, back when we worked in a damp office with peeling walls. Now that everything gleamed, I didnt match the decor.
“Fine,” I stood, steady despite the ice in my veins. “When should I clear my desk?”
It wasnt the scene hed hoped for. He wanted tears, begging, maybe even a scenesomething to make him feel victorious.
“Today, if you like. HRs already preparing the paperwork. Everythings legal, your severance included.”
I turned to leave but paused at the door. “Youre right, Richard. The company *does* need a leap forward. And Ill be the one to take it.”
He didnt get it. Just smirked.
The office avoided eye contact as I packed my things into the cardboard box waiting on my deskmy favourite mug, photos of my kids, papers. At the bottom, I tucked in the bouquet of daisies my university-aged son had given me the night before. Then I pulled out what Id prepared: twelve red rosesone for each colleague Id worked with all these yearsand a black folder tied with ribbon.
I made my rounds, handing out the flowers with quiet thanks. There were hugs, tearslike leaving family.
The folder was for him. I walked into his office unannounced and dropped it onto his papers.
“Whats this?” he asked.
“My parting gift. Every leap forward youve taken these past two yearsnumbers, invoices, dates. Should make for interesting reading.”
I left without looking back.
That night, close to eleven, my phone rang. It was him, voice shaky. “Margaret Ive gone through the folder Do you realise what this means?”
“Perfectly. These arent suspicionstheyre proof. Signatures, transfers, contracts.”
“If this gets out, the company will collapse”
“The company? Or *you*?”
He tried bargainingoffering my job back, even a promotion. I just smiled. “No, Richard. Theres no going back now.” I hung up.
The next morning, Alfie from IT showed up. “Margaret, he tried wiping the servers last night. But I made backups. Weve got everythingeven emails about bribes and offshore transfers.” I pressed a hand to my forehead. The final blow.
Then Lucy, the “new energy,” turned up at my door. She held one of the wilted roses, tears in her eyes. “Im sorry, Margaret. I didnt know Today, he tried forcing me to sign a fake report for the investors. I cant do it. Help me.”
I hugged her. Even his so-called “fresh start” was already cracking.
Two days later, Mr. Thompson resigned “for personal reasons.” The shareholders werent fooled. A week after that, they offered me the directors role.
I walked back into the office. On every desk, my roseswilted but still there. My colleagues applauded. I raised a hand. “Enough. Weve got work to do. The real future starts now.”
That day, I understood: they let me go at 55. But those same 55 years gave me the experience, patience, and strength to endure, fight, and win. Now, the youth worked beside me, learning the most valuable lesson of allhow to turn defeat into victory.
