They let me go when I turned 55. As a farewell, I handed out roses to every colleague, while leaving a folder on my bosss desk containing the results of a secret audit Id conducted on my own.
“Margaret, well have to let you go,” said Mr. Thompson in that sickly-sweet tone he always used when delivering a knife disguised as kindness. He settled into his leather chair, laced his fingers over his belly, and added, “The company needs fresh air, new blood. You understand, dont you?”
I stared at himhis well-groomed face, the expensive tie Id helped him pick out 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 air Lucy, the receptionist who cant tell debit from credit but is 22 and laughs at all your jokes?”
His expression hardened. “Its not about age, Margaret. Its your methodstheyre outdated.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 no longer matched the décor.
“Very well,” I said, rising steadily despite the ice in my veins. “When should I clear my desk?”
It wasnt the reaction hed wanted. Hed expected tears, begging, maybe a scenesomething to make him feel victorious.
“Today, if you like. HR is already preparing the paperwork. All legal, your severance included.”
I walked to the door, then paused. “Youre right, Richard. The company does need a leap forward. And Ill be the one to take it.”
He didnt understand. He just smirked.
No one in the office would meet my eye. I took the cardboard box already waiting on my desk and began packingmy favourite mug, photos of my children, papers. At the bottom, I placed 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 way around the floor, handing out the flowers, murmuring thanks. There were hugs and tears. It felt like saying goodbye to family.
The folder was for him. I walked into his office without knocking and set it atop his documents.
“Whats this?” he asked.
“My parting gift. Every leap forward from the last two yearsnumbers, invoices, dates. Im sure youll find it enlightening.”
I left without looking back.
That night, just before eleven, my phone rang. It was him, voice strained. “Margaret Ive gone through the folder Do you realise what this means?”
“Perfectly. Theyre not suspicionstheyre proof. Signatures, transfers, contracts.”
“If this gets out, the company will collapse”
“The company? Or you?”
He tried bargaining, offering my job back, even a promotion. I just smiled. “No, Richard. Theres no going back.”
I hung up.
The next day, Alan from IT showed up. “Margaret, he tried wiping the servers last night. But I made mirror copies. Weve got everythingeven emails about bribes and offshore transfers.”
I pressed a hand to my forehead. It was the final blow.
Then Lucy, the “new energy,” appeared at my doorstep. 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. Please help me.”
Two days later, Mr. Thompson resigned for “personal reasons.” The shareholders werent fooled. A week after that, they offered me the directorship.
I walked back into the office. On every desk, my roseswithered 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 dismissed me for being 55. But those same 55 years had given me the experience, patience, and strength to endure, confront, and win. Now the youth worked beside me, learning the most valuable lesson of allhow to turn defeat into victory.
