We need fresh blood, the manager said, letting me go at 58. Little did he know, I was the undercover auditor sent to shut down his branch.
Geoffrey Archibald, you understand how it is. The companys shifting directionnew perspectives, new energy.
Victor Sergei Belyaev, the branch manager, leaned back in his enormous leather chair, probably worth my annual salary. The chair creaked like a bad excuse, underlining his fake sympathy.
He twirled an expensive Parker pen between manicured fingers, conducting reality like an orchestra, the morning sun and the scent of high-end cologne filling the room.
We need youth, he finally said, placing the pen on the solid mahogany desk.
The words hung in the air like a grease stain on a white shirt, poisoning the atmosphere of leather and hollow success.
I studied him in silencehis perfectly styled hair, the distinguished silver at his temples, the Swiss TAG Heuer flashing carelessly on his wrist as he adjusted his cuff. His smug posture, the look of a man whod never doubted his right to decide others fates. Forty, tops.
One of those efficient managers who confused an MBA with life experience and saw anyone over fifty as dead weight slowing down the corporate ship.
Youre a brilliant specialist, he continued, avoiding eye contact, staring at the city skyline through the massive window. Your expertise is invaluable, but the market demands change. Energy, drive, digital transformation. New horizons demand new speeds. Were implementing CRM, moving to the cloud, adopting neural networks. Itll be challenging for you.
I nodded slowly, keeping my face a mask of weary resignation. Inside, there was no anger, no bitternessjust the cold, methodical ticking of a Geiger counter.
Item #12 in my previous report: Unjustified dismissals of experienced employees based on age, clearing space for loyalists. Check.
His talk of digital transformation was especially rich, considering Id just traced server logs showing siphoned funds through fake IT services.
I understand, I said flatly, maybe too calmly.
Belyaev clearly expected moreoutrage, begging, curses. He even tensed, gripping the armrest, ready to defend himself. But the attack never came.
I just looked at him and saw the real picture. The double-entry bookkeeping Id pieced together over weeks of internship, cross-referencing shadow server data with official reports. Kickbacks disguised as marketing services. Ghost employeespeople on payroll whod never set foot in the office.
And, of course, his mistress, Ksenia, hired as his deputy at triple my salary, whose only job was accompanying him to business dinners.
Well pay you whats owed. Three months salary, he added, relieved I wasnt fighting. Thats the best I could secure. Be grateful. Personal initiative.
Another nod. Three months. How generous. Especially compared to the budget gap Id uncoveredone the size of a small towns annual income.
Alright, Victor. If youth is whats needed, so be it.
I stood. He had no idea my 120-page reportcomplete with scans, covert recordings, and transaction trailswas already on the CEOs desk.
He didnt know the board had voted yesterday to restructure his branch by force.
I wasnt just a fired 58-year-old economist. I was the liquidator. My job wasnt to save the rotit was to demolish it so something new could rise.
Can I clear my desk? I asked, keeping up the act.
Yes, of course, Belyaev said, already mentally ushering me out, dialing Ksenia to share the good news. Take your time.
He was wrong. I was in a hurry. Because at 9 AM sharp, auditors would swarm this placestarting with his office.
Walking through the open-plan office was like a march to Calvary. Dozens of eyes stabbed my backsome pitying, some gloating, most just terrified, imagining themselves in my shoes.
I felt every stare. Item #13: Toxic workplace culture built on fear and nepotism. Check.
At my old desk sat a kid25, undercut hairstyle, wireless earbud gleaming. He didnt even look up as I approached, scrolling his phone.
Those are my things, I said, nodding at the small stack of books and framed family photo hed shoved aside for a pizza box.
Oh, right, he said, pulling out his earbud. Take em, grandad. I need space for a second monitor. Gotta keep up with TikTok, yknow? Content wont watch itself.
His smirk reeked of arrogance. I recognized himStan, Belyaevs nephew, hired last week as an SMM specialist.
As I packed my things, a figure in a tight designer dress appearedKsenia herself.
Geoffrey, what a shame, she cooed, though her eyes gleamed with icy glee. Well miss you. You were such a vintage touch to our team.
Im sure, I replied without looking.
If you need work, dont be shy. I could put in a word. Theres a night watchman job at a gated community. Quiet, perfect for your age. They even let you do crosswords. Maybe dominoes.
A low blow. She wanted to see me break, to bask in my defeat. Her own position was shaky, and she fed on others humiliation.
I met her gazelong, steady, like an entomologist studying a venomous insect. She looked away first, adjusting her hair.
Fine. Good luck, she snapped, clicking off in her heels.
Item #14: Nepotism and incompetent appointments damaging company interests. Another check.
At the exit, a quiet voice stopped me.
Geoffrey
I turned. It was Emily from accounting, the young girl Id saved from Belyaevs wrath over minor mistakes.
Here, she handed me a chocolate bar. Dont dont let it get to you. They wont last.
Her eyes were sincere. The only one brave enough to approach.
Thanks, Emily, I smiled. Good people stand out.
Outside, I inhaled the crisp evening air, pulled out my phone, and dialed.
Its done. 9 AM tomorrow. Be ready.
At 8:50 sharp, I stood at the business center entrancenot with a cardboard box, but in a sharp dark suit. Beside me: two security guys and Andrew Victor Lysander, head of legal.
Belyaev arrived first. Seeing me, he frowned, then smirked.
Geoffrey? Back so soon? No need for dramatics.
Just then, Lysander stepped forward.
Victor Belyaev? Lysander, head of legal. This branch is under immediate audit. Hand over your pass and phone.
Belyaevs mask slipped.
What joke is this? I have approvals!
Ksenia arrived in a taxi, followed by Stan. Belyaevs eyes darted between Lysander and me. Realizationthen hate.
You You did this, you old bastard! he hissed. Revenge for firing you? Ill crush you!
He lunged, but security blocked him. Ksenia screeched:
I knew you were a petty, vindictive snitch! Running to daddy like a child!
I looked at her, then Belyaev.
Victor, my voice was steel. This isnt revenge. Its an audit.
I was sent here to evaluate whether this branch should exist. My report was less than favorable.
Especially the part on financial fraud, ghost employees, and kickbacks.
Belyaev paled. Ksenia recoiled.
Now, I held out my hand, your pass, Victor. And yours, Ksenia.
Now I made the rules.
