You’re a grey mouse with no money, the friend whispered, standing in the doorway of my birthday party, a silver tray balancing on her arm.
You just dont know how to present yourself, Christina Blake stirred her cocktail lazily with a straw, a bracelet studded with tiny gems glinting on her wrist.
She spoke with that light, almost careless arrogance that had long become her calling card.
Its not about presentation, Olivia Yorke answered softly, tracing the crack in her cheap tea cup. I simply lack the experience this role demands.
Experience, experience how dull, Christina sighed theatrically. What matters is the sparkle in your eyes and a pair of expensive shoes. You have neither.
Christina Blake swept a judging gaze over Olivia, a glance that made her want to curl into a ball, as if shed been scanned and sentenced: defectivedispose.
Listen, I want to help, Christina leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorial. Youre my best friend. Who else will tell you the truth?
Olivia remained mute. The words best friend stuck in her throat, sharp and foreign.
Understand this: in our world youre judged by your attire, but youre released by your connections. Youre a grey mouse without money. Until you realise that, youll wander through hollow interviews. Every sentence landed like an arrow, stealing the breath from her lungs.
Im launching a project, Christina continued, clearly enjoying Olivias reaction. It will need people for the simplest taskssorting paperwork, meeting couriers.
She paused, letting Olivia digest the offer.
I could take you on, temporarily, of course. Until you find something that speaks to your soul, she added, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Olivia lifted her eyes. In them gleamed a calm steel, as if something inside had frozen into cold stone. She looked at Christinaperfectly coiffed hair, disdainfully curved lips, a bracelet worth a years salary in pounds. She no longer saw a friend but a predator savoring her humiliation.
Thank you for the offer, Olivia said slowly. But Ill decline.
Christinas eyebrows shot up in surprise; she hadnt expected that.
You refuse? From my chance? a metallic tone rang in her voice. Fine. Just dont come crying later when you cant afford the rent.
She dramatically produced several large £50 notes from her handbag and flung them onto the table, more than covering the bill.
Ill treat you, she tossed over her shoulder, then strode away, clicking her heels on the marble floor.
Olivia stayed seated, untouched by the money or the cooling tea. She stared out the window at the sleek cars whizzing past, and for the first time felt not despair but a thrilling pulse.
The next morning that thrill hardened into a cold, throbbing energy. She had always been unnoticed, yet she could see and hear what others missed: details, patterns, hidden motivesher true capital.
Sitting at an old laptop, she drafted a plan and posted her services on a freelance platform: search and analysis of unstructured information. It sounded vague, but Olivia knew what lay behind it.
The first months were a torment: tiny gigs, capricious clients, pay that barely covered rent and food. A few times she nearly gave up, tempted to call Christina. Yet the memory of Christinas smile rebuffed any desire to retreat.
A breakthrough came after six months. A modest law firm hired her to gather data on competitors for an upcoming trial. Olivia threw herself into the work with desperate resolve. After a sleepless week she delivered a report that helped the lawyers win. They paid three times her usual rate and became regular patrons, recommending her to others.
Soon a modest stream of orders flowed. Within two years she rented an office and hired an assistant.
Christina called now and then. Her life seemed a perpetual celebration.
Olivia, love! Im on a yacht in the Channel with some partners. How are you? Still stuck in your little cubicle?
Hi. No, not bored. Im working, Olivia replied, scanning the financial statements of a new client.
Working? Christina elongated the word. Dont be shy, my girls out for a run spot is still open. Will you fetch coffee for my new assistant?
Olivia might have balked before, but now she merely shrugged.
Thanks, but I dont need to. I have my own agency.
Agency? a laugh echoed from somewhere. Agency for floorpolishing?
Christinas words no longer held power.
Four more years passed. Yorke & Partners occupied a downtown office, with five analysts on staff. Olivia became a recognized name in corporate intelligence. Then Christina struck.
Her firm, Blake Group, stole a key report from Olivia, recruiting a debtladen young employee with a promise of easy money.
Olivia collected every piece of evidence, uncovered Blakes financial holes, extravagance, and fraud, and sent an immaculate analytical report to an investor.
The next day Christina called, voice trembling.
Youve ruined everything! she shouted.
I was only doing my job, Olivia answered calmly.
Two years later, on the roof of a skyscraper restaurant, Olivias birthday was being celebratedglitter, friends, the whole spectacle. Among the waitstaff she spotted Christina, tray in hand, eyes locking in a flash of recognition: horror and hatred in Christina, cool composure in Olivia.
Olivia regarded her calmly, without a hint of glee. She barely nodded, acknowledging Christinas presence as something ordinary, then turned back to her guests. That small gesture was louder than any slap; it meant that Christina no longer existed for her. She had become a faceless function, irrelevant to important affairs.
Christinas complexion drained, she bit her lip and, trying to preserve the last shred of dignity, sprinted toward the service exit.
Olivia watched her go and understood: the world is oddly just. Sometimes the one who calls you a grey mouse never sees how he falls into his own trap. It is not revenge; it is the natural balance.
—
Six months later, Olivias business had gone international, opening new horizons. One evening, while checking her mail, she found a note from an old university acquaintance.
Guess what, I just saw Christina Blake. Shes working as a receptionist at a gym on the outskirts. They say she was thrown out of a restaurant after that scandal she even tried to borrow money from me, complaining that everyone betrayed her and the world is unfair
Olivia read to the end and closed her laptop without a flicker of triumph or pity. Christinas story was no longer hers.
The following day, passing a shop window, Olivia saw her own reflection: a confident woman accustomed to moving forward, knowing her own worth.
She recalled Christinas words about sparkle in the eyes and expensive shoes. The shoes were indeed pricey, but the real sparkle had never come from them. It sprang from the awareness of her own power, from realizing that true value lies not in what you wear but in what you create with mind and hand.
She entered her office, where a new, complex project waited on the desk. Sitting down, a faint smile touched her lips.
The grey mouse never turned into a predatory cat. She became, at her core, what she always was: a shrewd, unnoticed hunter who values information and waits patiently for the right moment.
And that moment had finally arrived.
