**Diary Entry**
*Monday, 15th May*
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.
David, you understand how it is. The companys shifting directionnew perspectives, young energy.
Victor Barlow, the branch director, leaned back in his oversized leather chairprobably worth my annual salary. The chair creaked loudly, as if protesting his fake sympathy.
He twirled an expensive Montblanc pen between manicured fingers like a conductors baton, orchestrating reality in this sunlit office reeking of overpriced cologne.
We need youth, he finally declared, setting the pen down on the mahogany desk. The words hung in the air like a grease stain on a crisp white shirt, poisoning the rooms atmosphere of leather and false success.
I studied him silentlyhis perfectly styled hair, faintly silver at the temples (no doubt styled to look distinguished), the careless flash of his Rolex as he adjusted his cuff. The smug posture of a man whod never questioned his right to decide others fates. He couldnt have been older than forty.
The sort of dynamic manager who confuses an MBA with life experience and sees anyone over fifty as dead weight slowing down the corporate ship.
Youre an excellent specialist, he continued, avoiding my gaze while staring past me at the city skyline. Your expertise is invaluable, but the market demands change. Energy, drive, digital transformation. New horizons require new speeds. Were implementing CRM, migrating to cloud, exploring neural networks. Its not for you.
I nodded slowly, keeping my face a mask of weary resignation. Inside, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just cold, methodical thoughtlike the steady click of a Geiger counter.
*Item 12 in my preliminary report: Unjust dismissals of senior staff to clear space for loyalists. Check.*
His talk of digital transformation was especially amusing, given that just last week Id traced server logs exposing fictitious IT invoices siphoning company funds.
I understand, I said flatlymaybe too flatly.
Barlow clearly expected outrage. Pleading, curses, reminders of loyal service. He even tensed, fingers gripping the armrest, bracing for a fight. But there was none.
I just watched him, seeing beyond the man to the double-entry ledgers Id spent three weeks reconstructing, the kickbacks disguised as marketing services, the ghost employees drawing salaries but never appearing.
And, of course, his mistress, Emily Hart, hired as his deputy on triple my salaryher sole qualification being her presence at business dinners.
Well pay you three months salary, he added, relieved. Thats the best I could secure. Be grateful. Personal initiative.
I nodded again. Three months. Generousespecially against the financial black hole Id uncovered, big enough to swallow a small towns annual budget.
Alright, Victor. If youth is whats needed, so be it.
I stood. He had no idea my 120-page reportcomplete with scanned documents, covert recordings, and transaction trailswas already on the CEOs desk.
No idea the board had voted yesterday to restructure his branch.
No idea I wasnt just a sacked 58-year-old accountant.
I was the liquidator. My job wasnt to salvage rotbut to demolish it, so something healthy could be built in its place.
May I collect my things? I asked, playing my role to the end.
Of course, he said quickly, already mentally ushering me out as he dialled Emily to share the good news. Take your time.
He was wrong. I was in a hurry.
At 8:50 the next morning, I stood at the business centre entrancenot with a cardboard box, but in a sharp dark suit. Beside me were two security officers and Simon Whitmore, head of legal from corporate HQ.
Barlow arrived first. Spotting me, he frowned, then smirked.
David? Back so soon? No need for dramatics.
Thats when Simon stepped forward.
Victor Barlow? Simon Whitmore, corporate legal. As of now, this branch is under investigation. Hand over your pass and mobile.
The smirk vanished.
What joke is this? Ive cleared everything!
Just then, Emily arrived by taxi, followed by her nephew, Jake. Barlows gaze darted between Simon and me. Understandingthen pure hatredflashed in his eyes.
You You did this, you old bastard! he hissed. Revenge for sacking you? Ill destroy you!
He lunged, but security blocked him. Emily, ever defensive, snapped:
Pathetic, spiteful little man! Running to tattle like a child! Whod even care?
I looked at her, then back at Barlow.
Victor, I said calmly, steel beneath the words. This isnt revenge. Its an audit.
I was sent to evaluate this branchs viability. My report,I smiled faintlywas damning. Especially the financial discrepancies, fictitious roles, and kickbacks.
Barlow paled. Emily recoiled like shed been struck.
Now, I extended my hand, your pass, Victor. And yours, Emily.
The rules were mine now.
(Thoughts? Id love to hear them.)
