"You don't know anything," she hissed, gripping the crowbar tighter.
"I know enough," I said, my voice shaking. "And I'm not the only one."
Elise took a threatening step forward, raising the flashlight. "I'm calling the police right now. You are going to jail, Harper."
"She's right, Elise."
The voice came from the shadows behind Elise. It was calm, steady, and commanding.
Elise spun around, dropping the crowbar with a loud clatter.
Sitting in a leather armchair in the deepest corner of the vault, illuminated only by a small, green banker's lamp she had just switched on, was the elderly woman in the brown coat.
The green light from the banker's lamp cast long, dramatic shadows across the Archive Room. The elderly woman sat perfectly still, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wasn't wearing the frayed brown coat anymore. Instead, it was draped over the back of the chair. Underneath, she wore a sharply tailored, immaculate black suit that radiated quiet, undeniable power.
Elise stumbled backward, her flashlight beam shaking wildly as it swept across the old woman's face.
"You," Elise breathed, her voice high and breathless. "How did you get in here? The building is locked! I'll have you arrested! I'll have you both arrested!"
"You can try," the woman said softly. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a heavy ring of brass keys, tossing them onto the wooden table next to her. They landed with a heavy, final clank. "But considering I hold the master lease for this building, I imagine the police will be more interested in why you are using a crowbar on my private filing cabinets."
Elise stared at the keys. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
I stood frozen against the door, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. The woman looked past Elise and met my eyes.
"Come in, Harper," she said warmly. "Close the door. We have business to discuss."
I reached back and pushed the heavy steel door shut. The loud click of the lock seemed to snap Elise out of her shock.
"Who are you?" Elise demanded, her voice wavering between rage and terror. She looked from the woman, to the keys, and back. "Are you from Corporate? Is this some kind of trap? Because if you are, you have no idea who my lawyers are."
"I know exactly who your lawyers are, Elise," the woman said, leaning forward into the light. "They are the same firm the company retains. Which means I pay them."
She picked up a thick, leather-bound book from the table. It was one of the physical ledgers Elise had been desperately trying to destroy.
"My name is Margaret Calloway," she said, her voice ringing with absolute authority. "I built this company from a single sewing machine in a basement in Queens. And for the last three years, I have watched from afar as you turned my flagship store into a corrupt, elitist vanity project."
Elise’s face drained of all color. The flashlight slipped from her hand, hitting the floor and rolling away into the dark. She grabbed the edge of a filing cabinet to steady herself.
"Ms. Calloway," Elise whispered, her voice cracking. "I... I didn't know. If I had known who you were..."
"That is precisely the point," Margaret interrupted, her voice hardening like steel. "You didn't know. You judged me by my coat. You assumed I was worthless because I didn't look like your ideal mark. If I had walked in wearing diamonds, you would have offered me champagne. But because I looked poor, you treated me like trash. And in doing so, you showed me exactly how you treat everyone who cannot do something for you."
Margaret stood up slowly. Despite her age, she commanded the room entirely.
"I came here today undercover because I noticed the discrepancies in the regional reports," Margaret continued, stepping toward Elise. "The massive unauthorized markdowns. The sudden drop in legacy client retention. The toxic employee turnover rate. I suspected you were artificially inflating your numbers by selling our stock at basement prices to your friends, pocketing the cash bribes. But I wanted to see the culture you created with my own eyes."