I had kept my family in the dark about my little experiment: taking an entry-level sales job at my uncle’s subsidiary firm just to see how the real world operated. I also happened to drop twenty-five thousand dollars on an elite, invite-only personal training membership at The Foundry. When the new girl in the office found out about the gym, she went absolutely ballistic. She pointed a French-manicured finger right in my face, screaming that my parents must be cursed to have raised such a financially reckless, ungrateful brat. She loudly accused me of funneling dirty money, claiming the only reason a girl like me would work out at a place like that was to dress like a slut and trap a wealthy man. Then, she played her trump card. She boasted that she was the daughter of the CEO, Jonathan Steward, and even she wouldn’t dare spend money so frivolously. She demanded to know who the hell I thought I was. She actually grabbed my arm, threatening to drag me down to the gym to cancel my membership, vowing to "teach me the lesson my parents never did." I just stood there, completely stunned. Jonathan Steward is my father’s identical twin brother. He is notoriously, fiercely single. He has never been married. I had absolutely no idea where this embarrassing, unhinged "daughter" had crawled out from. 01 "Twenty-five grand on a gym membership? Have you completely lost your mind? That’s what your parents probably make breaking their backs in a decade, and you’re in here playing dress-up as a socialite?" When I didn't respond immediately, lost in the sheer absurdity of the moment, my new coworker, Violet, mistook my silence for shame. "The corporate culture here has always been grounded. Humble," she sneered, pacing the aisle between the cubicles so everyone could hear. "I’ve seen dozens of girls exactly like you. You think you can just sleep your way to the penthouse." "Before I got here, people like you were turning this company into a joke. But I’m here now, and I won't sit back and watch it happen." Sleep my way to the top? If that were the case, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble of anonymously submitting my resume for a grueling, entry-level grind. My uncle loved me like his own daughter. If I asked for a penthouse in Tribeca tomorrow, the deed would be in my name by noon. I wrenched my arm out of Violet's grip, my brow furrowing. "I spend my own money. Since when does my bank account require your auditing?" Instead of backing down, Violet escalated. "You're going to refund that membership to my card. I'll hold the money in escrow for you so you don't blow it again," she demanded, her voice dripping with venomous authority. "And stop bringing that cheap, desperate energy into this office. Who are you trying to seduce? My father? Let me tell you something, you little gold digger—there isn’t a man in this company with more old money than him. As long as I'm breathing, you won't get anywhere near him." A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped my lips. "You are really committed to this bit, aren't you? The Academy owes you an Oscar." Beside me, Sophie, the only coworker who had shown me genuine kindness, tugged frantically at the hem of my silk blouse. "Gemma, please, just let it go," Sophie whispered, her eyes wide with panic. "She really is Mr. Steward’s daughter. The last top sales rep who crossed her got fired on the spot. We can't afford to mess with her." I wasn't about to buy into this collective delusion. I refused to believe this girl had the power to crush me under her designer knock-off heels. I rolled my eyes. "Just because she says she’s his daughter, you all blindly believe it? I could say I'm his niece. Where's the proof?" I brushed past Violet and sat at my desk, but the hushed, mocking whispers of the peanut gallery immediately filled the room. "Is Gemma insane? Demanding Violet prove her own father is her father?" "Everyone knows about Violet and Mr. Steward. If she had half a brain, she'd be begging for forgiveness right now." "Someone needs to learn her place." Sophie slid her phone onto my desk. On the screen was Violet’s pinned Instagram post. "Mr. Steward personally dropped her off on her first day," Sophie whispered. I stared at the screen. It was a photo of Violet, her arm looped affectionately through my uncle's. I was paralyzed by a cold wave of shock. Violet’s caption was nauseatingly sentimental: Daddy's spoiled girl. I promise to work hard and never let you down. #Legacy It took me only a few seconds to deduce what was actually happening. My uncle possessed the kind of quiet, devastating charisma that could rival a Hollywood leading man. People were always asking for photos with him at galas and charity dinners. When he was in his twenties, he experienced the great, tragic love of his life. After she passed away from cancer, something inside him locked away forever. He became Manhattan’s most famously untouchable, ascetic billionaire—married only to his empire. There was no physical way he had a daughter this age. If I hadn't intimately known the ghosts of his past, her little performance might have actually fooled me. Seeing that Violet was spiraling into a power trip, and noting it was nearly five o'clock, I grabbed my gym bag and stood up. Just as I reached the door, I heard Violet barking into her cell phone. "I want Gemma relocated immediately. Send her to the Seattle branch for two months—better yet, just get her out of this city. I'll show her who runs this place." I let out a soft, dismissive scoff. But the moment my foot crossed the threshold, my phone violently shattered the silence. 02 "Gemma. Pack your bags. You're flying out to the Seattle office for a two-month field assignment..." It was Derek, our smarmy Vice President. I kept my voice perfectly level as I ended the call, though a tempest of anger was brewing beneath my ribs. Violet crossed her arms, looking unimaginably smug. "I told you. You don't deserve that kind of luxury. Since you wouldn't listen, I had to make sure you'll never step foot in that gym again." "My father only has one daughter, and he spoils me rotten. Whatever I ask for, he makes happen in under five minutes. Do you believe me now?" When I remained silent, analyzing the variables of this sudden betrayal, her arrogance swelled. "If you get on your knees and apologize to me right now, and promise to wire that twenty-five grand into my account, I might ask my dad to rescind the transfer. You can stay in your little apartment and live your pathetic little life." The office erupted into a chorus of sycophants. "We warned you, Gemma! Violet has the ultimate backing. You just had to touch the stove to see if it was hot." "Just be obedient. Violet takes care of her people. Cross her, and she'll end your career." "You're eating the crumbs off her family's table, Gemma, yet you tried to outshine her. Look in the mirror." "Exactly. What kind of 'good girl' spends that much time at a luxury gym anyway? Clearly, her mind isn't on the company." The sheer volume of their malicious, deeply misogynistic venom snapped something inside me. I shot a glacial glare across the bullpen. "There are cameras in this office. You want to keep spewing defamatory slander? Because my lawyer would love to hear it." The sycophants visibly recoiled, their mouths snapping shut. But Violet stepped forward, dripping with fake sympathy. "I'm only doing this for your own good, Gemma. The job market is brutal right now. Where else are you going to go?" She reached out, attempting to grab my hands in a faux-sisterly gesture. "I've always felt a connection with you. If you just admit you were wrong today, we can still be best friends." I picked up the iced Americano from my desk and launched the contents directly at her chest. "I don't recall ever scraping the bottom of the barrel for 'friends' like you," I said, my voice eerily calm. "You took a photo with Mr. Steward. Congratulations. Stop pretending you wear the crown." The dark espresso bloomed violently across Violet’s pristine white designer dress. She shrieked, stomping her feet, pointing a trembling finger at me as a string of obscenities flew from her mouth. I didn't have the patience for her theatrics. I pulled out my phone and dialed my uncle's private number, needing to hear the truth straight from his mouth. "I'm calling Mr. Steward right now to report someone dragging his name through the mud." The line rang. And rang. And went to voicemail. I tried twice more. Nothing. Even the coworkers who had stayed quiet couldn't help but pity me now. "Gemma, stop embarrassing yourself. Mr. Steward is the Chairman of a global conglomerate. Why would he pick up a call from a junior sales rep?" "His number is listed in the executive directory, sure, but the only person here who has ever actually gotten through to him is Violet." "Just stop acting." At that precise moment, Violet pulled out her own phone, her eyes locked onto mine with a predatory gleam. Nice try, I thought to myself. Let's see how far you take this charade. But a second later, the air was knocked from my lungs. The call connected. The voice pouring through the speaker was undeniably my uncle's. A cold dread coiled in my stomach. 03 "Violet. Is something the matter?" "Daddy..." her voice morphed into a sickeningly sweet, infantile whine. "I just missed you so much. Are you coming home for dinner tonight?" "I have a business dinner. Next time." ... Later, at The Foundry, those words played on a relentless loop in my mind. I knew that voice better than my own. It was Uncle Jonathan. But why did she call him 'Daddy'? And more importantly, why didn't he correct her? Did my uncle actually authorize my banishment to Seattle? My personal trainer had to correct my form three times before I finally dropped the kettlebells and punished myself with a brutal five-mile sprint on the treadmill. Sweating and breathless, I stepped off the machine, intending to call my uncle again. But as I approached the lobby, I heard a familiar, grating voice. "There's a member here named Gemma. I'm here to process the cancellation of her account," Violet demanded, glaring down at the young receptionist. The girl looked entirely bewildered. "Ma'am, cancellations require the member to be present with their ID." Violet slammed her hand on the marble counter. "Get me your manager. Do you want to stay in business? I can have this place shut down by tomorrow morning." Before the poor receptionist could hit the panic button, I stepped out of the shadows. "Nobody is touching my account." Violet flinched, genuinely startled to see me. "Why aren't you on a plane? You were supposed to land in Seattle an hour ago!" I wiped my face with a towel, offering a cold smile. "The Crestview account is in its critical negotiation phase. If I leave now, I'm just handing my commission over to someone else. I'm not stupid." Violet’s face contorted through shades of red and purple. "You're a subordinate! Defying a direct executive order is insubordination! You're completely out of control!" Because I was a VIP member, the commotion had drawn the attention of Roxy, the club's owner. Sensing an audience, Violet puffed up her chest. "I am Gemma's superior. She is under investigation for embezzling corporate funds to pay for this twenty-five-thousand-dollar membership. I demand you wire the prorated amount to my account immediately, or I will involve the authorities." A visceral disgust washed over me. "Roxy, please ignore her. She's completely unhinged. This has nothing to do with my company." Roxy, a formidable woman who had dealt with every breed of entitled elite in the city, looked Violet up and down. "Ma'am," Roxy said, her voice like steel. "Even if you are her boss, how she spends her time and money outside of office hours is her business. If you genuinely believe she committed corporate fraud, I suggest you call the police." "Fine! I'll call them right now!" "Do it," I challenged, pulling out my own phone. "Let's get them down here." The sheer panic in Violet's eyes was impossible to hide. The bluff had been called. She spun on her heel, her face burning, and marched toward the glass doors. "You're going to regret this, Gemma. I'm going to make you pay." I offered a dismissive wave. "I'll be waiting." 04 The very next morning, she delivered on her threat. I was halfway through my commute when the email from HR hit my inbox. To all staff: Gemma has been terminated, effective immediately, due to severe insubordination and refusal to relocate, which has severely impacted business operations. To absolutely no one's surprise, my entire client portfolio—including the fifty-million-dollar Crestview contract I had spent months nurturing—was officially reassigned to Violet. Sophie called me, crying. "It’s so unfair, Gemma. It’s literal daylight robbery. She just wanted your commissions." She wants my portfolio? I smiled to myself, staring out the window of my Uber. Violet didn't have the intellect or the pedigree to close a deal like Crestview. The night before, my uncle had finally returned my call. I had told him, quite simply, that my little experiment was over. "Finally," he had chuckled. "I wondered how long you'd last playing in the mud. The Managing Director's chair has been waiting for you." The Crestview signing ceremony had been in the works for two months. Today, the entire executive suite was dressed to the nines. Derek, the VP, hovered like a desperate moth around Violet, who was draped in a sapphire blue gown, acting as if she had personally built the company from the ground up. The moment I walked through the double doors of the banquet hall, the two of them froze. "Gemma?" Derek snarled, marching toward me. "You were fired. You have zero security clearance to be here. Security!" I slowly removed my sunglasses, meeting his gaze with absolute icy calm. "I'm here to take over the company." "Take over the company?" Violet laughed—a high, grating sound that echoed through the room. "The Crestview deal is done. My father authorized me as the acting director of this branch. Who the hell do you think you are, waltzing in here with this psychotic delusion?" Derek immediately jumped in to defend his queen. "Mr. Steward is grooming Violet for the throne. She is the rightful heir to the entire conglomerate." The executives in the room murmured in awe, showering Violet with sickening praise. "No wonder she carries herself with such grace. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!" "To send his own daughter to the trenches—Mr. Steward really trusts Derek to guide her." "I can't believe Gemma actually showed her face. The sheer audacity." The cacophony of insults washed over me, leaving no mark. Violet, drunk on the validation, pointed toward the doors. "Security! Clear the room. Throw this trash out onto the street!" Two burly guards began moving toward me. Moving with deliberate, excruciating slowness, I reached into my designer tote. I pulled out a heavy, custom-milled platinum embosser and set it gently on the nearest cocktail table. "The Chairman's personal corporate seal is in my possession," I said, my voice carrying effortlessly across the silent room. "The only person authorized to sign the Crestview contract today is me." Derek’s face turned violently red. "You stole the corporate seal! You deranged little thief, I'll have you thrown in federal prison!" A flicker of genuine terror crossed Violet’s eyes, but she desperately tried to hold the facade. "It's a fake! A prop! Do you really think you can scare us with a piece of metal?" The crowd began to buzz nervously. "The Chairman’s seal is kept in the penthouse vault at HQ. Only Mr. Steward touches it. There's no way a fired sales rep could get her hands on it." I arched an eyebrow, letting my gaze sweep over the room, ensuring every single person was looking at me. "This seal," I said, enunciating every syllable, "was handed to me directly. By my uncle."
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