I was fired because of my age. As a farewell, I gave roses to all my colleagues — but I left my boss a folder containing the results of my secret audit.

“Lena, we’re going to have to let you go.”

Gennadi spoke these words with that paternal gentleness he adopted whenever he was about to play a dirty trick.

He leaned back in his huge chair, fingers intertwined over his belly.

“We’ve decided the company needs a new face. New energy. You understand.”

I looked at him: his carefully shaved face, the expensive tie I had helped him choose for the last company party.

Do I understand? Oh yes. I understood that investors were starting to talk about an independent audit and that he urgently needed to get rid of the only person who had the full picture. Me.

“I understand,” I replied evenly. “New energy… meaning Katia from reception, who confuses debit and credit, but is twenty-two and laughs at all your jokes?”

He flinched slightly.

“It’s not about age, Lena. It’s just… your approach is a bit outdated. We’re stagnating. We need a leap forward.”

A “leap.” He’d been repeating that word for six months. I had built this company with him from nothing, back when we were crammed into a small office with peeling walls.

Now that the office shone with luxury, apparently I no longer fit the décor.

“Very well,” I said, standing up lightly, feeling an absolute calm inside me. “When should I clear my desk?”

My composure visibly unsettled him. He expected tears, pleas, a scandal. Anything that would let him feel like a magnanimous victor.

“You can do it today. No rush. HR will prepare the paperwork. Severance, everything as it should be.”

I nodded and headed to the door. Hand on the knob, I turned back.

“You know, Gen, you’re right. The company really does need a leap. And I suppose I’m going to give it one.”

He didn’t get it. He just smiled at me condescendingly.

In the open space where fifteen people worked, the atmosphere was tense. Everyone knew.

The girls looked down awkwardly. I went to my desk. A cardboard box was already waiting for me. Efficient.

I began packing my things: photos of the kids, my favorite mug, a stack of professional magazines.

At the bottom, I placed a small bouquet of lilies of the valley my son had given me the day before — just “to make me happy.”

Then I took out what I had prepared: twelve scarlet roses — one for each employee who had accompanied me all these years — and a large black binder tied with cords.

I went around the office, giving everyone a flower.

I spoke simple words, words of thanks. Some hugged me, others cried. It felt like leaving a family.

When I returned to my desk, only the binder remained. I picked it up, walked past the stunned faces of my colleagues, and went back to Gennadi’s office.

The door was ajar. He was on the phone, laughing:

“Yes, the old guard is leaving… Yes, it’s time to move on…”

I didn’t need to knock. I entered, approached, and placed the binder on his papers.

He looked up at me, surprised, hand on the receiver.

“And what’s this?”

“It’s my farewell gift, Gen. Instead of flowers. Here are all your ‘leaps’ from the past two years.”

“With figures, invoices, and dates. You’ll surely find it interesting to study at your leisure. Especially the section on ‘flexible methodologies’ for fund transfers.”

I turned and left, feeling his gaze on the binder and on my back.

He barked something into the phone and hung up. But I didn’t turn around.

I walked through the open space with my empty box. Everyone watched me.

In their eyes, I read a mix of fear and secret admiration. A red rose sat on every desk. It looked like a field of poppies after the battle.

At the exit, the chief IT specialist, Sergei, caught up with me. A discreet man whom Gennadi saw as just a cog.

A year earlier, when Gen tried to slap him with a heavy fine for a server crash caused by his own mistake, I had brought proof and defended the guy. He hadn’t forgotten.

“Ielena Petrovna,” he said softly, “if you need anything… data… cloud backups… you know where to find me.”

I simply nodded in gratitude. It was the first voice of resistance.

At home, my husband and my student son were waiting for me. Seeing the box, they understood everything.

“So? Did it work?” my husband asked, taking the box.

“The first step is done,” I said, taking off my heels. “Now, we wait.”

My son, a future lawyer, hugged me.

“Mom, you’re amazing. I reviewed all the documents you compiled. Impossible to find a single flaw. No auditor will be able to contest them.”

He had helped me organize the chaos of double accounting I had secretly collected all year.

All evening, I waited for a call. It didn’t come. I imagined him, sitting in his office, leafing through page after page, his face draining of color.

The call came at eleven at night. I put it on speaker.

“Lena?” — no trace of gentleness left in his voice. Only barely contained panic. “I looked at your… papers. Is this a joke? Blackmail?”

“Why such harsh words, Gen?” I replied calmly. “It’s not blackmail. It’s an audit. A gift.”

“You know I could destroy you? For defamation! For theft of documents!”

“And you know that the originals of all those documents are no longer in my hands? And that if anything happens to me or my family, those papers will automatically be sent to some very interesting addresses? For example, to the tax authorities.

And to your main investors.”

A heavy silence, punctuated by heavy breathing.

“What do you want, Lena? Money? To come back to work?”

“I want justice, Gen. For you to return everything you stole from the company. Down to the last kopeck. And for you to leave on your own. Quietly.”

“You’re crazy!” he shouted. “It’s my company!”

“It WAS OUR company,” I cut him off. “Until you decided your pocket mattered more. You have until tomorrow morning.

At nine o’clock sharp, I expect news of your resignation. Otherwise, the binder begins its journey. Good night.”

I hung up without listening to his muffled insults.

In the morning, nothing. At nine fifteen, I received an email from Gennadi.

Urgent general meeting at ten sharp. And a note for me: “Come. We’ll see who wins.” He had decided to go all in.

“And what will you do?” asked my husband.

“Go, of course. You don’t miss your own premiere.”

I put on my best suit. I entered the room at 9:55. Everyone was already seated.

Gennadi stood near the big screen. Seeing me, he flashed a predatory smile.

“Ah, here’s our heroine. Please, Lena, sit down. We’re all very curious to hear how a CFO, caught in the act of incompetence, tries to blackmail management.”

He began his speech. Big words about trust, which I supposedly betrayed. He waved my binder like a flag.

“Look! Here’s a collection of slander from someone who can’t stand that her time has passed!”

The team was silent. Eyes lowered. Ashamed, but afraid.

I waited for him to pause for a drink of water. At that moment, I sent a single word to Sergei from my phone: “Go.”

Immediately, the screen behind Gennadi went dark, then a copy of a payment order for fictitious “consulting services” appeared, to a shell company in his mother-in-law’s name.

Gennadi froze. On the screen followed: invoices for personal trips, bills for renovating his country house, screenshots of messages discussing bribe amounts.

“Wha… what is this?” he stammered.

“That, Gennadi, is called ‘data visualization,’” I said loudly, standing up. “You talked about a leap?

Here it is. A leap for the company toward cleaning up its thefts. My approach may be outdated, yes. But I still believe you shouldn’t steal.”

I turned to my colleagues.

“I’m not asking you to choose sides. I’m just showing you the facts. Draw your own conclusions.”

I put my phone on the table.

“By the way, Gen, all this is being sent right now to our investors’ inboxes. So I think a resignation is the kindest thing that could happen to you.”

Gennadi looked at the screen, then at me. His face was pale. All his bravado gone, leaving only a frightened small man.

I turned to the door.

Sergei stood up first. Then Olga, our best salesperson, whom Gennadi always tried to sideline. After her, Andrei, the lead analyst whose reports Gen claimed as his own.

Even the quiet Marina from accounting, whom he made cry over any little thing. They weren’t leaving for me. They were leaving him.

Two days later, a stranger called me. He introduced himself as the crisis manager hired by the investors.

He informed me coldly that Gennadi had been removed, that a review was underway, and thanked me for “the information provided.” He offered me to come back “to help stabilize the situation.”

“Thank you for the offer,” I replied. “But I prefer to build from scratch rather than shovel ruins.”

The first months were hard. We worked in a small rented office, which reminded me so much of our beginnings.

My husband, my son, Sergei, Olga, and I worked twelve hours a day. The name of our consulting firm, “Audit and Order,” was fully justified.

We found our first clients, proving our professionalism with actions.

Sometimes I walk past our old office. The sign has changed. The company didn’t survive the “leap” and the scandal.

I wasn’t fired because of my age. I was fired because I was the mirror in which Gennadi saw his incompetence and greed.

He simply tried to break that mirror. But he forgot that the shards are much sharper.