Signed for Lace, Sentenced for Life

"Come on, Meredith, don't be such a killjoy," Tiffany said. "Shawn's under a lot of stress. I help him relax at the office. For that, I need special work attire. That counts as contributing to the company, right?"

She reached for the pen in my hand. "Nice pen. Let me play with it."

I didn't let go, and she yanked hard. Her nails scraped the back of my hand, sharp and hot, drawing blood. The pen eventually fell into her hand.

She popped the cap off and, without hesitation, dragged the nib straight across my solid mahogany desk. She drew a donkey, then wrote my name on its back.

Tiffany giggled. "See? It looks just like you—stubborn and slow-witted."

She spun the pen between her fingers, then knocked it twice against the desk corner. The nib broke. Just like that, a limited-edition Montblanc worth over a million was ruined.

I stared at the pen, then at the scribble, and took out my phone to snap photos of the desk and the cut on the back of my hand.

Tiffany pouted. "Gosh. All you ever do is take photos. What are you gonna do with them? Tattle on me to Shawn? He won't entertain you."

The door swung open again. This time, Shawn walked in.

He glanced at the mess on the desk, then at the pen in Tiffany's hand. He didn't even ask why my hand was bleeding. Instead, he frowned at me.

"Why are you giving Tiffany such a hard time again?" he questioned. "She came by for my signature and only passed by your office. Did you have to stop her?"

Tiffany immediately jumped down from the desk and clung to him. "Shawn! She was so mean to me. She said the lingerie I bought was… inappropriate. But it's what you said you liked last time…"

He patted her head, glaring at me. "I've seen those reimbursement forms. I approved them through finance. You're seriously making such a fuss over a few hundred dollars in a company this big? If word gets out, people will think I can't even cover that small amount!"

I pointed at the stack of documents. "It isn't just lingerie. There's also 20 thousand for beauty treatments, 50 thousand for hotel suites, and even three thousand for dog food.

"Every single item is marked as 'office supplies' or 'business entertainment'. This is called false expense reporting, Shawn. It's potential tax evasion."

Shawn walked over and snatched up the stack of documents. Then he tore them into pieces, sending scraps of paper fluttering across my face.

"Now it's gone."

He sneered. "You wanted evidence? There's nothing left now, Meredith. And don't try to use your little auditing rules to pressure me. This is Harrison Group, not Caldwell Group. If you don't like it, you can pack your bags and leave right now."

Tiffany clapped her hands beside him. "You're so cool, Shawn! This killjoy should've retired ages ago!"

She tossed the ruined pen carelessly into the trash and remarked, "Stupid pen. It's not even as smooth as my two-dollar ballpoint."

I stared at the pen in the trash. It was the last gift Grandma had given me before she passed away. I bent down, retrieved the pen, and carefully wiped the coffee stains off it with a napkin. Then I slipped it into my suit pocket.

Heading over to a drawer, I pulled out a new document titled "Notice of Revocation of CFO Authorization".

I didn't show it to Shawn and simply slipped it into my briefcase.

I said calmly, "The papers may be torn, but the underlying tax records are still intact. The bank statements are still there. What you tore isn't just paper—it was your own escape route."

He snorted, draping his arm around Tiffany as they walked out. "What a psycho. Come on, Tiffany. I'll take you to buy a new bag. Let's piss her off."

At the door, she glanced back at me. Sticking her tongue out, she flipped me off and said mockingly, "You're such a loser, you old hag."