By 8:59 a.m., the Los Angeles sun was already turning the glass towers of downtown into mirrors, and from the corner office on the twenty-third floor, you could see the freeway shimmering like a silver snake full of angry cars.

Margaret Adams—“Mrs. Adams” to everyone in the marketing department, though she was barely past forty—stood at that window with a coffee in her hand and a knot in her stomach. Her reflection looked back at her in the glass: neat blazer, calm face, practiced composure. If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was unbothered.

Inside, she was furious.

Not the loud kind of furious. The cold, focused type that only shows up after you’ve watched the same problem eat away at good people for too long.

Her desk phone buzzed.

“Mrs. Adams? Lauren is here for your nine o’clock.”

“Send her in, Jason. Thanks.”

She turned away from the view just as the door swung open and a citrusy perfume hit the air. Lauren Emerson stepped in, designer bag on her shoulder, latte in hand, a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Adams.” Lauren’s tone was warm, almost sugary. “Is now still a good time?”

“Yes, Lauren. Come on in. Have a seat.”

Lauren dropped into the chair opposite the desk, crossing one leg over the other with the easy confidence of someone who’d worked here almost a decade and knew exactly how far she could push people. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, her nails professionally done. She looked like a walking billboard for “successful marketing manager in a major U.S. city.”

“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late,” Lauren added casually. “Traffic on the 110 was a nightmare. There was a wreck by the Staples Center, everything got backed up.”

“It’s fine,” Mrs. Adams said. “I was able to shift some things around. No harm done.”

She sat down, folded her hands on the desk, and gave the kind of smile she used when she wanted people to underestimate her.

“So. I wanted to check in about last month’s numbers.”

Lauren’s expression flickered.

“We were well below average,” Mrs. Adams continued. “Way below what this department usually delivers. I wanted us to take a few minutes to brainstorm how to get things back on track next month. Make sure you feel supported. Make sure the team has what it needs.”

Lauren exhaled dramatically, as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“I’m doing everything I can,” she said. “Every single day. I’m on calls, I’m in meetings, I’m keeping relationships warm with former clients. I’m moving all the pieces. I don’t know what else I can possibly do.”

“There’s always room for growth,” Mrs. Adams said gently. “For all of us. That’s what keeps us competitive. I was thinking—maybe you have someone on your team who’s ready to step up. Take some of the daily tasks off your plate. Free you up to focus more deeply on strategy, on the key accounts. Delegation can be a powerful tool.”

Lauren’s lips pressed together in a thin line. For a second, Mrs. Adams thought she might say she didn’t trust anyone enough to delegate to them.

“Everyone in my department is doing the best they can,” Lauren said. She paused for half a heartbeat. “Well. Almost everyone.”

Mrs. Adams tilted her head. “What do you mean by ‘almost’?”

Lauren hesitated, then leaned in like she was about to share a secret.

“Can I be honest?” she asked.

“Please,” Mrs. Adams said. “That’s what this meeting is for.”

Lauren lowered her voice.

“It’s not a ‘what’ that’s the problem,” she said. “It’s a ‘who.’”

“Who,” Mrs. Adams repeated. “Who is the problem, Lauren?”

“Elina,” Lauren said. “Elina Higgins.”

The name hung in the air.

“Ever since she joined the company,” Lauren went on, “she’s been nothing but an issue. I have to check her work constantly. It takes me twice as long to get anything done because I’m basically babysitting her. If I don’t catch something, it falls apart. She’s going to drag the whole team down.”

Mrs. Adams kept her expression neutral, though the words twisted something uneasy in her gut.

“Just last week,” Lauren added, “she turned in that proposal for the new client—Dave’s Sporting Goods? It was awful. I had to redo everything. If I hadn’t stepped in, we would’ve lost that account before we even walked in the door.”

Mrs. Adams took a slow breath.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I had no idea there were issues on that level.”

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Lauren replied quickly. “I know you hired her. I know you had high expectations. I didn’t want to make it seem like I’m throwing your judgment under the bus or anything, but… she’s just not working out.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Mrs. Adams said.

“No problem.” Lauren glanced at her phone. “Oh, shoot. I have to cut this short. I’ve got a meeting across town with a client. Big one. New campaign.”

“I see,” Mrs. Adams said. “There were a few more things I wanted to discuss with you, but…”

“You don’t want that account to cancel, do you?” Lauren said lightly. “If the numbers are going to go up, I need to be out there making magic happen.”

“Right,” Mrs. Adams said, letting the remark pass. “We’ll talk more later. Drive safely, please.”

Lauren was already halfway out the door.

When the room was finally quiet, Mrs. Adams let her shoulders drop. The first piece of the puzzle was on the table. It didn’t feel like the whole picture.

She picked up the phone.

“Jason? Is Elina at her desk?”

“Yeah, I saw her come in right on time,” he said. “Want me to send her in?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Adams said. “Tell her I’d like to meet if she has a few minutes.”

Two minutes later, there was a soft knock. A young woman peeked in—dark hair pulled into a neat bun, blazer slightly less expensive than Lauren’s but pressed crisply, eyes alert.

“Hi, Mrs. Adams,” she said. “You wanted to see me?”

“Hi, Elina. Good afternoon. Come in, please. And sit down, no need to stand.”

Elina took the chair Lauren had vacated, but everything about her posture was different. No lounging. No practiced smirk. Just straight-backed attentiveness and nervous curiosity.

“How are you doing today?” Mrs. Adams asked.

“Not bad,” Elina said. “Just finishing up the pitch deck revisions for the Rivera Hotels account. Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Adams said. “I hope so. I wanted to go over a few things with you. I met with a senior staff member this morning, and they raised some concerns about your performance recently.”

Shock flashed across Elina’s face, then confusion.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Wow. I… that’s surprising. What did they say exactly? I’m always open to feedback.”

Mrs. Adams believed her. It was in the way she leaned forward, not away.

“I don’t want to get into every detail just yet,” Mrs. Adams said carefully. “But it had to do with the marketing plan for Dave’s Sporting Goods. They felt it wasn’t up to expectations. They implied they had to rewrite everything.”

“Who told you that?” Elina asked, a new edge in her voice.

“I’d rather not say at this point,” Mrs. Adams said. “I don’t want to turn this into a finger-pointing session.”

“Let me guess,” Elina said. “It was Lauren. Lauren Emerson.”

“I’m not going to confirm or deny any names right now,” Mrs. Adams replied. “I want us to stay focused—”

“You don’t have to,” Elina said, cutting in for the first time. Something fierce and tired lit in her eyes. “I know it was her.”

“How can you be so certain?” Mrs. Adams asked, eyebrows lifting.

Elina almost laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Because anytime anything goes wrong,” she said, “Lauren disappears. She avoids real work. And when things fall apart, she picks the nearest person and throws them under the bus. If she spent half as much energy leading as she does deflecting, we’d be breaking company records right now.”

Mrs. Adams felt a cold line of truth run through that speech.

“Well,” she said slowly, “she did say the proposal for Dave’s Sporting Goods was so bad that she had to rewrite the entire thing to make it presentable. Are you saying that’s not accurate?”

“She didn’t lift a finger on that proposal,” Elina said firmly. “Not one. Andy and I did the entire thing ourselves. Every slide. Every line. Lauren took the printout into the conference room, smiled at the clients, and then told everyone she saved the day.”

Mrs. Adams’ stomach dropped.

“You know what people call her in the office?” Elina asked lightly.

Mrs. Adams shook her head. “No. What?”

“‘Lazy Lauren,’” Elina said. “She’s always ‘in a meeting with a client’ when there’s real work to do. Funny how those meetings line up with late brunch reservations in Santa Monica and spa openings in Beverly Hills.”

“That’s a serious accusation,” Mrs. Adams said, even as yesterday’s schedule emails flashed through her mind.

“So ask Andy,” Elina said. “Ask John. Ask anyone on the team. Yesterday, she was supposed to help me with the market research for the Rivera Hotels campaign. She never showed. When I called her, she said she was home, sick. Voice all pitiful.”

“That’s interesting,” Mrs. Adams said slowly. “I met with her yesterday. In person. She was definitely not home, sick.”

Elina’s mouth twisted.

“I’m sorry to bring drama into your office, Mrs. Adams,” she said. “Really. But I’m not going to let her say things about my work that are completely untrue. She did the same thing to Heather.”

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Adams asked.

“Remember last month when we lost the Mango Park Pharmacy account?” Elina said. “Of course you remember. That account cost the company thousands.”

“Believe me,” Mrs. Adams said, “it kept me up at night. I was told Heather dropped the ball.”

“Because that’s what Lauren told everyone,” Elina replied. “But she was the one who forgot to send the revised numbers before the meeting. Heather reminded her twice. She never sent them. Then when the client called it off, she acted shocked and blamed Heather for ‘miscommunication.’ Heather couldn’t prove otherwise. Two weeks later, she was fired.”

Mrs. Adams stared at her.

“No,” she whispered. “I… I had no idea.”

“And now it’s my turn,” Elina said. “I’m sorry to say this. I know Lauren’s been with the company a long time. A decade, right?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Adams said. “She has.”

“Maybe a little too long,” Elina said. “She’s figured out exactly how to look busy without actually doing her job. She’s figured out which people are too polite to call her out. But the work doesn’t lie. Ask for version histories. Ask for document logs. Check who actually edits the decks at midnight and who just forwards them to clients in the morning.”

Mrs. Adams felt anger rising in a slow, controlled wave—not at Elina, but at herself, at the system that had let this fester.

“Is she in her office right now?” she asked.

Elina snorted.

“No. She hasn’t arrived yet.”

“It’s one in the afternoon,” Mrs. Adams said.

“Yeah,” Elina replied. “She usually strolls in around two, says she had ‘morning calls,’ takes a ‘late lunch,’ and leaves around five.”

“What does she do all day, then?” Mrs. Adams asked softly. “Other than meeting with clients?”

“Ask her,” Elina said, then softened. “Don’t take my word for it. Talk to Andy. Talk to John. Talk to Sam from analytics. Get their feedback. I promise you, I’m not the only one seeing this. I’m just the one she picked this time.”

Mrs. Adams nodded slowly.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Thank you for your honesty today, Elina. This conversation has been… enlightening.”

“Happy to help,” Elina said, standing. “And for what it’s worth—I really do love working here. I want us to do well. I want the numbers to go back up. We can absolutely get there. Just… not with someone blocking the road and pretending they’re paving it.”

Mrs. Adams smiled despite herself.

“I appreciate your commitment,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

As soon as the door closed, she picked up the phone again. Within an hour, she’d spoken with John from the executive team, Andy from Elina’s row of desks, and three other employees in the department. She didn’t mention names. She asked open-ended questions.

In every conversation, one name came back like an echo.

Lauren.

By the time the clock hit three, Mrs. Adams had something she hadn’t had all week: clarity.

She called John.

“I’m going to meet with her this afternoon,” she said. “Are you still comfortable with making the change, if it comes to that?”

“We’ve been dancing around this for two years,” John replied. “If you’re ready to move, I support you. Clean break. We’ll get the department back on course.”

She hung up, took a steadying breath, and asked Jason to bring her the personnel file.

At 3:27, there was another knock.

Lauren stepped in again, as shiny and composed as she’d been that morning. Only this time, the air in the room felt heavier.

“Yes, you wanted to see me?” she asked. “I have brunch plans soon, so I hope this won’t take too long.”

“Brunch,” Mrs. Adams repeated. “At three-thirty in the afternoon.”

“With a client,” Lauren added quickly. “Of course. New restaurant in West Hollywood. Great opportunity for networking.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Adams said mildly. “I won’t take too much of your… precious time. Please, have a seat.”

Lauren sat, smile a little tighter.

A moment later, there was another knock.

“Hi, Mrs. Adams,” Elina said softly.

“Yes, Elina. Come in,” Mrs. Adams said. “Have a seat as well. Thank you for joining us.”

Lauren’s head whipped around.

“What is she doing here?” she demanded.

“She’s here for the meeting,” Mrs. Adams said calmly. “Hi, Lauren,” Elina said politely. “Good morning.”

Lauren stared at her as if she’d walked in wearing a rival company’s logo.

Mrs. Adams folded her hands again.

“All right, ladies,” she said. “I’m going to get right to the point. It has come to my attention that someone in this room is not performing up to our company standards and expectations. After speaking to John and the rest of the executive team, we’ve decided to make a change. We believe this decision will help the department and the company as a whole. We’re going to sever the relationship and move on.”

Lauren’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

“I’m so sorry, Elina,” she said quickly, not even waiting for Mrs. Adams to finish. “I’m sure you’ll find something else soon. Best of—”

“Lauren,” Mrs. Adams said quietly.

Lauren blinked.

“I was not speaking to Elina,” Mrs. Adams continued. “I was speaking to you.”

For the first time since she’d known her, Mrs. Adams saw Lauren lose her composure. Her mouth opened and closed, eyes wide.

“Me?” she choked out. “You can’t be serious. I’ve been here almost ten years.”

“I’m very aware of that,” Mrs. Adams said. “In that time, we have seen strong periods and weak ones. Lately, unfortunately, the pattern has been consistent. I have spoken to John, to Andy, to several of your colleagues. I’ve reviewed the work logs, the project timelines, the client feedback. There is a serious gap between your performance and the expectations we have for someone in your role. We’ve given opportunities for improvement. We’ve provided support. We haven’t seen progress.”

“That’s not true,” Lauren said, voice rising. “Who said that? What did they say? Tell me who—”

“I’ll tell you what they said,” Mrs. Adams replied. “Not who. They said deadlines are missed. They said you disappear when things go wrong. They said you claim credit when things go right. They said when you’re questioned about your work, you immediately blame someone else. They said Heather lost her job because you let her take the fall for your mistake. They said you were about to do the same thing to Elina.”

“That’s a lie,” Lauren snapped. “They’re jealous, that’s all. They can’t handle a real leader, so they run to you and complain. And she—” she jabbed a finger at Elina “—she’s been undermining me from the start.”

“Lauren,” Elina said quietly, “you left me alone with the Rivera research yesterday and took the day off.”

“I was sick,” Lauren shot back.

“You met with Mrs. Adams yesterday,” Elina said. “In person. That’s a strange recovery.”

“Enough,” Mrs. Adams said, not loudly, but with absolute authority.

The room stilled.

“Accountability is a core value in this company,” she went on. “Leadership isn’t about finding someone to blame when things go wrong. It’s about taking responsibility, listening, and helping your team succeed. Your behavior has had a negative impact on your team, your department, and this company. We cannot continue like this.”

Lauren’s eyes shone—not with remorse, but with rage and panic.

“I’ve been here almost ten years,” she repeated, as if the number alone should grant her immunity. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Adams said softly. “We thank you for the time you’ve spent here. We wish you well with whatever comes next. But this is your last day. HR will process your final paycheck. It will be ready for you Friday. Someone will escort you to collect your personal items.”

Lauren’s face changed. The charm drained away. What was left behind was sharp and ugly.

“This is all your fault,” she hissed at Elina. “You think anyone here really likes you? You’re a nobody. You’ll never make it in this industry.”

“How is your laziness my fault?” Elina replied, surprisingly calm. “If you’d done your job, we wouldn’t be here.”

“If anyone is to blame, Lauren,” Mrs. Adams said, “it is you. We gave you chances. We gave you feedback. You chose not to take it.”

Lauren stood so fast her chair scraped across the floor.

“You know what?” she said. “You two deserve each other. I hope this company falls apart without me. I’m too good for this place anyway.”

She grabbed her bag, lifted her chin, and marched out.

The silence she left behind felt huge. Heavy. Then, as the door clicked closed, something else settled into the room instead.

Relief.

Mrs. Adams exhaled slowly and rubbed her temples. “Well,” she said. “I’m glad that wasn’t awkward.”

Elina let out a breath she seemed to have been holding all day, a startled laugh escaping her.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Adams,” she said. “This is what we call addition by subtraction.”

Mrs. Adams raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Andy and I have already been working on a new plan,” Elina said, standing and pulling a folder from her bag. “We knew something had to change, so we put together a complete revamp of our marketing structure. Reporting lines, client communication, workflow, everything. We didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes before, but… well. Toes have been moved out of the way now.”

She laid the folder on the desk.

Mrs. Adams opened it—and blinked.

Charts. Detailed timelines. Clear roles. A calendar broken into weekly focus points. Ideas for digital pushes, content strategies, partnership options. It wasn’t just decent. It was good. Fresh. Lean. Brave.

“Wow,” Mrs. Adams said quietly. “This is… really impressive, Elina. You did this with Andy?”

“And Sam,” Elina said. “And a little input from John. We all care about this department. We want those numbers back where they belong. Higher, actually.”

Mrs. Adams looked up at her.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the work. For your honesty. For not giving up when you were an easy target. I appreciate your commitment to this company. To this team.”

Elina’s shoulders relaxed for the first time since she’d walked in that day.

“Thank you for listening,” she said. “A lot of managers would have believed the loudest voice in the room and left it at that.”

Mrs. Adams smiled.

“Not in this office,” she said. “Not anymore.”

Outside the window, the Los Angeles afternoon burned bright. Cars streamed along the freeway, people rushed through crosswalks with iced coffees and phones in their hands. Somewhere, Lauren was probably already rewriting the story in her head, casting herself as the victim in a city that moved too fast, cared too little.

Inside, on the twenty-third floor, a different story was starting.

“Let’s get to work,” Mrs. Adams said, tucking the new plan under her arm as she stood. “We’ve got numbers to fix. And a team to rebuild.”

Elina grinned, all nerves gone now, replaced with something better: purpose.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Let’s show them what we can really do.”