Bright September sunlight poured through the large window of Viktor Sergeyevich’s office, illuminating not only dust particles in the air but also the deep wrinkles on his gaunt face. He tapped his fingers irritably on the desk while reviewing yet another resume.
“So, deaf-mute?” he finally looked up at the young woman sitting opposite him.
Alice nodded and handed him a tablet. The screen displayed the text:
“Yes. But I read lips perfectly and type quickly. My work speaks louder than words.”
Viktor smirked at this unintended irony and flipped through her portfolio once more. The layouts were indeed impressive.
“Do you have documents from the orphanage?” he asked, turning the pages of the folder.
The girl took out a crumpled certificate. Viktor glanced at it briefly and set it aside, not noticing that she held her breath for a moment.
“Marina Olegovna from accounting recommended you,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And Lena, my daughter, has been nagging me about corporate social responsibility for three months now.”
Alice silently looked at him, tilting her head slightly. Her light hair fell over her face, and her fingers nervously fiddled with the strap of her bag. Something in her attentive, keen eyes made Viktor feel slightly uncomfortable.
“All right,” he finally waved his hand. “We’ll take you on as a designer. The benefits won’t hurt us, and the PR people will spin it into a whole project — ‘Pioneers of Inclusivity’ and other nonsense.”
He didn’t notice how her lips trembled for a moment, and how the fingers typing a reply clenched into a fist before continuing:
“Thank you for the chance. You won’t regret it,” appeared on the screen.
“Do you even understand that in creative work without speech…” he began but stopped himself. “Damn, sorry. Doesn’t matter. You start Monday.”
After the girl left, Viktor called his daughter:
“Lena? Will you calm down now? I accepted your… special candidate. Yes, from the orphanage. Yes, with disabilities. What? No, not at reception — as a designer. Stop it, I’m not a monster, it’s just…”
Hanging up, he smiled. At least his daughter wouldn’t lecture him anymore. Plus, the tax inspectors would appreciate it, and there’d be material for the report. All advantages. The main thing — she must not become a burden.
Meanwhile, Alice walked down the corridor, tightly clutching a small voice recorder in her pocket.
“First day, and already so much material,” she thought, recalling the eyes of her sister, who had been thrown out just like this — all for “social image.”
“Well, why explain anything to you? You’re a silent grave, literally,” one colleague once said, unknowingly hitting the mark.
At moments like that, Alice would only nod politely and smile, her fingers under the table clenching into fists. Later, in the ladies’ room, she would pull the recorder from a hidden pocket and check the recording.
“I do this for justice,” she repeated to herself in the mirror. But more and more often she wondered: how to reconcile Viktor’s charitable gesture — when he paid for medicine for a sick employee’s mother — with the person who coldly robs the company?
One morning she lingered by the copier. Viktor and the financial director didn’t notice her behind a pillar.
“We’re cutting bonuses for designers,” Viktor said, tapping a fancy pen on a folder. “We’ll explain that the project is unprofitable. The difference will go to the directorate’s fund.”
“What about the documents?” the financial director asked nervously, adjusting his glasses.
“We’ll forge them retroactively. As usual. By the way, this mute girl… she’s strange but damn talented. Maybe we should keep her bonus?”
Alice froze. This moment didn’t fit the image of the ruthless tyrant.
That evening she stayed late. Petrovich, the guard, knew the “mute girl” sometimes worked until night and just waved, handing her a candy:
“Here, daughter. Just don’t work too late.”
Such a simple kindness unexpectedly touched her. Alice quickly copied the necessary documents from the safe Viktor had left open — apparently used to her unnoticed presence.
That evening she sent an encrypted archive to the “PravdaOnline” editorial email:
“Two-thirds of the material collected. Need info on the ‘black cash box.’ Continuing work.”
The reply came almost immediately:
“Excellent, Alice! This will be a real bomb!”
She closed her laptop and stared out the window. A bomb that would destroy this office, these people…
No, she was doing the right thing. Viktor deserved punishment.
A week later, an opportunity arose. Pregnant Svetlana, head of the copywriting department, was called to the office. Alice sat in the reception, selecting fonts for a new project.
“Sorry, Sveta, but your maternity leave is too costly for us,” Viktor said coldly. “Nothing personal. Just business.”
Svetlana left with reddened eyes, instinctively placing a hand on her belly. Alice handed her water and a note:
“That’s illegal. He has no right.”
“I know,” the woman whispered. “But where am I supposed to go at seven months?”
An hour later, Viktor summoned Alice:
“Tell Marina to prepare a mutual termination order. And this…” — he handed her a thick folder — “archive it so no one finds it. These are our special clients.”
Alice nodded, took the documents, and headed for the exit, feeling fury boiling inside.
“And one more thing,” Viktor stopped her. “You know, it’s so calm working with you. No gossip, no hysteria, no grudges. Sometimes I think — if only everyone were mute.”
He laughed.
Alice smiled back, and a thought flashed through her mind:
“You’ll regret those words soon.”
In three days, the quarterly general meeting was to take place. She already had a script for the exposé. Nervously, she fingered the infinity-shaped pendant — the only thing she had from her sister, who had been thrown out by a similar “benefactor” upon learning about her pregnancy.
That evening, Alice carefully opened the folder labeled “Special Clients” — and froze. Among financial reports were documents about regular money transfers to the orphanage — the very one where she had spent her childhood. It was Viktor’s personal charity — of which no one knew.
The meeting day was gloomy. Heavy clouds hung low, frozen beyond the glass of the conference room. Even bright lamps couldn’t chase away the somber half-light. Alice sat in the corner, blending into the background. A tablet lay on her lap, but her fingers didn’t glide over the screen as usual — they trembled slightly, betraying the tension she tried so hard to hide.
The last twenty-four hours had passed almost without sleep. Thoughts wouldn’t let her rest: should she include these documents in the story? What would this information change? A man who with one hand helps orphans, and with the other robs employees — who is he really?
Employees entered one by one, chatting about daily matters:
“The coffee machine’s broken again…”
“They say Svetlana’s getting fired…”
“They promised to announce bonuses today…”
Svetlana came in last. Her eyes were red, her gaze lost. Alice caught her eye and barely nodded — a signal: you’re not alone.
At exactly ten, Viktor appeared — with a neat folder in hand and a confident, almost smug smile. He tapped a pen on the table to call for attention.
“Colleagues, let’s begin. We’re summarizing the quarter,” he started, scanning the room. “Good news: profits grew by twelve percent. The ‘Horizon’ project received an award. Now let’s move on to work matters…”
Alice discreetly checked her phone: the camera was recording. Three green dots — all going well. Her heart pounded so loudly it seemed everyone could hear it.
“Now about the bonus fund,” Viktor adjusted his tie. “Unfortunately, the ‘Northern’ project did not meet expectations. Therefore, the design department’s bonuses will be cut by seventy percent. Full report is with Marina…”
His gaze slid over to Alice. She sat, as always, calmly — her face unreadable, as if nothing was happening.
“Also, due to optimization,” he continued, “we will have to make some staff cuts. Svetlana, your maternity leave…”
“That’s a lie,” came a clear, firm female voice.
The room froze. All heads turned to Alice. She stood, clutching the tablet. The infinity pendant gleamed on her neck.
“The ‘Northern’ project brought eighteen percent profit,” her voice was calm but steel ran through it. “The difference is being transferred to the so-called ‘directorate fund.’ And firing a pregnant employee is a direct violation of the law.”
Viktor froze, his face went pale. The others looked between him and her, not understanding what was happening.
“But… you… say…” he finally stammered, as if only now realizing she was a living person, not a silent shadow.
“My name is Alice Verina. I am a journalist for ‘PravdaOnline’,” she stepped forward. “And for the past thirty-two days, I’ve been working here on assignment from the editorial board.”
The room erupted in whispers. Someone reached for their phone.
“But you’re from the orphanage… you had documents…” Viktor feverishly shuffled papers as if searching for support.
“Yes, I really grew up in an orphanage,” Alice nodded. “But my foster sister Lina was deaf-mute. She was fired from an advertising agency when they found out she was pregnant. The director — your good acquaintance, Sergey Valentinovich — said: ‘The poor should not reproduce.’”
An outraged murmur ran through the room. Alice pulled out the recorder:
“I have recordings of all your conversations: about fake tenders, the ‘black cash box,’ bonuses… and about how ‘if only everyone were mute.’”
“You had no right!” Viktor jumped up, his voice trembling with rage. “This is an invasion of privacy! Illegal wiretapping!”
“As are cutting bonuses without grounds,” Alice answered calmly. “As is falsifying financial reports. My article is already published. Here.”
She turned the tablet screen. Photos, audio recordings, scanned documents — all were there. Marina from accounting went pale seeing her signature.
“And who do you serve, righteous one?” Viktor hissed, realizing he had lost. “For the sake of sensation? You think your portal is better?”
Alice was silent for a moment, then took a folder from her bag:
“That’s right. I don’t know who I serve,” she said softly. “Here are documents about your monthly transfers to my orphanage. Anonymous. Thanks to them, many children received treatment. I didn’t include this in the material.”
Viktor flinched. For the first time that day, his gaze wavered, as if some internal shift had occurred.
“You are neither saint nor villain,” Alice continued. “Just a person with double standards. Like most. But this…” — she lifted the folder with Svetlana’s case — “this goes too far.”
Svetlana was the first to approach her:
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Why now?”
Alice pointed to her pendant:
“Today is exactly a year since Lina passed away. A year since the child was left without a mother.”
The hum in the room quieted. Viktor slowly sank into his chair, staring at one point.
“What now?” someone asked.
“Now it’s up to you,” Alice answered, scanning the room. “This is your company.”
When the room emptied, only traces of turmoil remained: scattered chairs, unfinished coffee, clothes forgotten on chair backs. Some left, deliberately ignoring Alice; others quietly shook her hand. Svetlana stayed longest, speaking in a low voice.
“Were you playing a role all this time?”
Alice looked at the rain running down the window, leaving silver trails.
“When you’re silent for a month, you start hearing things you usually don’t,” she turned to Svetlana. “And seeing what you don’t notice.”
Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door. Lena — Viktor’s daughter — entered. Tall, with his determined chin but kind, motherly eyes.
“Is this you who destroyed everything built in fifteen years?” she asked, not angrily but wearily.
“I just showed the truth,” Alice straightened. “Everything else your father did.”
Lena pressed her lips together, then unexpectedly sat down, twisting her wedding ring on her finger.
“He’s with lawyers now. Threatening to sue me, you, the editorial board…” she shook her head tiredly. “But I saw some of those documents a month ago. I suspected. That’s why I brought you here. Though I didn’t know who you really were.”
Alice froze, trying to comprehend what she’d heard.
“You knew?”
“I suspected,” Lena ran her hand through her hair. “Father seems to wear two masks: one at home, another at the office. The transfers to the orphanage were made from my inheritance — grandmother’s money. He said it was our ‘joint project.’”
“Double life,” Alice whispered.
“Doesn’t everyone have one?” Lena bitterly smiled. “You played your role too. Perfectly.”
They fell silent. Outside, the rain intensified, drumming on the windowsill, and the city dissolved into gray haze.
“What will happen now?” Svetlana asked, instinctively holding her belly.
“Shareholders demand his resignation. Partners are breaking contracts. The usual story after a scandal,” Lena shrugged, then unexpectedly smiled slightly. “Although the employees will stay. Especially now that bonuses will be paid in full. From my pocket if needed.”
Alice flinched slightly: “Will you pay for your father’s mistakes?”
“No, I’ll fix what can be fixed,” Lena answered firmly. “The board of directors is considering appointing me interim manager.”
Two weeks later, a fresh issue of a business magazine lay on the desk of the chief editor of “PravdaOnline.” On the cover — Lena with the caption:
“Phoenix from the Ashes: How a Daughter Saves Her Father’s Business.”
“Your article was fantastic,” the editor leaned back, repeating Viktor’s old gesture. “But this story about the heiress — a real hit! Will you do a follow-up interview?”
Alice shook her head:
“No. I’m quitting.”
“What?!” the editor nearly jumped. “Why? You got a bonus, they were even going to promote you!”
“I don’t want to be the one who only destroys anymore,” she stood up. “I want to create.”
That evening, as Alice packed her things at work, her phone rang. It was Svetlana.
“Hi. I was thinking… There’s a creative director position open in our department. What do you think?”
“Seriously? After everything that happened?” Alice involuntarily laughed.
“You have impeccable taste and the courage to speak the truth to people’s faces. That’s exactly who we need. Lena agrees.”
Alice thought. Return to where she played someone else’s role? Look into the eyes of people she had just exposed?
“I’ll think about it,” she finally said.
A month later, Alice was already sitting in her new office as creative director. On her desk was a photo of a little boy — Lina’s son, who now lived with his grandmother.
“Your father asked me to give you this,” Lena placed an envelope before her. “He moved to the countryside, teaches marketing at a college. Says it’s not an apology — just the right thing.”
Inside was a receipt for a transfer to the single mothers support fund and a short note:
“Your sister’s name will be on the memorial plaque of the new wing.”
Another week later, a courier brought Alice a neat notebook. Inside — a note:
“You once spoke for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. Now create stories that change the world for the better. V.S.”
On the first page, there was already a note from Lena:
“Social advertising project: A person is never only good or only bad. But everyone has the choice to do good. Every day.”
Alice smiled and began sketching the campaign concept — not one that exposes, but one that helps see the best in oneself and others, hidden behind mistakes.
Final thought:
Could you forgive a person who caused you pain? And yourself — after being wrong? Sometimes the hardest choice is not between truth and lies, but between revenge and mercy.