I was fired because of my age. As a farewell, I gave my colleagues roses, and I left my boss a folder with the results of my secret audit.
“Olga Nikolaevna, we’ll have to part ways,” pronounced Gennady Ivanovich with that very same feigned fatherly softness that usually served him as cover for his meanness.
He leaned back in his leather chair, laced his fingers over his belly, and spoke evenly, as if reading a pre-memorized text:
“Understand, the company needs a fresh perspective. New energy. You understand…”
I looked at his well-groomed face, at the tie I myself had picked out for him for last year’s corporate party, and thought: “Yes, Gena. I understand everything.”
The investors had demanded an independent audit. And he was too afraid that the only person who saw the whole picture was me. That’s the entire explanation.
…
(The rest is the full text of your draft, which I’ve already processed above. Now I’ll continue developing the novel.)
⸻
Continuation
Chapter 1. First Cracks
The phone rang late in the evening. I switched on the speakerphone—my husband and son were sitting beside me.
“Olga?” Gennady’s voice trembled. “I looked through the folder. Where did you get all this?”
“From open sources,” I replied calmly. “The same ones you had access to. The only difference is that I could put two and two together.”
He was breathing as if an invisible press had dropped onto his chest.
“Listen, let’s come to terms. You don’t want a scandal. I’m ready to compensate…”
I laughed. The laugh surprised even me.
“Gena, I don’t need your money. I want only one thing—that the truth come out.”
Silence on the line. The seconds stretched painfully long. At last he said hoarsely:
“You don’t understand what you’ve gotten into.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I answered, and hung up.
My husband looked at me anxiously.
“Do you think he’ll try to put pressure on you?”
“Of course. But he doesn’t have much time. Tomorrow morning the folder will already be with the investors.”
My son smiled. In his eyes flashed the very resolve I’d recognized in him since he was a teenager.
“Mom, we’ll see this through.”
That night I hardly slept. Inside me fear wrestled with a strange sense of freedom. I no longer belonged to that company. But ahead lay a game on a far larger scale.
⸻
Chapter 2. Moves and Countermoves
By morning there was news: Gennady had urgently gone “on a business trip.” His phone didn’t answer.
But by midday Dmitry, our IT guy, called me:
“Olga Nikolaevna, something odd. He ordered all the old databases deleted, ‘so the server won’t be overloaded.’ But I made copies. I have them.”
I exhaled.
“Guard them with your life. They could be decisive.”
“I understand,” he said curtly, and hung up.
I knew: I no longer had just a folder in my hands, but an arsenal.
By evening came the first signal. An email arrived from an unknown address: “Olga Nikolaevna, meeting. Today. 21:00. Café ‘Gorky.’ No one else.”
My husband and son were against it—afraid of a trap. But I decided to go.
A woman of about forty, strict, with attentive eyes, was waiting for me at the café.
“Maria Sergeyevna, audit firm FinControl. We received an anonymous package of documents. I wanted to make sure they’re really from you.”
I nodded.
She spread several sheets on the table—my own materials.
“Olga Nikolaevna, do you realize these are criminal offenses? Are you prepared to testify officially?”
I drew a deep breath.
“Yes. I’m ready.”
⸻
Chapter 3. Exposure
A week later, the company was under inspection.
Rumors spread quickly: Gennady paled at every meeting, investors demanded explanations, and employees, for the first time, dared to ask questions aloud.
Colleagues messaged me: “You can’t imagine what’s going on here!”
I could imagine. All too well.
One day a call came from an unfamiliar number.
“Olga Nikolaevna?” a hoarse male voice. “Don’t go any further. Or you’ll regret it.”
The line went dead.
My husband clenched his fists.
“They’ve moved on to threats.”
My son added:
“Which means they’re truly scared.”
I felt the same. And decided to go all the way.
⸻
Chapter 4. Court
Three months later the trial began.
I sat in the courtroom opposite Gennady. His once-confident gaze was now cloudy; shadows pooled beneath his eyes.
His lawyers tried to accuse me of “personal vendetta,” of “falsification.” But each time the documents and server copies Dmitry had brought reduced their arguments to dust.
Witnesses from among the staff confirmed: the schemes were real, money was being siphoned to offshore accounts, and the “flexible methodologies” were just pretty wrapping.
At one hearing Gennady snapped:
“If not for her, everything would have worked! She destroyed the company!”
I replied calmly:
“No, Gena. Your greed destroyed the company.”
Those words made the evening news.
⸻
Chapter 5. A New Life
The proceedings lasted half a year. In the end, Gennady was sentenced to real prison time.
The company, bereft of its leadership, passed under the investors’ control. Many employees wrote to thank me. Dmitry was appointed head of IT.
And I… I stood at a crossroads. I could take a job at another firm. I could go into teaching. But I chose differently.
I opened a small forensic accounting practice. The first clients came almost at once—by word of mouth. People trusted me because they knew I wouldn’t betray them or keep quiet for profit.
The office was modest, but I felt happy. For the first time in many years I was working not for someone else’s prestige, but for truth and justice.
My son, finishing law school, helped with the legal side. My husband handled administrative matters. We became a team—a real one, a family team.
And every time I set a vase of red roses on my desk, I remembered the day I was fired.
Back then it seemed like the end. It turned out to be the beginning.
Chapter 6. After the Storm
The first months after the trial felt strange. As if life were trying to find its balance all over again.
In the morning I would head to our little office where, instead of expensive furniture, there was a plain table, chairs, and my son’s laptop.
A corkboard hung on the wall with a note: “Don’t be afraid. Truth is stronger than fear.”
I pinned those words there myself. Each time I read them, a wave of confidence rose in my chest.
My husband helped with paperwork, my son with the legal side. Sometimes I caught myself thinking: “This is the very bureau I dreamed of ten years ago, but back then I lacked the courage.”
Clients came one after another. Some were small business owners tangled up in taxes. Some were employees their bosses were trying to cheat. I listened to their stories and, in each one, heard echoes of my own.
⸻
Chapter 7. Old Enemies
One evening, as I was closing the blinds at the office, a familiar figure flickered outside.
A tall man in a gray coat stood across the street, looking straight at my windows.
I recognized him instantly. One of Gennady’s former deputies—Pyotr Valeryevich.
He came closer, stopped by the door, and knocked.
“May I come in, Olga Nikolaevna?” His voice was cold, but not threatening.
I hesitated. Then decided: let him.
He sat opposite me and stared for a long time before speaking.
“You made a mistake when you went against Gennady. He got what he deserved, yes. But you destroyed the system. And the system doesn’t like being destroyed.”
“A system that steals and lies shouldn’t exist,” I answered evenly.
He smirked.
“And what do you think? That you can change the whole market? Every company? Everyone like us?”
“No,” I said. “But I stopped at least one person. That’s enough.”
He looked at me intently, as if trying to read weakness in my eyes. Then he rose abruptly.
“We’ll see, Olga Nikolaevna. We’ll see.”
The door slammed, leaving the air tinged with his expensive cologne—sharp, unpleasant.
I knew: it was a warning. But there was no fear inside me. Only resolve.
⸻
Chapter 8. Support
A few days after that visit I received a letter. No return address on the envelope.
Inside was a sheet of paper with a single line:
“You did the right thing. Keep going. We’re with you.”
No signature.
I wondered: who? Former colleagues? Someone from the investors? Or perhaps ordinary people whose lives my actions had brushed against?
I put the letter away in my desk. And felt I wasn’t alone.
⸻
Chapter 9. A New Case
One day a middle-aged woman in a plain coat came to our practice. She looked tired, but hope burned in her eyes.
“My name is Tatyana Viktorovna,” she introduced herself. “I worked as an accountant at a construction firm. Half a year ago they fired me, saying I’d ‘made a mistake.’ But I’m sure the error was fabricated on purpose. To write off money.”
I listened closely. The story was all too familiar.
My son and I took her case. For several weeks we studied documents, dug through archives, hunted for inconsistencies.
And in the end we found them. Falsification. Forged signatures. The money was going to the accounts of an offshore company.
When we showed Tatyana the proof, she cried.
“You saved me,” she said. “Now I can prove I’m not guilty.”
And then I understood: my new job wasn’t only about numbers. It was about people. About those someone was trying to break.
⸻
Chapter 10. The Past Returns
One evening Dmitry, the IT specialist, called me:
“Olga Nikolaevna, there’s news. Remember Pyotr Valeryevich? He’s putting a team together. They say he wants to open his own firm. And he’s looking for a way to discredit you.”
I felt something tighten inside. Then I straightened.
“Thank you, Dima. Forewarned is forearmed.”
I knew: a new battle was inevitable.
⸻
Chapter 11. The Clash
Pyotr appeared without warning—right in my office.
“So, the idealist accountant,” he sneered, “I hear you’re ‘saving the aggrieved’ now. And I’m wondering—how much are the investors paying you to sink all of us?”
“No one pays me,” I said calmly. “I’m simply doing my job.”
“Too bad,” he leaned closer. “Because at some point you’ll end up where Gennady is. Only you won’t have his connections.”
My son stood up and said firmly:
“It’s time for you to leave.”
Pyotr gave him a once-over, smirked, and left.
But I knew: he wouldn’t back off.
⸻
Chapter 12. A Storm Ahead
With each day the rumors multiplied. Some said my practice was financed by major competitors. Others that I was a “head-hunter” staging audits for revenge.
Journalists called, asking for comment. I tried to speak only the truth.
But I understood: what lay ahead wasn’t just a struggle. A real war was coming.
And I was ready for it.
Chapter 13. The First Attack
The morning began with an unpleasant surprise.
When I arrived at the office, a poster was taped to the door, printed on a color printer:
“Con artist! She betrayed the company and her colleagues for money!”
There was no signature, but I knew at once whose hands this was.
Pyotr was moving.
My son took down the poster, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash.
“Mom, ignore it. Cheap tricks.”
I nodded silently. But inside everything burned.
A few hours later a journalist from a local business outlet called me.
“Olga Nikolaevna, what can you say to the information that a competitor of the construction corporation Vector is paying for your services?”
I closed my eyes. There it was. The information war had begun.
“Tell me,” I answered, “don’t you yourself find it laughable to repeat such rumors? We’re a small family practice. Our only capital is the truth. But apparently that truth bothers someone very much.”
The journalist faltered. But I knew—tomorrow the headlines would be sensational.
⸻
Chapter 14. Support from Within
The next day I received an unexpected email.
Sender: “The Concerned.”
The text was brief:
“We work inside Pyotr Valeryevich’s structures. We know he’s preparing a campaign against you. If you need documents—let us know.”
I read it aloud to my husband and son.
“A trap,” my husband said immediately.
“Not necessarily,” my son objected. “Plenty of people are unhappy with Pyotr. Maybe someone really decided to switch sides.”
I thought it over. Doubts wrestled inside me. But my intuition said the letter was genuine.
I replied briefly: “Ready to meet. Evening. Café ‘Viola.’”
⸻
Chapter 15. The Meeting
At a corner table sat a young woman of about twenty-five. She was nervous, worrying a napkin between her fingers.
“I’m… an accountant for Pyotr,” she said by way of introduction. “My name is Ira. I can’t stay silent anymore. He’s building a scheme. The same offshore game, only now masked through new companies. And he wants part of the ‘mistakes’ to be pinned on you.”
She handed me a flash drive.
“These are document copies. I made them in secret. If he finds out—it’s over for me.”
I took the flash drive and felt goosebumps race over my skin.
This was a chance. And a huge responsibility.
“Thank you, Ira. I promise: I won’t let anything happen to you.”
⸻
Chapter 16. A Blow in the Back
A week later, a lawsuit was filed against me.
Pyotr’s company accused my practice of “spreading false information and causing reputational damage.”
The papers wrote: “Scandal-ridden auditor again at the center of court proceedings.”
My husband ground his teeth.
“So it begins.”
My son pulled out a folder of documents:
“Mom, don’t be afraid. We have Irina, we have her flash drive. We’ll prove everything was faked—by them.”
I looked at them and understood: without them I probably would have broken. But my family was with me. Which meant—I’d stand firm.
⸻
Chapter 17. The Second Trial
The hearing was like theater.
Pyotr’s lawyers loudly accused me of “slander,” waved counterfeit reports, insisted I acted “at competitors’ behest.”
I sat quietly.
When my turn came, I put Ira’s flash drive on the table.
“Your Honor,” I said, “here are the real documents. They prove that Pyotr Valeryevich’s company engages in sham transactions.”
The courtroom erupted. The judge called for order.
We knew: everything now depended on the forensic examination.
⸻
Chapter 18. The Shadow of Fear
The next day Ira called me. Her voice shook:
“He suspects something. A car was parked outside my house all day. I’m scared…”
“Listen to me,” I said firmly. “You’re not alone. I’ll ask Dmitry to help protect your data. And we’ll go to the police.”
She sniffled.
“Thank you… If not for you, I’d have quit long ago and kept quiet.”
I hung up and sat for a long time, staring out the window.
Yes, I had drawn her into this war. But how could we have kept silent?
⸻
Chapter 19. Victory or Defeat
A month later the forensic review confirmed: the documents were genuine.
Pyotr’s suit was dismissed. Moreover, an investigation into his activities was opened.
That day, for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to relax. My husband, my son, and I went to the park, bought ice cream, and sat on a bench watching the clouds drift across the sky.
“Mom,” my son said, “do you realize they’ll write books about you now?”
I smiled.
“Let them. The important thing is that people know: truth is always stronger than fear.”
⸻
Chapter 20. A New Dawn
A year passed. My practice grew. We had another employee— Ira, that same accountant. She became my right hand.
Dmitry left the old company to join us and took over digital security.
We were no longer a tiny family firm. We had become a team that fought for honesty.
And there was always a vase of red roses on my desk.
Each time I looked at them, I remembered the day I was thrown out “for being too old.”
And I thought: “Sometimes defeat is nothing more than a door into a new life.”