117
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Amanda stepped out, her posture tall, her heels clicking against the polished floor with a steady rhythm that cut through the low buzz of the office.
Every head turned. Fingers froze over keyboards, phones lowered, whispered conversations cut off mid-sentence. The air was thick with unease; Ericka's slammed door and the sound of shattering glass were still fresh in everyone's minds.
Amanda stopped in the center of the floor, scanning the room with calm, measured eyes. She didn't raise her voice, but her tone carried enough weight to settle the nerves that hung in the air.
"Breathe," she said firmly. "Everything's fine."
The silence shifted, a few people exhaling at once, shoulders easing just slightly. Amanda let the pause linger for another beat before continuing.
"Now we have some work to do."
There was a faint rustle as papers shuffled and screens lit back up. Still, she could feel the tension clinging to the edges of the room, the way their gazes stayed fixed on her like they were waiting for more.
Amanda adjusted the folder under her arm, her voice sharp but steady. "I'll be calling on a few of you when I need you. Stay sharp, stay ready."
There were nods all around. Someone muttered, "Yes, ma'am," under their breath, and the floor settled into motion again.
Satisfied, Amanda walked past them, straight to Ericka's office. She closed the door behind her, shutting out the hum of the staff, and was immediately met with the aftermath of the storm.
A picture frame lay shattered near the corner of the desk, glass glinting across the floor. Papers were scattered where Ericka had slammed them down, the packet of notes splayed open with red circles slashed across almost every page.
Amanda set her folder on the desk, slipped off her blazer, and got to work.
She carefully picked up the broken frame, setting the photo aside and sweeping the glass into the bin with slow, deliberate motions.
She straightened the pens, gathered the loose papers, and reset the desk until it looked orderly again controlled, like the woman who sat here most days.
Then Amanda lowered herself into Ericka's chair. It was still warm from the fire of her presence, the leather molding beneath Amanda as if it carried the weight of authority itself.
She pulled the marked-up packet closer, flipping through page after page. Her brows furrowed as she studied Ericka's notes the furious circles, the sharp slashes of red ink.
One by one, Amanda began making her own notations in the margins. Where Ericka had circled, Amanda added context. Where Ericka had written question marks, Amanda jotted reminders to cross-check figures against last quarter's reports.
Amanda sat back in Ericka's chair, the leather cool now beneath her, the desk spread with reports and Ericka's packet of notes. She flipped through page after page, her pen poised, tracing over the furious red circles Ericka had left behind.
"Alright," she muttered under her breath, scanning the projections again. The expense allocations on slide four didn't match last quarter's report Ericka was right. Amanda jotted a reminder in her neat, decisive script: cross-check with finance.
The next page was worse two revenue figures listed side by side that contradicted each other. Amanda's brow furrowed, her pen scratching across the margin: confirm with marketing lead.
She kept going, her motions precise, controlled, as though restoring order one note at a time could undo the storm that had just ripped through this office.
For nearly half an hour she worked in silence, cross-referencing reports, flipping through binders, marking down where the inconsistencies stacked highest.
Finally, she set her pen down with a soft click. Enough groundwork had been laid. Now it was time for answers.
Amanda pressed the intercom button. "Send David from finance to Ericka's office."
A minute later, there was a hesitant knock. "Come in," Amanda called, her tone clipped but calm.
David stepped in, holding a laptop to his chest like a shield. His eyes darted to Ericka's empty chair before flicking back to Amanda. "You wanted to see me?"
Amanda didn't waste time. She flipped the packet around and tapped a circled line of numbers. "Explain this discrepancy between Q2 and Q3 expense allocations."
David leaned forward, blinking nervously. "Uh, that... should've been corrected in the latest file."
"Then why wasn't it?" Amanda's tone was even, but firm enough to make him shift uncomfortably.
"I" David hesitated, fumbling with his laptop. "I'll need to double-check the finalized version. It might've been a formatting issue."
Amanda leaned back in the chair, her gaze steady. "Find out, and send me the corrected file within the hour. No excuses."
David swallowed and nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am." He backed out of the office, almost tripping over himself to leave.
Amanda circled another section in the packet and pressed the intercom again. "Send in Clara from marketing."
This time Clara entered briskly, though her eyes darted nervously to the broken frame Amanda had set neatly aside.
Amanda tapped her pen against another circled section. "Revenue projections for Q4. These numbers don't line up with the campaign budget submitted last month. Why?"
Clara's mouth opened, then shut. She fumbled with her notes. "I—I think we updated them after the last meeting, but the changes may not have been reflected in the deck."
Amanda arched a brow. "May not have been, or weren't?"
Clara flushed. "Weren't."
"Correct it. Triple-check it before sending it to me. And Clara?" Amanda paused, letting her gaze linger just long enough to make the message sink in. "Next time, make sure I don't have to ask."
Clara nodded quickly. "Yes, Amanda." She hurried out, clutching her binder tightly.
She pressed the intercom again. "Send in Martin from operations."
The door cracked open a minute later, and Martin shuffled in, his tablet clutched against his chest. He glanced at the neatly stacked papers on Ericka's desk, then at Amanda in Ericka's chair, and swallowed hard. "You, uh... wanted to see me?"
Amanda didn't bother with small talk. She slid the packet across the desk, tapping a line of figures circled twice. "The supply chain report doesn't match what operations submitted last week. These shipping costs are inflated by nearly ten percent. Explain."
Martin blinked rapidly, scrolling through his tablet with fumbling fingers. "That—um—that might have been a draft error. We... we adjusted numbers after renegotiating with vendors, but the old file must've been uploaded."
Amanda leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but carrying weight. "So the team presented outdated numbers at a meeting with the CEO?"
Martin froze, color draining from his face. "...Yes."
Amanda let the silence hang just long enough to make him sweat before replying. "Fix it. Today. And don't let me or Ericka see another mistake like this again."
Martin bobbed his head quickly, backing out of the office without another word.
Amanda sat back, flipping to the next page. Another angry red circle glared up at her. She pressed the intercom once more. "Send in Sophia from analytics."
The door opened moments later, Sophia entering with her laptop already open. Unlike the others, she walked quickly, almost bracing herself for the conversation.
Amanda slid the notes forward. "Your growth forecast for Q1 is off by nearly two percent from what's in the system. Why?"
Sophia's fingers flew across her keyboard, pulling up spreadsheets. "We had two versions running—one with conservative estimates and one with stretch goals. Looks like the wrong version got pulled into the deck."
Amanda tilted her head, studying her. "And no one double-checked before handing it to Ericka?"
Sophia winced, then shook her head. "No. That was on me."
Amanda exhaled slowly, letting her disappointment show without raising her voice. "You're right. It was. Correct it, and have both files merged into a single, approved document. I want it cleaned up before close of business."
Sophia nodded firmly. "Yes, Amanda. I'll handle it." She left quickly, pulling the door shut behind her.
The office fell quiet again. Amanda set her pen down, running a hand lightly over the pages, her gaze softening for just a second. Ericka's handwriting—sharp, fast, impatient—was scattered across the margins, circling, underlining, punctuating her frustration in red ink.
Amanda's lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn't just fixing a bad report. She was fixing this for Ericka. For the baby. For the balance Ericka so often fought to keep but couldn't always hold alone.
She pulled the packet back toward her and flipped to the next circled section, already pressing the intercom again. "Send in Joseph from finance."
Amanda flipped another page forward, her pen gliding over Ericka's red circles, following each jagged slash of ink like a trail of fire she was determined to put out. Her eyes landed on the margin notes scribbled across slide nine three exclamation marks punctuating the inconsistency.
She pressed the intercom. "Send in Jordan from product development."
A moment later, Jordan appeared, clutching a binder so tightly the edges bent under his fingers. His eyes flicked nervously to the desk where Amanda sat in Ericka's chair, but he didn't speak until Amanda gestured for him to sit.
Amanda slid the packet toward him, her tone even but unyielding. "The projected launch costs for the spring line are off by fifteen percent compared to the initial budget. Why?"
Jordan's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. He flipped open his binder, pages shuffling under his shaky hands. "That—that's because materials costs went up with our suppliers. I submitted the revision last week, but apparently the old budget sheet wasn't replaced."
Amanda's pen tapped twice against the table. Her expression stayed calm, but her gaze pinned him in place. "And why wasn't it replaced?"
Jordan hesitated. "...I don't know."
Amanda leaned back in Ericka's chair, her voice cooling further. "Find out. And make sure I never hear 'I don't know' from you again in response to a budget question. Understood?"
Jordan's head bobbed quickly. "Understood." He nearly tripped over himself leaving the office, binder clutched like a lifeline.
Amanda turned to the next circled section, her jaw tightening. Slide twelve—revenue growth forecasts. She pressed the intercom again. "Send in Melissa from strategy."
Melissa entered quickly, her tablet in hand, posture straighter than the others. She seemed to brace herself as she stood before Amanda.
Amanda pointed to the packet without preamble. "Revenue growth. Ericka flagged a two percent overstatement in the forecast. Why?"
Melissa scrolled through her tablet rapidly, her brows furrowing. "That number shouldn't have been in the presentation. The final forecast came in lower, but the slide wasn't updated in time before it went live."
Amanda's brow arched. "So what Ericka saw was deliberately inaccurate?"
Melissa's voice faltered. "...Yes. But it wasn't intentional. It was rushed."
Amanda's pen tapped sharply against the table, the only sound in the room for a long beat. Finally, she said, "You know as well as I do—nothing rushed goes in front of Ericka. Fix it. And next time, if you're pressed, you bring it to me first. Don't let it get this far again."
Melissa nodded quickly. "Yes, Amanda." She slipped out just as quickly, the door clicking shut behind her.
An hour passed.
Amanda worked steadily through the packet, circling her own notes in blue ink beside Ericka's furious red, building order out of chaos.
Staff members rotated in and out of the office, dropping revised reports onto the desk with nervous but efficient precision.
Each new file stacked neatly on Ericka's desk, corrections replacing the mess that had sent her pacing and breaking glass earlier.
By the end of the hour, Amanda leaned back in Ericka's chair, flipping through the now-updated reports. The inconsistencies were gone, the figures aligned, and the numbers finally told the story they were supposed to.
She stacked the corrected packet neatly, exhaling slowly as she set her pen down.
Order had been restored.
And when Ericka came back, Amanda would have the answers ready.