I didn’t take it.
“What kind of approval?”
“Routine,” she said quickly. “Supply chain clearance. Nothing complicated. Just needs a push.”
Nothing complicated.
That’s what people say when they don’t want you asking questions.
I took the folder anyway. Not because I was going to help her. Because I wanted to see how bad it was.
I flipped it open.
The first page told me everything I needed to know.
Vendor history didn’t line up. Contract numbers were formatted wrong. The approval chain had gaps. Big ones. The kind you don’t miss unless you’re trying not to look.
I turned another page.
Signatures.
One of them was my father’s. Except it wasn’t. Not close enough to pass a quick glance. Not close enough to survive a real audit.
I felt something shift.
Not surprise. Not anger.
Recognition.
This wasn’t sloppy. It was deliberate.
I closed the folder and looked at her.
“This should have been flagged,” I said.
Valerie rolled her eyes like I was being dramatic.
“It was delayed,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“No,” I said. “This should have been frozen.”
That got a reaction. Small. Quick. But it was there.
She recovered fast.
“You’re overthinking it,” she said. “It just needs your approval. That’s it.”
I watched her for a second. Same posture. Same confidence. Same certainty that nothing applied to her.
It wasn’t new. It had never been new.
Growing up, Valerie was the one people stood for. The one teachers praised. The one neighbors talked about. The one who left for training and came back with medals and stories that made everyone at the dinner table go quiet.
She lived in the spotlight.
I didn’t.
I stayed behind. Studied. Worked. Built something that didn’t come with applause.
And every time someone asked what I did, it was always the same reaction.
“Oh, office work.”
Like that was the end of the sentence. Like that was the end of me.
Valerie stepped closer, tapping the folder in my hand.
“Look,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “I’m doing you a favor by coming to you directly. This goes through the system the normal way, it’ll sit there for weeks, maybe months, or get rejected.”
“Or get rejected,” I said.
She smiled.
“Only if someone wants it to.”
There it was.
Not even subtle anymore.
“You want me to override a flagged procurement request?” I said. “For Dad’s company?”
“I want you to sign it,” she corrected. “You already have access. You already have the authority. Why not use it?”
I held her gaze.
“Because it’s not clean.”
Her smile faded just a little.
“It doesn’t need to be clean,” she said. “It needs to be approved.”
“No,” I said. “It needs to be legal.”
That did it. The patience dropped.
“You’re unbelievable,” she snapped. “This is exactly why you’re stuck down here. You don’t know how the real world works.”
I didn’t respond.
She stepped closer, voice sharper now.
“Do you think any of this runs on rules?” she continued. “You think contracts get signed because everything is perfect? No. They get signed because the right people make decisions.”
“And you think that’s you?” I asked.
“I know it is,” she said.
Of course she did. She’d spent her whole life being told that.
She crossed her arms again, leaning slightly forward.
“Just sign it,” she said. “Nobody’s going to question it.”
I closed the folder and handed it back to her.
“No.”
One word. Clear. Final.
For a second, she just stared at me like she hadn’t heard it right.
“What?”
“I’m not signing it,” I said.
Her expression changed. Not confusion. Not disappointment.
Something colder.
“You don’t get to say no,” she said quietly.
I didn’t move.
“I just did.”
She let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it.
