“Mark could have anyone, you know. Someone who brings something real to the table. Someone with ambition who doesn’t settle for a miserable little position.”
Every word was a slap. I kept smiling.
“You’re right,” I said calmly. “I should really pay closer attention to your daughter’s work.” She left satisfied, convinced she’d put me in my place.
If only she knew. Two weeks later, Ellen came over to check on how her son was living.
She toured our apartment like it was a crime scene, ran a critical finger along our cheap TV stand, our generic curtains, our basic IKEA bookshelves. You’d think living within your means was a moral failing.
“You should visit Allison sometime,” she tossed over her shoulder on the way out. “Get inspired. Learn to dream bigger.”
When the door closed, Mark just wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Not much longer,” he whispered. He was right.
The hour was coming. I called Allison in for a mid-probation performance review and scheduled it for 9:00 a.m. in my office. She breathed in with her usual winner’s grin, gave me a dismissive good morning, and then saw the document on my desk, her full name at the top.
Below it: Intern Performance Evaluation. And at the bottom: Supervisor, my full name, Department Head.
Her face went slack. I could see the math finally happening in her head. “Have a seat, Miss Bennett,” I said without looking up.
She sat. Her hands trembled. You could almost hear the gears turning as she tried to figure out when exactly the universe had flipped.
“This… this must be some kind of mistake,” she stammered, poking a finger at the page. “There’s no mistake,” I said. “Let’s talk about your performance.”
I opened her file. First, I began with the client database incident, then the copied report, word for word from public sources. Chronic lateness.
Missed deadlines. Multiple complaints from colleagues about the atmosphere in the team.
“But I’m still learning,” she said, voice shaking. “It’s an internship.”
“Your probation’s ending,” I replied. “This is the formal evaluation.” Her eyes showed pure panic.
That same day, Ellen called again, this time furious. She didn’t bother with hello.
“I know you two work at the same company,” she almost spat. “You’re sabotaging her on purpose out of pure jealousy.” “I’m not.”
“Shut up,” she snapped. “You’re a bitter little mediocrity who can’t stand someone else’s success, especially when that someone is everything you’ll never be. If you ruin my daughter’s career because of your pathetic insecurities, you’ll regret it.”
“Don’t worry,” I answered calmly. “Your daughter is getting exactly the treatment she’s earned.” “You’d better—”
But I hung up. I’d heard enough. If she only knew what her princess was really worth.
Time for the final test. I assigned Allison the key presentation for the quarter: a market analysis for a major client. Two weeks, full access to data, and my door open for questions.
“Perfect opportunity to show what you can do,” I said, face neutral. I already knew how it would end. A month of watching her had been enough.
She was lazy, arrogant, and convinced she could bluff her way through anything. Naturally, she didn’t disappoint. The day before the big family dinner, Mark sent out invitations in the family WhatsApp chat.
Celebratory dinner at our place, the message read. In honor of Allison’s professional success. Ellen called almost immediately.
“You’re such a good son,” she shrieked into the phone. “Just remember, the menu has to match our star. Nothing cheap.”
“Of course, Mom,” Mark said. “It’ll be a night she’ll never forget.”
“Wonderful. I’ll invite some friends so they can see what a successful daughter I have.” When he hung up, Mark smirked.
“Unforgettable,” he repeated. “One hundred percent.” That afternoon at work, Allison pinged me cheap excuses for why the report wasn’t quite ready yet.
I checked the file she’d sent. A mess.
No structure, bad data, random charts pulled from who knows where. Top-tier incompetence.
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Then I checked my calendar.
I gave her one more assignment at 6:30 p.m. “Urgent for a client. Needs to be ready by morning,” I said, handing her a thick folder.
“But it’s late,” she protested. “Then you’d better hurry,” I replied. “Don’t leave until everything is perfect.”
With that, I walked out, leaving her alone in the office with a pile of work and a ticking clock. At home, everything was ready: the table set, food laid out, Mark’s relatives on their best behavior for once. Ellen’s three closest friends had shown up specially to witness Allison’s triumph.
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