They all sat there like theatergoers, waiting for the curtain to rise. Allison crashed through the door fifteen minutes late, flushed, hair slightly ruined, suit wrinkled, panic badly hidden in her eyes.
“Sorry I’m late,” she gasped. “Work piled up.” Ellen flew to her like she’d just returned from war.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. We’ve only just started,” she said, hugging her dramatically.
We took our seats. Ellen, Derek, distant relatives, the three friends. Everyone settled around our modest table, pretending not to stare.
“Ally, darling,” one of Ellen’s friends trilled. “Your mom never stops talking about your professional success. We’re all so proud of you.”
Allison gave a tight smile, quickly sizing up the room. “Yeah, it’s been a very productive month,” she said, voice a little too high. Ellen stood, champagne flute in hand.
“Well, since we’re all here, I think it’s time to celebrate properly,” she announced. “Of course,” Allison managed, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“To your professional success,” Ellen proclaimed, glowing with satisfaction. “At last, our family has someone with real ambition.” She shot me a look full of contempt.
“Unlike certain people who are content with a pathetic paycheck.” Derek snickered openly. “Yeah, good thing the family has some actually successful people.”
That familiar stab of anger went through me, but this time it came with a cool, quiet satisfaction. Mark got to his feet, glass in hand.
“You’re right, Mom,” he said. “I think it’s time everyone heard the truth about Allison’s career achievements.”
“Exactly,” Ellen clapped. “It’s time we recognized the real talent in this family.”
Allison stiffened. Something in his tone had finally reached her. “And who better to talk about her performance,” Mark went on, “than the person who observes her work every day?”
He turned to me. “Sweetheart, would you do the honors?” I stood up slowly.
Every eye in the room followed me. Allison went white. “Before we talk about Allison’s professional future,” I began evenly, “I think she should properly introduce me to the family.”
She froze. Her wine glass shook in her hand.
“What are you talking about?” Ellen frowned. I didn’t look away from Allison.
“Allison,” I said, “tell them who I am at the office.” The room went dead quiet. Allison opened and closed her mouth like a fish dragged onto shore.
“I… I…” she stuttered. “Say it,” I said calmly. “Use my actual title.”
The words seemed physically stuck in her throat. “Well,” Mark prompted.
“She’s my direct supervisor,” Allison whispered. “Head of the department.” Ellen stared at her like she’d suddenly started speaking Martian.
“What?” she screeched. “What kind of nonsense is that?”
I walked over to the TV, plugged in my phone, and pulled up a slide. On the screen was the official organizational chart, my photo at the top of the department, with my title clearly displayed: Department Head. Below, in the list of interns, was Allison’s picture with a neat little note.
Intern: Probationary Period. Ellen grabbed at her chest, color draining from her face. “No, that can’t be.”
“Oh, it very much can,” I said, flipping to the next slide. “And this is your daughter’s performance review. Let me read the highlights.”
“No, please,” Allison whispered. “Chronic lateness,” I read calmly, “missed deadlines, plagiarism in reports, disrespect toward colleagues.”
I looked up. “Shall I go on?”
Ellen swayed. One of her friends grabbed her arm to keep her from sliding off the chair. “But she said she was a project coordinator,” one guest muttered weakly.
“Yes,” I said. “Allison is a pathological liar.” Derek turned beet red.
“This is some kind of prank,” he snapped. “A setup.” I went to the next slide.
“This is Allison’s email to HR,” I explained, “accusing me of creating a toxic environment. This was her little prank, trying to save herself with false accusations when she realized she was being let go.”
“You’re just jealous,” Allison suddenly exploded. “You can’t stand that I’m better than you.” I studied her with genuine curiosity.
“Better?” I repeated. “You’re an intern who’s getting fired tomorrow, so in what universe does that make you better than the person signing the termination?”
Ellen made a strangled sound and collapsed back into her chair. “No,” she whispered. “My daughter, my princess.”
“Your princess?” I said, voice frost cold. “Spent a whole month proving she’s the most incompetent employee I’ve ever supervised.”
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