"Over the last seventy-two hours," Eleanor began, "I instructed an independent forensic audit firm to examine our top-tier retail accounts, inventory ledgers, and floor-level commission disbursements across our five primary global flagships: New York, Paris, London, Tokyo, and Milan. What they found was not a string of isolated customer service lapses. It was an orchestrated system of fraud, embezzlement, and institutionalized bigotry."
Julian Mercer’s face paled, though he quickly forced a scoff. "Eleanor, this is absurd. Our retail standards are the gold standard of high luxury. We screen our client base to maintain brand exclusivity. That is basic luxury economics—"
"Is commission skimming also basic luxury economics, Julian?" Eleanor asked.
She tapped her tablet, and a series of financial spreadsheets flooded the wall screens. Red line items highlighted massive disparities between gross register receipts and reported floor commissions over a four-year period.
"Under your oversight, Victoria," Eleanor continued, turning her gaze to the Vice President, "store managers implemented an unwritten, highly structured policy known internally as 'Tiering.' Regional managers explicitly instructed sales associates to ignore, insult, or outright deny service to patrons whose attire, demographic, or initial perceived net worth did not meet an arbitrary threshold of wealth."
"Exclusivity is our core product," Victoria countered coldly, crossing her arms. "We do not sell to the masses, Eleanor. If we allow ordinary walk-ins to linger, photograph our garments, and dilute the atmosphere, our true VIP clients—the women who spend six figures a season—will take their business to private ateliers. We manage perception."
"You don't manage perception, Victoria. You manage an extortion ring," Eleanor said sharply. "The audit proves that high-spending clients were routinely charged undocumented 'curation fees' for limited-edition leather goods—fees that never reached the corporate accounts. Instead, they were channeled into private offshore shells owned by you and Julian."
Julian stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the hardwood floor. "This is slander! You cannot walk in here after years of absence and level criminal allegations against the executive team that kept this company profitable!"
"I am not leveling allegations, Julian. I am reading from an indictment draft," Eleanor replied smoothly.
She pressed another button. The financial ledgers vanished, replaced by high-definition video footage with synchronized audio.
On the screens, a video taken from the flagship store's security feed played out clearly. It showed a modestly dressed elderly woman sitting quietly on a settee, holding a worn leather handbag. Victoria Sterling herself, accompanied by former manager Chloe, stood near the register.
"Get her out of the main showroom," Victoria’s recorded voice echoed through the boardroom, crisp and merciless. "She’s bringing down the room’s aesthetic. Tell her the fitting rooms are occupied and suggest she try the mid-tier department stores down the avenue. If she refuses, have security escort her out for loitering."
The video cut to another clip—this time of Julian Mercer in a private office, accepting an envelope of cash from a regional supervisor in exchange for turning a blind eye to inventory write-offs labeled as 'damaged fabric.'
The boardroom descended into a stunned, icy silence. Arthur Pendelton looked as though he had aged ten years in ten seconds. He shifted his glare from Eleanor to Julian and Victoria.
"You fools," Arthur whispered under his breath.
"This board," Eleanor announced, standing up and placing her hands flat on the table, "has forgotten what my grandfather built. He did not build House of Vance to sell artificial superiority to insecure elite. He built it to craft art, to celebrate beauty, and to treat every soul who walked through our doors with immaculate dignity."
She picked up a folder of thick cream parchment documents and slid them across the table toward the disgraced executives.
"Effective immediately," Eleanor stated, "Julian Mercer and Victoria Sterling are terminated for cause. Your access to corporate systems, accounts, and properties has been revoked as of four minutes ago. Security personnel are currently clearing out your offices."
"You can't do this!" Victoria spat, her composure entirely shattering. "The board will never ratify this! We control thirty percent of the voting shares!"
"The board has already ratified it," Eleanor said, looking around the table at the remaining directors, who unanimously lowered their eyes or nodded in silent acquiescence. "The board recognizes that if these videos and audit reports are handed over to the Securities and Exchange Commission and the press—which they will be if you attempt to fight your terminations—House of Vance will not survive the week."
Julian sank back into his chair, breathing heavily, his head buried in his hands.