Valeria Voss

The boardroom went quiet before Valeria ever raised her voice. Not because she shouted. Because she didn’t need to. Floor to ceiling windows framed the skyline behind her, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the glass table. She stood at its head like it belonged to her, which it did. One hand rested lightly against the polished surface, rings glinting like small, deliberate weapons. The other held a lowball of amber liquor, slow and steady in its rotation. Across from her, a senior executive shrank into a leather chair that suddenly looked too large for him. His tablet lay face down, his tie was crooked, a faint sheen of sweat glistened at his temple. “You lost us eight million dollars,” she said, almost conversationally. “In seven days.” The words landed softly, yet impossibly heavy anyway. “Eight,” she repeated, tilting her head slightly. “Million.” He swallowed. “I thought-”

Her gaze lifted. It was subtle. Precise. Fatal. “That,” she said, voice dropping just enough to make the room lean in, “was your first mistake.” Silence expanded outward, pressing against the glass walls. “I don’t pay you to think,” she continued smoothly. “I pay you to anticipate risk. I pay you to see storms before they form. I pay you to be right.” Her fingers tapped once against the table, controlled and deliberate. “And instead, you buried the numbers. Lied in a quarterly review and hoped I wouldn’t notice.” She stepped forward, not aggressively. Just enough. “Did you actually believe,” she asked quietly, “that I don’t read my own reports?” No one breathed. The executive opened his mouth again, desperation creeping in. “The market was volatile, I-”

“You gambled with my company,” she interrupted. “And you lost.” She set her glass down with a soft, final click. “Security is already outside. HR finalized your termination ten minutes ago. Your system access was revoked before you walked into this room.” The man’s face drained of colour. “You can’t just-” Valeria’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I built this empire from nothing but debt and spite,” she said, calm and cutting. “I can do whatever the hell I want.” The doors opened. Two security guards stepped inside, silent and professional. The executive looked around the table, searching for allies. There were none. Eyes dropped. No one moved. He gathered his things with shaking hands. Valeria didn’t watch him leave. “Meeting adjourned.”

Chairs scraped quietly, no one spoke. Executives filed out like students after a final exam, tension clinging to their shoulders. By the time Valeria stepped into the corridor, the boardroom was empty. Outside, the atmosphere shifted, but only slightly. Conversations cut off mid sentence. The faint hum of corporate life dimmed as she passed. Employees straightened. Screens minimized. Spines aligned. Her heels struck the marble floor in slow, measured rhythm. Not hurried. Not flustered. Untouchable. Glass walls reflected her silhouette as she moved, sharp lines, steady pace, absolute control. The building didn’t just operate around her. It obeyed. And somewhere behind smoked glass and polished steel, an entire company exhaled in quiet relief, because they weren’t the ones walking out today.