As Hank stepped off the elevator onto the second floor, the air crackled with a palpable tension. The news had spread like wildfire, carried on the hushed whispers of nervous employees. The swift and decisive firing of Bill on the fifth floor had sent shockwaves through the building, a stark reminder of Hank's authority and the company's zero-tolerance policy. Every head turned, every pair of eyes followed his movements as he walked into the open-plan office, flanked by two imposing security officers.

  He moved with an air of quiet confidence, his gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the nervous faces and the palpable fear. He stopped at Lisa Yu's desk, her eyes widening slightly as he approached. "Lisa," he began, his voice calm and professional, yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority. "You're moving up to the sixth floor Monday morning." A flicker of surprise, then pure joy, lit up her face. She nodded, her lips curving into a radiant smile. "And," Hank continued, his voice softening slightly, "you're hired as of Monday, full time, as a paid employee." Her breath hitched, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Thank you, Mr. Avery," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude and a hint of awe. The sixth floor, where Hank resided, was a symbol of power and prestige, a world away from the intern desks on the second floor. She was moving up, she was moving closer to Hank, and she was getting paid.

  Hank nodded, his gaze shifting to Johanna Day, who stood rigidly at her desk, her expression a mask of defiance. "Johanna," he stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Pack up your things. You are, as of this moment, no longer employed by Hanigan Investment." Johanna's eyes narrowed, her lips twisting into a sneer. "You have no right…" she began, her voice laced with indignant anger. Hank cut her off, his gaze unwavering. "No right?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. He took a step closer, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. "Very well. If you believe that, let's talk about your performance here. You barely generate any profit. You've been here for a little over four years, and your performance is… underwhelming." A ripple of hushed whispers spread through the office, a collective gasp at Hank’s bluntness. "Then," he continued, his voice hardening, "there's the matter of your… hiring practices. The sexual coercion of interns. A practice that is both illegal and morally reprehensible." Smirks spread across the faces of those who had witnessed Johanna's behavior. "You even tried it with me," Hank added, his voice laced with a hint of disgust. "On my second day here, if I remember correctly."

  Johanna's face flushed crimson, her defiance crumbling into a mixture of anger and shame. She had no response, no defense. Hank's gaze remained fixed on her, his expression unwavering. "So," he concluded, his voice cold and final, "hand over your access card and please follow this officer out of the building. You'll receive your pay for this week by the end of next week." Johanna huffed, a sound of impotent rage, but she complied, her movements stiff and resentful.

  Hank turned his attention to the intern who had defended Bill, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. "You pack your stuff too," he instructed, his voice firm but not unkind. "Lying to your director is unacceptable. You'll receive a check for the two weeks of work you've done." Tears welled up in her eyes, her voice trembling. "But Bill said…" she began, her voice choked with emotion. Hank cut her off, his gaze unwavering. "Bill was the first to be fired today," he stated, his voice final, shutting down any further argument. The girl's tears flowed freely, a mixture of fear and regret.

  He then walked over to William, who stood at his desk, his expression a mixture of relief and gratitude. "William," Hank said, his voice warm and encouraging. "I want you back on the sixth floor Monday too." William nodded, his eyes shining with appreciation. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. Hank patted his shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. "Just keep up the good work you're doing now," he said, his voice firm but kind. William nodded, his expression resolute.

  ---

  Standing in the warm glow of her bedroom, Mel proudly unveiled the poster Hank had created for her, the glossy image capturing her in a powerful, action-ready pose. Lumi's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the stunning realism of the image. It looked as though Mel had been plucked directly from the film, her presence radiating strength and confidence. "Next year," Lumi whispered, her voice filled with awe, "I'm going with you."

  Mel's smile bloomed, a mixture of excitement and anticipation. "Hank has promised he'll be there," she said, her voice laced with a hint of pride. "He even posted it on his Insta." Lumi's smile mirrored her own, the shared excitement a tangible force in the room. "So, what are you going as next year?" Lumi asked, her curiosity piqued. Mel's smile turned mischievous as she sat down on her bed, a secret excitement bubbling within her. "Mom and Dad gave me permission to go to the Con in Miami," she announced, her voice filled with triumph. Lumi gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "For real?" she exclaimed, her voice laced with incredulity. Mel nodded, her smile widening. She reached under her bed, pulling out a large, carefully packed box. She opened it, revealing its contents, and a wave of pure, unadulterated excitement washed over her.

  Lumi gasped, her eyes fixed on the pristine white suit within the box. It was a perfect replica of the suit Scarlett Johansson wore in the "Black Widow" movie, every stitch and seam meticulously recreated. "Holy hell, Mel," Lumi breathed, her voice filled with admiration. "That is awesome." Mel's smile radiated pride as she pulled out the accompanying accessories: two foam batons, perfectly crafted to match Natasha Romanoff's weapons, a sleek black belt, and two realistic-looking guns attached at the sides. Every piece had been painstakingly crafted, a testament to Mel's dedication and attention to detail. "You made these?" Lumi asked, her voice filled with awe, holding one of the batons in her hand. Mel nodded, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Yeah," she replied, her voice filled with pride. "Construction foam and a knife, sanding them, and then painting them."

  Lumi ran her fingers over the smooth, meticulously crafted surface, her admiration growing with each passing moment. "These are really good, Mel," she said, her voice filled with genuine praise. Mel had always possessed a talent for costume design, a knack for capturing the intricate details that brought characters to life. "You think Hank will like it?" Mel asked, her voice laced with a hint of nervous anticipation. Lumi looked at her, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's him, isn't it?" she asked, her voice laced with playful teasing. "The guy you like?" Mel nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "He's so awesome. And he treats me like I matter."

  Lumi's smile softened, her expression filled with understanding. "Isn't he like twenty-six?" she asked gently. Mel nodded, her smile fading slightly. "Yeah…" she replied, her voice tinged with disappointment. Lumi's smile returned, a hint of playful encouragement in her eyes. "Hey, when you're eighteen, he'll only be twenty-eight," she pointed out. "You could be with him, you know? Once you're old enough, age difference doesn't really matter. Maybe it does for your mom and dad, but the world? They really don't care, as long as you're over eighteen."

  Mel looked at her, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes, quickly extinguished by the cold reality of her situation. "While that's true," she sighed, her voice filled with a quiet resignation, "Hank won't remember me by then. And he won't be available. He'll be married and have kids before that." She threw herself back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes filled with a wistful longing. "If only I was eighteen now," she whispered, her voice laced with a deep, aching desire. She longed to be older, to bridge the gap that separated her from Hank, to have the freedom to pursue the feelings that bloomed within her. But she was trapped in the frustrating limbo of adolescence, her desires thwarted by the cruel hand of time. Lumi smiled, a mixture of sympathy and understanding in her eyes. "Yeah… if only," she echoed, her voice filled with a shared sense of longing.

  ---

  As Constance pulled into the car dealership parking lot, a sleek, modern structure gleaming under the afternoon sun, she raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really… here?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of playful disbelief. Hank nodded, his gaze fixed on the rows of vehicles stretching out before them. "I can get you a high-end Bentley or BMW, maybe a Mercedes," Constance offered, her voice laced with amusement. Hank shook his head, his eyes drawn to a particular vehicle. He pointed, and Constance chuckled, a low, amused sound. "You're serious?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly. Hank nodded, his expression resolute. He was fixated on a brand-new 2025 Jeep Gladiator Rubicon, its vibrant Mojito Green paint job catching the sunlight, its rugged design a perfect blend of beauty and practicality. At a sixty-nine thousand dollar price tag, it was a vehicle that had once been a distant dream, a symbol of a life he could only imagine. Constance smirked, a hint of playful challenge in her eyes. "Okay, Hank… if you're really sure," she said, her voice laced with amusement.

  Hank smiled, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling within him. He stepped out of the car, and an older man, his face etched with the lines of countless car sales, approached them with a practiced smile. "Good afternoon," he greeted them, his voice smooth and oily. "How may I get you into a new car today?" His overly enthusiastic demeanor, the cheap suit, and the air of practiced charm immediately rubbed Hank the wrong way. "Well, you can't," Hank replied, his voice flat and dismissive. He turned his attention to the dealership's interior, spotting a young woman seated behind a desk. He walked towards the building, Constance following close behind.

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  He stepped into the woman's office, a small, brightly lit space, and smiled. "Good afternoon," he greeted her, his voice warm and genuine. The woman looked up, her expression a mixture of confusion and polite curiosity. She was strikingly beautiful, her features delicate and refined, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that accentuated the graceful curve of her neck. Her eyes, a warm shade of brown, held a quiet intelligence, and her smile, though hesitant, was undeniably captivating. "Good afternoon," she replied, her voice soft and slightly hesitant. "How can I help you?" Hank shook her hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I'm here to buy a car," he explained, his voice calm and direct. "But I won't deal with the guy out there. His demeanor just kind of rubs me the wrong way."

  Constance entered the office, her presence filling the small space with an air of effortless elegance. She smiled at the young woman, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Why am I not surprised you went for the pretty young woman?" she teased, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. Hank smiled back, his gaze lingering on the woman's face. "Well…" he began, but Constance cut him off, taking his hand in hers. "I know," she said, her voice soft and understanding. "He was kind of pushy from the start."

  The young woman looked at them, her expression a mixture of confusion and nervousness. "I'm only a junior sales assistant," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not authorized to make deals without a manager." Hank smiled reassuringly. "That's fine," he said, his voice warm and encouraging. "Just make sure you get the commission." The woman's eyes widened, her expression filled with disbelief. "Sir," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "They don't allow that. I only get five percent." Hank looked at Constance, who nodded in agreement. "Call your manager in here," she instructed, her voice firm and authoritative.

  The woman picked up her phone, her fingers trembling slightly, and dialed a number. "Mr. Vikas," she said, her voice barely audible. "There's a couple here that wants to buy a car." She listened, her expression growing increasingly uncomfortable. "No, sir," she said, her voice rising slightly. "They said they only deal with me, sir." Hank noticed the subtle shift in her body language, the way she tensed as she spoke to her superior. Something in the interaction rubbed him the wrong way. "Yes, sir," she said, her voice flat and resigned. "They wish to talk to you, sir." After a final "yes sir," she hung up. "He'll be right here," she announced, her voice filled with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

  Hank looked at her, his expression softening. "How do you like working here?" he asked, his voice gentle. The woman smirked, a hint of bitterness in her eyes. "It's not as I expected," she admitted, her voice laced with disappointment. "The hours are long, and the pay isn't really the best. But at least I have a job." Before she could elaborate, a large man, his presence filling the small office, stepped inside. "Good afternoon," he greeted them, his voice booming and overly cheerful. "I'm Mike Vikas. How may I help you?"

  Hank stood up, his gaze unwavering. Mr. Vikas was larger than Hank, his bulk primarily concentrated in his protruding belly, but Hank was not intimidated. "We're here to buy a car," he stated, his voice calm and assertive. "And I wish for this young woman here to receive the full commission for the purchase." Mr. Vikas shook his head, his smile fading slightly. "That's not how we do business here, sir," he explained, his voice laced with a hint of condescension. "There's a rank system to follow. If I sell you the car, I get the commission. If one of my senior salespeople sell you a car, they get fifty percent of the commission. And if a junior salesperson sells you a car, he or she gets five percent."

  Hank smirked, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Very well," he replied, his voice laced with a subtle threat. "We'll just take our business to another dealership. But I really had my eyes on that Gladiator Rubicon out there." He stepped over to the woman's desk and handed her a business card. "If you want to change jobs, give me a call," he said, his voice warm and encouraging. The woman looked at the card, her eyes widening. "Hanigan Investments," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. "Mr. Avery, you work for Constance Hanigan?" Hank smiled, taking Constance's hand in his. "Do I work for you, darling?" he asked, his voice laced with playful affection. Constance smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing. He was using his connection to her as an intimidation tactic. "Oh baby," she purred, her voice laced with playful innuendo. "You do much more than that." She handed the woman her own business card. The woman’s eyes widened, recognizing the name.

  Mr. Vikas, his face now flushed and beaded with sweat, recognized Constance. He had met her once, when her sleazy ex-husband had been trying to buy a car and had spent most of his time hitting on Mike's daughter, who worked in the front office. "Mrs. Hanigan…" he began, his voice trembling slightly. "It's Miss. Hanigan now, please," Constance corrected him, her voice cold and sharp. Hank smirked, enjoying the man's discomfort. "Please excuse my earlier behavior," Mr. Vikas stammered. "We'll find a way to work this out." Hank smirked again. "And this young lady here?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of challenge. Mr. Vikas looked at the woman, his expression pleading. "I can offer her twenty percent of the commission," he offered, his voice strained. Hank shook his head, his gaze unwavering. He looked at the woman. "Call us," he said, his voice warm and encouraging. "I guarantee you can make more money working for us." He turned and walked out of the office, Constance following close behind. Behind them, they could hear Mr. Vikas calling after them, "We'll give you a good deal on the Gladiator!" Hank continued to walk, his expression resolute. Constance looked at him, her eyes filled with amusement. "What now?" she asked. Hank looked at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There's another Jeep dealership not far from here," he replied. "Let's go there." She nodded, and they got back into the car and drove off.

  "You know, I remember that man," Constance said, her voice laced with a hint of amusement as they drove away from the dealership. Hank glanced at her, a question in his eyes. She smirked, a knowing glint in her eyes. "James was more interested in the young girl at the front desk than the car we actually came here to buy," she explained, her voice dripping with playful disdain. Hank chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Was she pretty?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. Constance laughed, a rich, melodic sound. "Yeah, she was," she admitted. "Not as pretty as the woman we were just talking to, but yeah, she was pretty."

  Hank chuckled again, a sense of satisfaction settling within him. "I can't believe you offered her a job, right in front of her boss," she remarked, her voice laced with amusement. Constance smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Did you see how she was acting when she called him on the phone?" she asked, her voice filled with a quiet outrage. Hank nodded, his expression grim. "She's not treated right," he said, his voice firm. "And the way they pay their associates, it's unreal." Constance smiled, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "So, what floor do you want her to work on?" she asked, her tone playful. Before Hank could respond, she laughed, a knowing sound. "Never mind," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "She'll be on the sixth floor." Hank chuckled, shaking his head at her playful assertiveness.

  The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Constance answered, her voice smooth and professional. "Hello," she greeted the caller. "Miss. Hanigan, you just left here," a female voice said, her tone laced with a mixture of hurt and desperation. Hank's ears perked up, recognizing the voice as the young woman they had just spoken to. "Yes," Constance replied, her voice soft and reassuring. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't get your name?" "I'm Missy," the woman replied, her voice trembling slightly, the pain of her recent dismissal evident. "Well, hi Missy," Constance said, her voice warm and encouraging. "So, what can I do for you?"

  A soft, heart-wrenching sniffle echoed through the phone's speaker, a small, fragile sound that spoke volumes of Missy's distress. "I was just fired," she choked out, her voice trembling, the words thick with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. The raw emotion in her voice, the vulnerability laid bare, painted a vivid picture of her hurt and confusion. She wasn't just fired; she was blamed, her character seemingly tarnished, her professional reputation unjustly attacked. Constance glanced at Hank, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and a steely resolve. She saw the injustice, the blatant disregard for Missy's well-being, and a flicker of anger sparked within her. Hank, his expression grim, nodded his silent approval. He understood the power dynamics at play, the way those in positions of authority could so easily crush the hopes and dreams of those beneath them.

  "Missy," Constance began, her voice gentle and soothing, like a balm to Missy's wounded spirit. She infused her words with a warmth that radiated through the phone, a beacon of hope in Missy's moment of despair. "Do you have a car?" The question was simple, practical, but it carried an underlying message: you are not alone, you have the means to reach us. A faint, almost imperceptible "Yeah…" drifted through the speaker, a fragile thread of affirmation.

  "Good," Constance responded, her voice firm and decisive, the softness replaced by a quiet strength. "Drive to Hanigan Investments. Tell security that I asked you to come. They'll let you up to the sixth floor. Ask for Gloria, and tell her we're expecting you." She painted a clear, concise picture, a path for Missy to follow, a tangible step towards a brighter future. The sixth floor, the heart of Hanigan Investments, a symbol of power and opportunity, was now within Missy's reach. Gloria, Hank’s efficient and reliable secretary, would be waiting, a welcoming face in a sea of uncertainty.

  "When will you be there?" Missy asked, her voice laced with a desperate hope, a plea for reassurance. She clung to Constance's words, her fragile hope resting on the promise of a new beginning. Constance smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that transcended the phone lines, a silent promise of support. "After we get Mr. Avery a car," she replied, her voice filled with gentle amusement. "If you go to the Jeep dealership on Fifth, I know the salesgirl, ask for Jill." She offered a practical suggestion, a way for Missy to pass the time, a small act of kindness in the midst of a chaotic situation.

  "Thank you, Missy," Constance said, her voice filled with genuine sincerity. "We'll do that." She hung up, her expression thoughtful, her mind already racing with plans for Missy's future at Hanigan Investments. She saw a spark of potential in the young woman, a resilience that had been forged in the fires of adversity. She would make sure that spark was nurtured, that Missy had the opportunity to shine.