by Shona Dick

IN THE BUSTLING heart of Edinburgh, the headquarters of MacGregor Innovations stood tall, a gleaming beacon of technological prowess. The building was a maze of glass corridors and sleek, modern offices, each filled with the hum of ambition and the flicker of computer screens. At the pinnacle of this empire was Douglas Ross, whose name was synonymous with success and innovation. His ruthlessness was legendary, and his assistant, Sally, knew this too well.

Douglas’s office on the top floor was a testament to his ego. It was a sprawling space filled with trophies and plaques, each one a monument to achievements that were, in truth, Sally’s and her teams’ handiwork. The shelves groaned under the weight of awards, and the walls were adorned with framed magazine covers, all featuring Douglas’s smug face. Yet behind this veneer of success was a man who thrived on belittling those around him, particularly Sally, whose diligent work was the real engine behind MacGregor Innovations’ meteoric rise.

The company had recently caught the attention of some serious investors, and a critical pitch was scheduled. As the presentation day approached, Douglas called Sally into his office. She walked in, a stack of reports balanced precariously in her hands, her face a mask of professional calm.

“Sally, I need a PowerPoint Presentation slide deck that will make investors throw money at us,” Douglas barked, not even bothering to look up from his computer screen. His tone was condescending, as always.

It was a sprawling space filled with trophies and plaques, each one a monument to achievements that were, in truth, Sally’s and her teams’ handiwork