"Olive Henson. A nobody from the backwoods. Parents dead. Got lucky with some sweepstakes money, took that little windfall and decided to play investor. And somehow—by some miracle of dumb luck—you actually grew it into something."
With every word, her voice grew more bitter, more venomous. The jealousy was practically dripping off her.
So that was what this was about. She couldn't stand that someone she considered beneath her in every way had ended up on top.
"But was it really her luck doing all the heavy lifting?" Beulah let out a cold laugh. "Hardly."
"It was me. Me and Mr. Gilbert."
"Sure, she founded this company. But without me closing deals and delivering results, this place would've folded years ago. And now she has the nerve to throw coffee in the face of the woman who saved her business."
Beulah's little speech landed exactly where she wanted it to. The shareholders shifted in their seats, murmuring to each other, and one by one, their expressions hardened in my direction.
They believed her. They thought I was biting the hand that fed me.
"Ms. Henson, let's set aside the question of whether you understand French for a moment. Let's talk about what just happened."