Melina Solberg is twenty-eight when she learns she has three months to live. Her fiancé Adrian never shows up at the hospital. When she returns home, she finds him in the arms of her stepsister Lisa. She runs out in despair and is struck by a vehicle. In her dying moments, her life flashes before her: her mother Elise died saving her from a fire; her father Henrik blamed her and grew distant; her stepmother Vivian and stepsister Lisa tormented her for years, keeping her from the company and the
I am back for sweet revenge - The dust of the ledgers, and a freezing smile
The old, wooden scent of the library seeped deep into her lungs.
The Fredhaun City Library was a stately stone building standing next to the city hall. Its windows were high, and the weak winter sunlight slanted in at an angle. The air was chilly, and only the sound of turning pages echoed quietly.
In a corner seat of the reading room, Melina Solberg was advancing through microfilm of old newspapers, one frame after another. Her platinum blonde hair was tied back in a single tail today as well. At her neck, beneath her blouse, hung her mother's locket. She wore her usual gray pantsuit.
*(The article... this one.)*
Her finger stopped.
A local newspaper from twenty-three years ago. In a corner of the front page, a small headline: *"House Fire in Grünedahl District, One Woman Dead."*
The article was curt. It only stated that an electrical short was believed to be the cause. The deceased was Elise Solberg (then thirty-five), CEO of the Wilson Family Group at the time. Her daughter, Melina (age five), had been helped out through a window by her mother and suffered minor injuries—
*(Mama.)*
Melina bit her lip for an instant.
But she would not stop here. She had not come to wallow in sentiment.
She reached for another set of documents stacked beside her. It was a copy of the WFG shareholder registry from the time when her mother Elise was still alive. The library's librarian, a man in his sixties named Thomas Kvam, had kindly shown her where the old registry records were stored.
"You're looking for the shareholder registry from that period? ...Yes, I believe it should be preserved on microfilm in the basement archive. Please wait a moment."
The white-bearded librarian had said that, then spent a full thirty minutes searching out the dust-covered film for her.
*(I'm grateful.)*
The registry listed the total number of issued shares at the time and the names of the major shareholders. Elise Solberg. Her shareholding ratio: 38 percent.
*(As I thought. Mother's holding was 38 percent. No mistake.)*
Next, she opened a copy of WFG's articles of incorporation. From within the thick file, she searched for the particularly important clause.
*"Trust System with Guardian."*
A special provision stating that the voting rights of a founding family member who was a minor, or of a successor whom the board of directors judged to have "insufficient management capability," would be exercised by a designated guardian on their behalf.
*(This. This is what's sealing away my voting rights.)*
She read the provision, tracing it with her finger.
...The appointment of a guardian shall be made by the deceased's will or by resolution of the board of directors. The guardian may exercise the voting rights of the subject until the subject reaches the age of twenty-five. However, with the approval of a majority of the board of directors, the trust may be dissolved even before the age of twenty-five—
Her heart gave a hard thump.
*(When I turn twenty-five, my voting rights will automatically return.)*
*(And if a majority of the board approves, the dissolution can be moved up.)*
She wrote two conditions in the notebook at hand. Two years until she turned twenty-five. Or, winning over a majority of the board of directors.
*(There are five directors... the chairman, my father. Vivian. Fredrik Engen, in charge of finance. Margrethe Hauge, in charge of legal affairs. Peder Strand, in charge of business development. And one outside director seat is vacant.)*
In her previous life, she had never even tried to think about the meaning of this clause. She had done as Vivian told her, knowing nothing, fighting for nothing, and wasted ten years in the general affairs department in the basement.
But now was different.
*(I could simply wait two more years. But—moving up the dissolution is far faster.)*
She raised her head.
The dusty air of the reading room irritated her throat. She coughed lightly.
"*Cough*..."
*(Even so, it burned well.)*
Brushing the dust from her fingers, she glanced once more at the fire article from twenty-three years ago.
*(An electrical short, was it.)*
Something stirred deep in her chest.
She must not forget this sense of wrongness.
She hurriedly put her notebook into her bag and stood. She had only twenty minutes left of her lunch break. If she ran to Wilson Tower, she could just barely make it.
When she left the library, the cold sea wind stung her cheeks.
The sky was, as ever, the color of lead.
The boardroom on the twenty-second floor of Wilson Tower.
A long black table. Through the wall of windows, the winter harbor of Fredhaun was visible. The sea shone cold as steel.
The air in the room, despite the heating, was somehow chilled to the core.
"—And that concludes our proposal for a business improvement partnership."
Nikolai Berg set down his materials and calmly looked around at the attendees. His hair was a dark brown, nearly black. His eyes were a deep greenish gray. His tall frame of 187 centimeters was wrapped in a dark gray suit, and he continued in a composed voice.
"In particular, there is still room for improvement in your company's back-office operations. For example—regarding document management in the general affairs department, there is an employee who recently did some extremely interesting work."
He slid a single document to the center of the table.
"Melina Solberg. The daughter of the Solberg family. She completed, in just a few days, a ledger reorganization that had been stalled in the general affairs department for years. The accuracy of her numerical verification is extremely high. Her work goes beyond the scope of simple clerical tasks."
The moment that name was spoken, the air at one corner of the table went taut.
Vivian Vestman.
She sat in the center of the directors' seats, wearing a perfect smile. Her black hair was gathered in a chignon at the back of her head, and today a pearl barrette gleamed there. The ruby ring on her right hand reflected the ceiling lights, flashing red.
"Oh my. How unexpected, for Melina's name to come up."
Her voice was soft, yet colder than the winter sea wind.
"That girl has done something outrageous at home, you know. Throwing away her partner the day before the wedding. To promote such a selfish child to the corporate planning office—"
"Work and private life are separate matters."
Nikolai cut her off.
"I evaluated only the numbers in the ledgers. The circumstances of a broken engagement have nothing to do with it."
A moment of silence fell over the boardroom.
Vivian's eyes narrowed slightly. Her refined smile remained, but deep in her eyes, something cold and beastly lurked.
"...I see. Young people do love to rationalize things away like that, don't they."
She slowly picked up Nikolai's proposal.
"However, personnel matters are far more delicate than you imagine. Don't you agree, Fredrik?"
Fredrik Engen, the finance director who had been named, nodded hastily. He was a heavyset man in his fifties.
"Y-yes, well, personnel is, well, you know. It takes time, that is."
*(...A sycophant.)*
Nikolai shifted his gaze from Fredrik to the far end of the boardroom.
There, one woman sat silently reading the materials at hand.
She was in her sixties. Her blonde hair, streaked with silver, was tied back in a single tail, and she wore black-rimmed glasses. Margrethe Hauge, the legal affairs director.
*(She hasn't reached a conclusion yet.)*
Silently, she compared Nikolai's proposal with the evaluation materials on Melina's ledger work, again and again. Her expression revealed nothing.
In the end, the meeting closed with the vague conclusion that Nikolai's proposal would continue to be deliberated at the next board meeting.
But Nikolai was satisfied.
*(Today's goal was to plant the name.)*
The name "Melina Solberg"—firmly into the ears of the directors.
Especially into Margrethe Hauge's—.
That night.
The third floor of the Solberg residence, Vivian's private room.
The fire in the fireplace flickered against the dark curtains.
Vivian stood by the window, a wine glass in one hand.
"Mama, you called?"
A sugary voice came from beyond the door. Lisa poked her face in, her honey-colored curls bouncing softly. Her large, round blue eyes stared intently at her mother's back.
Vivian did not turn around.
"That man, Nikolai Berg. At today's board meeting, he recommended Melina as a candidate for an executive position."
Her voice had completely shed the smiling mask she had worn in the daytime boardroom. It was flat and cold.
The corner of Lisa's lips twitched upward.
"Oh? What's with that man? Is he on big sister's side or something?"
"At the very least, he is trying to place that girl somewhere beyond my reach. That alone makes him an enemy."
Vivian finally turned around.
"Lisa. Go and tamper with the shared shelves in the general affairs department. Those ledgers she's been organizing. Move those files from her drawer to another location, and place them somewhere deliberately easy to find."
"A switcheroo, you mean?"
"Yes. As the person in charge of the ledgers, that girl should know the positions of the documents she organized. If you disturb them, she'll be scolded by her superior for 'failing to keep things organized.' Right after her work in general affairs was praised at the board meeting, no less. Her evaluation will flip in an instant."
Lisa laughed softly.
"Fine. I'll do it tomorrow."
"However."
Vivian's voice dropped a notch lower.
"Make absolutely sure you are not caught on the security cameras. The east side of the general affairs corridor, in front of the shelves near the elevator—that's a blind spot for the cameras. Use that spot."
Lisa nodded happily.
"Got it. Just like you said, Mama—in a place where no one can see, quietly."
Her voice was like a cat purring—sugary and cruel.
The following afternoon.
Basement level one of Wilson Tower. The general affairs department.
The air in the office was, as always, dusty and somehow stagnant. The fluorescent lights fell from the ceiling, muffled. Old cabinets lined the walls, and cardboard boxes were stacked on the floor.
As soon as her lunch break ended, Melina headed for the shared shelves.
Her current assignment was the most troublesome ledger reorganization in the department. She needed to have the numbers ready for the board meeting. She could not waste a single minute.
—But.
The moment she stood before the shared shelves, her feet stopped.
*(...Huh?)*
The blue file that should have been on the top shelf was gone.
Hurriedly, she checked every shelf from top to bottom. She opened the drawers, and the neighboring cabinets too.
*(No. This isn't where I put it.)*
Her heartbeat gradually quickened.
*(Calm down. Steady your breathing.)*
She exhaled deeply, once.
In her previous life—yes, in her previous life, the same thing had been done to her.
Lisa had carelessly moved the ledger files, setting things up so that Melina would be blamed for "sloppy management."
*(The me of my previous life would have panicked and run crying to the section chief. But in the end, I was the one who got scolded.)*
But now was different.
Every morning, the moment she arrived at work, she visually confirmed the positions of the documents on the shared shelves, one by one. She remembered exactly what had been where yesterday evening.
She had confidence in her patience and her memory.
*(Two files were moved: the blue file and the green file.)*
*(And right beside the shared shelves, in a position the cameras don't capture, a brown envelope has been inserted—)*
She pulled out the envelope and checked its contents.
Inside were several receipts.
The date was one year ago. Expense reports related to the purchase of supplies for the marketing department.
"—Well, well."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
*(This isn't just a switcheroo. They intend to plant this in my drawer and accuse me of 'stealing the
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