Investing In Overlooked Women: I Get Cashback On Every Glow-Up

I locked eyes with him, making no move to retreat. ”I have something for her.”

At my signal, Sarah stepped forward. Without a word, she opened a leather folder and pulled out an official corporate bank draft, holding out a blank, certified check directly in front of his face.

The manager blinked, his eyes darting across the heavy watermark and embossed seal. For a fraction of a second, total confusion washed over his rough features—before a crude, ugly sneer split across his face. He threw his head back and let out a harsh, booming laugh that echoed over the deafening clatter of the machinery.

He looked down at our low-key hoodies and simple sneakers, shaking his head with utter contempt. ”A blank check?!” he barked, his voice dripping with mockery. ”You roll into my factory in cheap clothes and hand me a piece of paper like you’re some kind of billionaire? Who do you think you’re fooling? Get this trash out of my face!”

”I am not asking for your permission,” I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous register that made Sarah shift her footing slightly. ”We are leaving with Benita Young.”

A dark flush of rage spread across the manager’s throat. ”Oh, you want to see her that badly?” he hissed, his jaw clenching as his fists balled at his sides. ”Fine! You want her? You can have her—at the front gates!”

He spun on his heel and stomped over to Line #4, grabbing Benita roughly by her upper arm and dragging her out from behind the cutting table.

Benita stumbled, her eyes widening in pure shock as the manager shoved her forward into the aisle between us.

”Pack your bags, Benita!” the manager screamed in her face, his spit flying under the halogen glare. ”I am sick and tired of your useless drawings, your slow pacing, and your trouble-making self! You’re fired! Right now! Effective this second!”

Before anyone could react, he snatched the blank check straight out of Sarah’s hand, ripped it down the middle with a sharp, violent CRACK, and crumpled the pieces into a ball, tossing them onto the filthy, oil-stained concrete.

”Get off my floor!” he spat, turning his back on us and storming away toward his elevated office booth.

Silence hung heavy over the walkway, save for the rhythmic, deafening thud of the textile looms.

Benita stood frozen in the middle of the aisle, her breath coming in shallow, terrified hitches. Her hands trembled violently at her sides, her shoulders pulling inward as a single tear cut through the gray cotton dust on her pale cheek. Years of backbreaking labor, ruined for a handful of crumpled papers. She looked down at her worn boots, completely crushed, her entire world collapsing into total despair right in front of us.

I stepped over the torn pieces of the check, stopping right in front of her.

My chest swelled with a deep, furious resolve. The sheer indignity this 9.9 genius had been forced to endure—slaving away in the dirt while a small-minded tyrant treated her like garbage—was officially over.

”Benita,” I said softly, my voice rich with an undeniable warmth that made her head snap up, her wide, tear-filled eyes meeting mine in absolute disbelief. ”Pick up your drawings. You’re never coming back to this place again.”

”Who the fuck are you?!”

Her voice sliced through the deafening roar of the factory floor, raw and trembling with pure, unadulterated fury. Tears of anger spilled over her eyelashes as she glared up at me, her chest heaving under her dust-covered apron.

”You roll in here in your little hoodies, playing hero, and you just got me fired!” she choked out, her hands shaking violently as she gestured around the filthy room. ”Do you have any idea what this job meant to me?! I need this money! I have rent to pay! I have to eat! And what the hell are you talking about—’never coming back’?! Who’s going to pay my bills, you?!”

Before I could say a word, she shoved past my shoulder with all the strength she had left, her elbow clipping me hard as she bolted toward the lockers, wiping her eyes furiously with the back of her wrist.

Sarah winced, stepping back slightly as Benita stormed away. ”Mr. Ethan... should I call security?”

”No,” I said quietly, watching her retreat down the dimly lit hallway.

I didn’t feel angry. In fact, a heavy knot of guilt settled in my chest. She was completely right. From her perspective, a stranger had just strutted into her workplace, acted like a big shot, triggered her hotheaded boss into throwing her out, and left her with zero income in a slum with no safety net. She didn’t know about the $1.8 billion. She didn’t know about Hidden Gem Investments. All she knew was that her life was ruined.

”We follow her,” I commanded, turning on my heel. ”Quietly.”

Sarah nodded quickly, falling into step right beside me as we kept a steady distance, tracking her through the factory gates and out into the night.

Benita marched through the dark, muddy streets of the slum, her head down, her shoulders hunched against the chilly wind. The harsh halogen lights of the factory faded behind us, replaced by the flickering, dim streetlamps of the impoverished district. She kept her head low, clutching a worn denim bag tightly against her ribs, completely oblivious to us trailing fifty paces behind.

After ten minutes of navigating flooded potholes and narrow alleyways, she stopped in front of a crumbling, three-story concrete apartment building. The plaster was peeling off the walls, and raw wiring hung exposed near the rusted entrance gate.

She stood at the bottom of the steps for a long moment, staring up at her broken home, her body trembling as quiet sobs finally broke through her composure.

Sarah looked at me, her face softened with genuine sympathy. ”What’s the plan now, Mr. Ethan?”

I adjusted the hood of my sweater, stepping out from the shadows of the alleyway toward the stairs.

”Now,” I said softly, my voice filled with a calm, unshakeable determination, ”I fix my mistake and give her a reason to trust me.”