Golden Cage Mommy Mutiny (Elyse) novel Chapter 5

I didn’t send that company–wide email right away.

Instead, I had my assistant pass a message to the employees outside my door, the ones teetering on the edge of a full meltdown.

[Ms. West said she’s willing to give everyone one more chance. Tomorrow at nine a.m., same main conference room. She’ll hear your final demands.]

The screaming and fighting outside eased, little by little.

Elyse Austin, the “culprit” who’d just been torn apart by the crowd, seized the chance and jumped right back into the working–moms group chat, stirring the pot again.

“Everyone, see that? Layla West is scared! She won’t actually do layoffs. She was bluffing! We should stick together tomorrow. Don’t back down!”

“Our goal is not just restoring the daycare, but to make her add cash stipends on top. There are more of us. She can’t afford to drag this out!”

In the chat, the same people who’d been cursing her a minute ago started wavering again.

“Really? You think she’ll cave?”

“What if she still refuses tomorrow?”

Nancy was the first to jump in and echo Elyse. “Elyse is right! We can’t fall apart first! What she did today was meant to split us. Don’t take the bait! I suggest, tomorrow we all wear black to the meeting and put

pressure on her!”

I read the screenshots my assistant pulled from the chat, and I laughed.

Then I fed the demand letter I’d drafted against Elyse alone into the shredder. After that, I called our legal director. “Patrick, change of plan.”

“Draft a new complaint. The defendant won’t be Elyse alone.” I paused, then dropped the decision that startled him. “Anyone who posted attacks against the company or fabricated claims online, with an IP address tied to our office network, gets listed as a co–defendant.”

“Even the anonymous accounts!”

Patrick sucked in a breath. “Ms. West… that’s at least twenty people. And anonymous IDs are hard to identify…”

Chapter 5

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“They’re not,” I cut in, voice flat. “I had IT trace every anonymous ID through backend logs. We’ve matched each one to a real–name account that logged into the company intranet.”

“I’ll send you the list. And don’t set the claim at three million.”

“Use last year’s average annual salary–five hundred thousand–to claim from each of them.”

“I want them to understand that every word they typed comes with a price tag.”

Patrick went silent.

“And one more thing,” I went on. “The all–staff email changes too.”

“No evidence attachments. No signatures. None of that.”

“Tomorrow morning at 8:59 a.m., one minute before the meeting starts, send the electronic version of the joint lawsuit to everyone as a company–wide email.”

When I hung up, I texted Mr. Lawrence.

[Mr. Lawrence, apologies. I’ll need 22 hours before I can give you the final answer.]

[But I promise you’ll see the most thorough corporate detox you’ve ever witnessed.]