Chapter Text
It was Christmas Eve and Waystar remained the throbbing migraine it always had been - except it was now headed by a harebrained Mid-Western schmuck and his Swedish infant-minded puppeteer rather than Scottish Stalin and his nepo-brat offspring. Whether it was actually worse now or it was just years of her piety gradually eroding, she didn’t know; but either way she was close to losing her mind.
Jesus Christ, hadn’t security sent someone to call the elevator for her when they knew she was pulling up to the building? Idiots.
Gerri had been becoming increasingly done with the place in the past few months; her patience already thin, her time precious, and her mood far from jolly. Left, right, and centre all she was surrounded by were fucking morons. Incompetents. Imbeciles. Not that that was anything new from Logan’s reign. However, it had become increasingly… European, since Mattson’s takeover.
Active bystander training? A sharing circle? SECRET FUCKING SANTA?! Were they insane? She literally attended an executive floor meeting last week where Greg’s opinion actually mattered apparently.
People on every level didn’t know how to lick a god-damned envelope, nevermind formulate a comprehensive report, and Christmas or not, little did they know, most of them were on their way out of this company. Happy Holidays and bon voyage.
It happens every year. The inevitable emergency meeting that Karl would call to alert everyone to the reaping of what they had sowed - their own idiotic Christmas strategies.
Around the globe there were Christmas decorations in every fucking office building, hotel, studio, amusement park, cruise ship. Trees, wreaths, lights, candles. Christmas parties for every useless moron on the payroll who didn’t deserve it. Christmas bonuses for the local small-time hicks who took a “well-deserved” coffee break for sending an email to the entire fucking chain, with events like fucking ‘Elf tea break’ and ‘Santa’s little charity food collection’. These people didn’t know what working for your fucking pay check was.
But as usual, the outgoings were too high, the margins were too low, the shareholders were displeased, with the need for efficiency savings another annual unnecessary evil. No one would even be stupid enough to mention executive floor bonus’, nor the expense accounts. Never the yachts, the PJ’s, nor the company properties. She would be furious if they did.
But it was nearly $600 million this time, up 12% from last year.
Christmas.
Fucking Christmas.
So, of course, the layoffs were all ready to go. They’d had a meeting about it last night with David (new Karl to most of the floor) after a substantial capacity review over the past month like the decisions hadn’t already been made before it had even begun. Cut staff, maximise productivity, make them bleed work, or they could join the unemployment line.
Mattson didn’t seem to care any more than she did, but his imported European marionettes apparently had - weak amateurs. They had started the rumblings of dissatisfaction with possible dismissals, not enough vacation time, and no premium healthcare on offer. The executive floor was advised to try and keep spirits up so close to Christmas. Here’s something to keep their spirit’s up – that they were getting paid to do a fucking job and still had one for now. Merry fucking Christmas, love your fucking employer.
His breathy voice, Merry fucking Christmas , Gerri. You fucking siren, penetrated her brain. That stupid nervous giggle afterwards. The sharpness of his jaw, his glassy eyes, newly trimmed hair, the invasion of his cologne.
She can feel her chest caving in, her breath being stolen from her lungs, a rush of emotion rapidly travelling to her eyes.
No. She actively stops her thoughts, a blockade building in her mind. Not here. Not ever. He’s not here. He no longer exists.
She pulls herself back to the present, shakes her head vigorously, notices that the elevator still isn’t here. How long does it take for an elevator to get to the ground floor, god dammit?
“Jesus Chr…,” she mutters under her breath, lifting her wrist to look at the time. She had things to do before her 9am this morning. This was absolutely ridiculous.
Wasn’t there a key or something that you could turn in the elevator to bypass all the floors that had been called and make it come straight to you and then go straight to your destination floor after?
She would need to remind Sarah to look into that. She glances at her first assistant, and sees her furiously looking at the time on her phone and back up to the elevator display number. She looks beyond her to the new number two, Chloe. A young weedy girl clinging onto a pile of folders and papers whilst somehow still being able to cower enough to attempt to be invisible. She looks nervous - unlikely to last. But would it be a loss at this rate?
Just then the elevator dings, the doors opening and a few raised eyebrows and terrified eyes when they make eye contact with her.
“Good morning, Ms Kellman,” one man she thinks is from finance nods to her before staring directly at the floor and practically running away.
“Morning, Ms Kellman,” another states who comes out of the elevator behind the first, whilst the rest keep their heads down and practically dive out of her way.
Chloe moves to hold the elevator door open as they wait for one last woman to vacate.
“Good morning, Ms Kellman,” she almost whispers before scuttling away. Did she just fucking half curtsey?
She rolls her eyes storming into the elevator, twisting around to see Sarah follow her in, Chloe slipping in whilst still holding the door open for an apparent congregation of people waiting to get in behind her.
“No, absolutely not,” she directs towards Sarah, waving her hands towards the crowd. Sarah is attentive as always. “No room at the inn,” Gerri continues. “They can wait for the next one. No more. I have too much to do.” Chloe’s doe-eyes look between the two women inside the lift and everyone else on the outside as Sarah springs into action immediately. This was not her first ride on the rodeo.
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait for the next elevator. Ms Kellman has important business to attend to,” Sarah declares confidently, already reaching for the door closing button and nodding to Chloe to remove her hand. The doors close slowly as Gerri lets out an exasperated sigh, her fingers already pinching the bridge of her nose.
***
Sarah was at her desk, her eyes glazed over as she stared at her computer screen in the busy office. She’d only been back from lunch for an hour and yet she was already wilting. She knew she should have got that extra shot in that espresso; hadn’t she learned anything from the last few months.
It’s Christmas Eve and a year ago barely anyone would have been here, even if it was the executive floor. There had been an element of understanding for a good few years now that most people at her level, when there wasn’t a crisis of course, could take vacation time a couple of days before and after Christmas. It was sold as some HR wellbeing bullshit: take some time with the family, go see a Rockette show, drive to Virginia to see the family, and then you have no excuse when you get your ass back here to work 12 hour days amongst the toxic fuckery. But who was she to complain? She would visit her dad and stepmom in Vermont, get put up in a suite, ski all day and fuck her boyfriend’s brains out in hopes that he would hurry the fuck up and propose that year. I mean it was going on four years now and she was still waiting.
This year was supposed to be the same as every other. But here she was on December 24th at 1.55pm, at least four hours of work left with only the remnants of two shitty shots of espresso from her gingerbread latte at 10am and a fucking miracle keeping her going.
If you had asked her or any of the others on the floor if they thought it would have gotten a shit ton worse when they were acquired by GoJo, they would and had listed off all the reasons why that was just plain not happening.
Progressive tech firm? Headquarters in Sweden under all those European employment laws?
Well of course it would be better; they had to look forward to increased vacation days per year, four day working weeks, longer maternity pay, unrequested pay increases without getting a union involved, bonus’ for showing up, and fuck, even top of the range healthcare with dental. She doesn’t know to this day whether they were wishful thinking or legitimate rumours that had all been scrapped when she became General Counsel again, but needless to say – not one of those things ended up happening.
They’d all heard the whispers of what happened after the acquisition.
Family deceit? The attempt of an ousting? A last minute treachery or something? Just another day in Roy family drama.
Officially, all they knew was that the Roy children were out; Tom Wambsgans immediately was announced CEO, with visible pats on the back and whispers in his ear from the, to be honest, hot as fuck Lukas Mattson. Things around that time had been precarious. First she was in limbo as Gerri’s assistant when Gerri was out - a month of being moved around whilst HR decided whether they could fire her.
Emails had started circulating around that time, suggestions of meetings with line managers to discuss the implications of how the acquisition would affect them and that it was a process of merging cultures and whatever the fuck. But it was looking positive, looking like that Swedish work-life balance was coming her merry way and then bam… her on-again/off-again boss, Ms Gerri Kellman was back. Gerri was back on the executive floor and therefore Sarah was officially too. But coincidentally, what was in fact confirmed were most of the benefits that were rumoured to be implemented were absolutely not happening.
It didn’t take long for the status of the Roy children to die a death in the gossip circle. It only briefly started back up when Siobhan attended the RECNY ball with some of the bets ranging from Tom Wambsgans face slap to storming the stage to take the microphone and declare herself co-CEO. Some of the lower key chatter was the absence of Roman Roy. This was the one that particularly involved her, given Gerri’s previous legal agreement with him. It was her job to speak his name to Gerri, if, and only if, Roman was to come back into Gerri’s perimeter again.
So she had done the wise thing, she made connections. Primarily with Alyssa in PR - her new best friend. From her she was able to find out the confirmed rumours were that Kendall had entered rehab again, whilst Connor was engaging in a podcast with one of the Pierces that somehow still led to a serious amount of damage control given his random outbursts relating to both Logan and the company. But Roman, there had been no peep from him. Alyssa said that Karolina Novotney had suspected he was living abroad somewhere wallowing over the sale, she guessed? They had thought he may show up to the RECNY ball since there had been whispers that Siobhan and Roman were still actively in contact. However, he was a no-show and that was a few months ago with no word from the big four since.
She doesn’t know exactly what happened but whatever it was, it must have led to a personality transplant because Gerri Kellman just wasn’t who she used to be.
She was known as one of the most reasonable people on the Executive Floor. The most rational, efficient, calm, collected, intelligent person, with Karolina likely as the closest second. Not that she had any Olympic fucking level competition since Frank was pretty well regarded as kind but a fucking drag if you were ever caught in his soliloquy about Shakespeare. Then there was Karl who had damning stories throughout the building with an unofficial network of people who would come to your rescue if you ever had the misfortune of him making you the object of his attention.
It wasn’t like Gerri had ever mingled with any of the peasants as she once heard Roman refer to them all (those whose desk was in the middle of the floor between the glass offices) with a swooping gesture of his hand as Gerri had offered an eye roll and a whispered stern word. It’s more that in the times that you did have to be in her presence, as intimidating as she could be, she would acknowledge you and seemed genuine when she did.
Now that she does think about it, the person she does miss around the office the most was Roman. Every so often, he would come into the break room when he was bored, jump up onto the counter, eventually gathering an audience, and spark up a deranged conversation about something as wild as whether you would rather fight a chicken every time you got in your car or a chimpanzee once a year to the death. Then he wouldn’t look you in the eye for the next two months until the next random encounter. But there seemed to be a genuine thing there; like he was kind of lost and skulking around looking for something to do. Sometimes people would just see him swivelling around in his chair at his desk, walking along the edge of the window like it was a tightrope. There was more than one exasperated conversation from his executive PA, Michael, who hugely struggled to keep tabs of him, or would have to rearrange a meeting last minute or would mumble to some people after too many drinks at the bar after work about having found Roman napping on the couch with the blinds down in his office. But then something seemed to shift when Roman and Gerri started working closer together; they all noticed he changed then. Gone were the days of fucking around in the break room when he definitely had something better to do. There were days where he was there before anyone else and giving a smile to even the mailman when he passed him in the corridor.
There was talk of him being the next in line to the throne. Roman seemed to be on track to be the leader of the fucked up kingdom after Gerri’s mentorship. But then, he had fucked it. Because didn’t the Roy kids always fuck it?
Firing the most competent person in the building was the definition of fucking it. She wouldn’t deny that Gerri was an overbearing fucking bitch at times but that was the nature of it. There’s no denying that something was going on there that made the firing much more deep - but she wasn’t going to be the one who would delve into that one. Above her pay grade.
All she knew was no more contact, no more lunches, no conversations, no emails, no nothing.
She doesn’t even know why Gerri bothered to come back if she was clearly this miserable. As competent as she still was, her whole mood had changed. She was more irrational, angry, ruthless than she had ever seen before. Gerri had been nothing but kind and patient with her when she first started. She had no time for idiots but she would lend her time to moulding talent to achieve the desired outcome of having things exactly how she wanted them. There was something in her that made her think that Gerri was a secret liberal - just some of the late night throw away comments or raising of eyebrows on certain right-wing statements that gave her the inclination, but that seems to be the opposite now.
Just two weeks ago, she had fired Hailey, previous number two personal assistant, after tearing her a new one in the office. Hailey had phoned her distraught later that night saying that after she had found a few mistakes in meeting minutes, Gerri had gone in hard asking for an answer of how she contributed to the company, what use she was, and then when she couldn’t give an answer, in true Logan Roy form, told Hailey to pack up her things and get out of her sight.
Something had clearly changed in her, the dictator, authoritative, no fucking bullshit side of Gerri had arrived, with everyone begging for the return of the woman who could at least crack a fucking smile.
More than anything they were begging for the return of Roman. The guy who had sat on the staff kitchen counter recounting his time in London when he had insulted some Duchess who was like a cousin of the Queen of England or something by saying the word cunt to her like five times. Maybe she hoped that his return would lighten Gerri the fuck up again.
It's then that the temperature rises in the hallways and she comes out of her wandering thoughts.
“She’s coming,” she hears someone whisper.
“She’s coming,” Daniel, who sits at the computer facing hers, warns, folding up his croissant into a napkin and shoving it into his drawer. A few weeks ago, he had been eating something at his desk while watching the news. Gerri had been walking by, stopped in front of his desk and took in the sight before her before storming off to her office. Twenty minutes later, Daniel had been hauled into a meeting with his manager where he got a lecture on the office etiquette and asked “Do we pay you to fucking eat or analyse the data?”
Sarah stands up quickly as she sees Gerri pummelling down the corridor with Chloe in her wake. Her face is like thunder whilst Chloe marches rapidly behind, hunched over and staring at the floor.
It’s only when Gerri approaches the desk, she can feel herself swallowing a nervous gulp.
“Next time she doesn’t come to the board meeting, you do,” she barks, Gerri’s angry blue eyes boring into her own. “Only you,” Gerri points to her, Chloe’s head bowing somehow lower. “My office in five for a debrief on how much of a screw up that was,” she growls before storming into her office.
Chloe lifts her head a little, tries to offer a watery smile.
“I didn’t give her the right figures on the parks admits,” she confesses quietly. “I did correct myself but I read the wrong line at first.”
Her mother had said she should quit, and she probably should, but she had hopped from job to job that her father’s influence had got her with this one being the last straw. In the end of the day, she wasn’t exactly willing for her dad to stop paying for her apartment in Tribeca and she had wanted to work on Wall Street since college; wanted to be a part of the whole thing she’d seen on TV.
She sighs deeply, diverts her eyes to Gerri sitting behind her desk.
“It’s fine. Can you just take over triaging her inbox?”
***
It’s almost 4pm when she gets a new notification on her phone.
BREAKING: WAYSTAR ROYCO TO LAY OFF THOUSANDS OF EMPLOYEES IN THE NEW YEAR
“Jesus Christ,” Gerri whispers under her breath when the notification comes through on her phone, opening it instantly to skim the article. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST,” she groans louder, looking up just as Sarah slams into the glass door, entering her office.
“Have you seen?” Sarah asks as she looks her phone up expectantly.
“Of course, I’ve fucking seen!” Gerri shouts back, already scrolling through the contacts on her phone whilst simultaneously trying to get the article up on her computer. “Who did this?”
“Ehm,” Sarah wavers, looking down at her phone scrolling the article, as Chloe darts in behind her. “I don’t know.”
“Well find out,” Gerri demands as she lifts the phone to her ear.
“Yes, Ms Kellman,” Sarah nods, turning towards Chloe and begins to whisper instructions frantically.
“Hi. You’ve seen?” Gerri hears Karolina dive in immediately through the phone after only the second ring.
“Oh, yeah,” she scoffs in return, taking over the skimming of the article on her computer. “How did they get this? Who’s done it?”
Through the phone she hears a lot of scuffling in the background, heavy breathing from Karolina like she’s been running.
“No clue. Ratfucker Sam is already on it.”
“And you had no warning?”
“Not even a fucking whisper,” she hears Karolina growl angrily as multiple voices begin to chime in.
“Jesus fucking God,” Gerri curses again as she continues to scroll through the article. “They know the exact date. This isn’t just gossip. It's a leak, and whoever has done it will hang for it.”
“I know, I know,” Karolina responds distractedly. “Look I need to game this out with the team but I’ll call you when I know something.”
“Okay. Let me know,” Gerri sighs despondently before hanging the phone up.
It’s then that the text messages start coming in frantically.
Tom Wambsgans to Gerri Kellman: What the fuck?
Tom Wambsgans to Gerri Kellman: I thought you were over this?
Lukas Mattson to WS group chat: Meeting at 4.15.
Tom Wambsgans to WS group chat: That’s exactly what I was about to suggest.
Tom Wambsgans to Gerri Kellman: Who fucking did this?
Tom Wambsgans to Gerri Kellman: What’s the plan?
Fucking Tom. Like it’s her responsibility to ensure some nobody doesn’t leak - is he insane?
When she gets to the end of the article, she knows it’s going to be a long one. There goes her dinner date at Le Bernardin. Well it wasn’t like she was mother of the year anyway.
As she’s pulling up Catherine’s contact, typing out the same message that she has a million times before, her mind starts going into fire-fighting.
“Sarah, hold all my calls for the foreseeable,” she directs to the two young women standing across the room as Sarah immediately pulls out her notepad. “I have a 4.15 which will likely take longer than I want, but if there are any board members or shareholders from the gold list then let them know I’m intending on calling them within the next few hours. Between you both, I’m going to need a temp check on the employee reaction here. We can have a meeting on that at 5 with a read out on what you’ve found,” she instructs as Sarah simply nods and takes frantic notes. “I’m also going to need a general understanding on the range of coverage if you could liaise with whoever is in Karolina's team and then set up a meeting with Karolina any time after 7. Let’s put something in with the three of us before that so we can have another read out before my meeting with her.”
Sarah continues to nod and writes it all down, whilst Chloe’s mouth drops open, looking from Gerri to Sarah.
“Got it,” Sarah confirms. “Anything else?”
“Coffee. Doubt shot,” Gerri directs, writing notes of her own. “It’s going to be a long one.”
“No problem,” Sarah smiles before ushering Chloe out of the room and closing the door behind her.
“Can you put those meetings in, bring the calendar up-to-date and then start on social media,” Sarah barks, already typing on her phone. “I’m going to phone Alyssia and see what I can find out.”
“But,” Chloe gasps exasperated, as if she were the only sane person in the building.
“What?” Sarah asks, finally prying her eyes away from her phone to look at her briefly before continuing to type.
“But it’s Christmas Eve. I’m supposed to be finishing at 4.30 today,” she declares as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Sarah can’t help but scoff at her innocence.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” she smirks, shaking her head and messaging her own boyfriend about the change of plans and a need for a change of flights. “You should probably message whoever is expecting you because I don’t see us getting out of here before nine.”
“Nine?!”
“Yeah,” Sarah scoffs before frowning. “That’s the way this job is, Chloe. PR disasters don’t stop for Santa Claus. If that’s not your scene, you should probably bow out now, because you’ll be eaten alive at even the suggestion that you’re leaving on time tonight just because it’s Christmas.”
Chloe looks from side to side, weighing up how much she really needed this job, Sarah looking at her expectantly, until she finally takes out her phone with a solemn sigh and starts texting.