Subject; Heather Bloomfield, Head of Bland Co.

Heather leant back in her plush leather swivel chair in her top floor 'office', relaxed and satisfied. The office itself is what looks to be a parody of an insanely rich tycoon's office is; a long hall with expensive decor, overly large opulent desk, and monitors for watching the employees. It seemed that the last owner of the building preferred to model his life after Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, to give a more accurate form of visuals, but Heather; after the major buyout that would make a philanthropist say "that's a bit expensive", decided to keep the design the same, liking the feeling of eccentric expensiveness that came with the room.

Bland Co. is one of the biggest distributers of the world's most discounted and generic products. Despite not even knowing of their existence, many people have unconsciously funded them out of the need to buy decently good generic products on the cheap. And their excellent business strategy of remaining out of the public eye and bland makes it hard to be sued, since nobody really knew whom to point the finger at. To help with the indecision, the company is split between twelve owners, with Heather being the latest inheritor of her father's vast 1/12th fortune, and thus buying the new building within [Major City], USA.

Yes, Heather Bloomfield really had a lot going for her, with not a lot that can go wrong, since she can just buy her way out of it. And not many would blame her for any faults, from her cute demeanor. Despite being a 25 year old adult, she still looked eighteen at most, with a petite five-foot one-inch body behind imported tailor made suits. Pants of course, she quite liked to keep to the image of a stereotypical high-powered business woman despite her youthful appearance to inspire at least a smidgen of respect.

She was sighing in contentedness, letting her knowledge that she was anonymously rich wash over her, and decided that she feels quite wrathful today, and wheels over to the employee spy-monitors for some 'spontaneous inspection' layoffs. Nothing made the long raven-haired lass feel more in charge and respected than seeing the shocked faces of the targeted employee as all his life's work is dashed; she even kept a tally board on the notice board on the other wall of the expressions they gave through the 'letting you go' speech.

She's quite well known, despite only being the company boss for only two years, and has earned several titles; 'devil doll in a business suit', 'gremlin with authority', but the only one she liked was 'you bitch! You can't fire me!' and followed by various curses and various orifices in which she was told to shove it before security threw them outside the parking lot. She always reeled in laughter after that. Heather's spite over her size and the access to almost-infinite money had left her comically evil an bitter.

Over the camera feeds, she chose the desk monkey floor. She spun the dial to cycle through the cubicles, and waited for it to land on a rando to be fired, like a sadistic Wheel of Misfortune. With it slowing to a halt and a final click, the screen popped up with cubicle Column J - Row 23; a pudgy-looking redheaded man, with a thick beard and strangely well kept shoulder-length hair. She looked up the name of this employee to find that his name is Patrick O'Connell, and Irish-Canadian that was average in terms of his programming skills, and was hired for a straight ten years now. In fact, today is the eve of his ten year anniversary of employment here. "Perfect!" Heather cackled, as she gazed at her new hapless victim while dry-washing her hands subconsciously.

As she was formulating the script for the proceedings, such as the reason for termination of his employment, Patrick looked to be not even paying attention to his job, as he was not typing away at his work-supplied/monitored computer like a good office monkey should, but rather on the other side of desk with a red pen in hand, reading through what seems to be a booklet. It was hard to tell what the stack of paper says from the angle just on the corner of the cubicle, even with such expensively high resolution spy cameras as these, but she could barely make out the cover saying 'The World Part [blotched scribbles]' and something written on the front in red ink.

Suddenly; to Heather's surprise, Patrick looked up as if something caught his attention, and squinted at every corner of his cubicle before setting his eyes on Heather. Or rather, the camera, but still had the effect of shocking her. Patrick quickly turned away from it, making himself look like he didn't see it, but Heather knows when an employee knows something he shouldn't, and spies him shuffling nervously as he put his face back into the book, muttering something as he wrote something down in it. Despite the high res, there was no real room for a mic without it looking suspicious.

Still, Heather rubbed her hands in glee as she reached for the intercom button, "Will a Mr. Patrick O'Connell please come to my office, we need to talk about a promotion." Heather blinked..Promotion? She looked at her records, and noted that he didn't do anything worthy of a promotion, yet why did she say promotion? Wasn't she doing her monthly sacking roulette?

She turned back to the camera, and notices that Patrick has not, in fact, gotten up to come to her office yet, and is hastily scribbling stuff in that book of his with a huge grin on his face. Still, Heather may as well give him a minor promotion, just so she can save face. Heck, maybe she can BS it and say that a janitor is a step-up from keyboard-****. After a couple minutes, Pat finally got up to make his way up to her office, carrying the booklet with him.

Heather gets up and makes her way to the private bathroom of hers, which is as equally ridiculous as her office. Seriously, who put actual marble pillars in the bathroom? She went to the wall mirror to check her appearance. So far, all is normal...