The next morning, Graham called me into his office.

He was smiling. But it wasn't a comfortable smile.

“Becca, yesterday was extraordinary. Truly. But I have to talk to you about what happened before the pitch.”

“The file.”

“The file.” He sighed. “Olivia came to see me last night. She's worried. She says you've been very stressed. That you've been working till two in the morning, making mistakes. She thinks you must have deleted the presentation yourself by accident and panicked.”

“I didn't delete it, Graham.”

“Becca, files don't just disappear.” He spread his hands. “You were brilliant. But you were also lucky. Very lucky. If Catherine Hartley hadn't liked biscuits, we'd have lost everything.”

He looked down at his desk.

“A Creative Director can't lose the presentation ten minutes before a twenty-million-pound pitch. It's about being reliable. Olivia had a backup ready. She thought ahead.”

I went cold.

“You're giving Olivia the job.”

“I'm announcing it on Monday,” said Graham. “You'll still lead Hartley's, of course. As a Senior Creative. Reporting to Olivia.”