The Price of My Silence.

I used to work as a fashion agent in Wellington, NZ, the kind that stored thousands of pounds' worth of designer stock in a backroom and made my living on commission. In Wellington I managed nearly '100,000 of clothing ' gowns, swimwear, lingerie, all of it mine to move. The owners lived in another city, and one night they called to say my 25% commission was being scrapped. I'd get a small salary instead, plus a measly 3%. I hung up. Sat there staring at the racks of fabric and colour stacked around me like silent witnesses. Then I called back and told the husband I wasn't accepting anything ' I was buying the whole operation for '50,000, and he was footing the cost. He agreed instantly. He knew I knew things his wife didn't.