Where Can I Find Reader'S Digest Phone Number For Complaints?

After I secured a billion-dollar partnership for Horizon Ventures, the sales department celebrated with an afternoon tea spread where everyone got to choose their own order. When it was my turn, the new hire, Jessica Osborne, suddenly cut in. "Chicken sandwiches for the rest of them. No need to order anything else." I ignored her and calmly told the admin clerk, "I’ll have a slice of chocolate cake." The next second, Jessica slammed the menu right across my face and glared at me furiously. "I said no, so you don’t get to order. Who do you think you are? A princess?" The hard menu left a stinging red mark across my face, and a surge of anger flared up inside me. Without hesitating, I grabbed the menu and hurled it right back at her face. Jessica immediately shrieked and roared at me, "Do you have any idea who I am?! My dad is Royce Osborne, the biggest client this company has! Even our CEO, Emily Hopkins, treats me with respect. How dare you lay a hand on me? Believe it or not, I can get your $600,000 bonus canceled and have you blacklisted from this entire industry!" I froze. Royce Osborne's my maternal uncle. He’s forty, famously single, and has never been married. When exactly did he have such a grown-up daughter?

I had my meal and was about to leave my sister's restaurant, but the manager stopped me. "Sorry, sir, but you haven't paid your tab." I never saw this guy before. He probably had no idea who I was. Kindly, I explained, "Put it on your boss' tab. She knows what to do." The manager instead gave me a look of derision. "Sir, we're a 3-star Michelin restaurant. We do not put anyone's bill on another person's tab." He handed me an itemized bill. The guy had it ready and printed. I went through the list. The meal alone cost 75 grand. The 'dining utensil gleam maintenance fee' ran up to 45 hundred. There was also an exclusive air purifier fee, which would cost 75 hundred. And there was a 'VIP calm headspace service fee' that ran up to 15 grand. Those were the ones that stood out, but they were far from the last. I had no idea my sister was running an extortion gig. Mirthlessly, I laughed. "I'm your boss' brother. Tell her she's talking to me when she comes home." The manager did not let me go. "Just say you can't afford it. You're not the first one to try and claim you know Ms. Grayheim. I know leeches like you well enough." I texted my secretary. 'Tell my sister she either fires this guy, or I pull my funds out.'

During our engagement banquet, Samuel Hill, my fiance, has the nerve to put our marital home up as a prize in an anonymous draw. Nathan Ziegler, my childhood friend, smiles and says, "Samuel prepared this surprise for you, Charlotte." Ultimately, Naomi Sutton, Samuel's first love, gets the marital home from the draw. I, on the other hand, receive a box from Samuel's assistant, and inside it is a photo of the three of us. There is even a message on the back. "I hope that you remember that the three of us grew up together." In that instant, everyone in the room falls into silence. Samuel wraps an arm around Naomi's shoulder and says, "It's just a game, Charlotte. You're not going to make a big deal out of it, are you?" Nathan tries to reason with me as well. "Naomi just returned from abroad, so she doesn't have a place to stay. You should let her have it for now, Charlotte." I later notice a message on Samuel's phone. It was from the host of the banquet. "Mr. Hill, per your instructions, Ms. Sutton gets the marital home, and Ms. Gardner gets the keepsake." Samuel merely replied, "Got it." I smash the framed photo right at Samuel's feet in front of everyone and say, "The engagement banquet is canceled." I refuse to go along with this performance designed to humiliate me.

A new community center had just been set up right next to the local store. On the first day, my daughter, Chloe Parker, came home clutching a free carton of eggs. On the second day, she brought home a bottle of olive oil and a bottle of balsamic vinegar. On the third day, arriving home and panting, she excitedly carried in a pack of pasta. I casually asked her, “Did you get that from work?” Chloe collapsed onto the couch, her chest heaving as she replied, “No, it's from that new community center down the street. They're giving away free groceries to anyone who signs up with their phone number and home address.” She casually continued, “I saw a massive line of seniors waiting out there, so I figured I'd grab some for you.” I frowned. “No legitimate charity or business demands your exact street address just for a basic promotional giveaway.” Chloe retorted impatiently, “Mom, you're retired. Can you please stop treating every single person you meet like a suspect?” My son, Leo Parker, chimed in and said, “Seriously, Mom. It's a five-pound pack of pasta. How much is it worth? What could they possibly want from you? Just don't go down there and make a massive scene. We literally cannot handle the embarrassment.” They didn't get it. They couldn't—because I’d spent my whole life as a detective. Every big scam always starts with a piece of free candy.

To ensure fairness, my daughter said that she would draw lots to choose whose family to spend the New Year’s with every year. However, for the past nine years, she had spent the New Year’s with her in-laws. The latest draw was no different. On New Year’s Eve, my daughter gave me specific instructions. “Mom, we’re spending the New Year’s with my in-laws. We’ve made a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. Please help me save some money. You can just make some food at home for your dinner.” Hence, on New Year’s Eve, I ate alone while watching TV at home. When I stood up, I accidentally knocked over the raffle box. All the lots inside the box had my daughter’s handwriting. The words ‘in-laws’ were clearly written on every single one of them. For the past ten years, the lots had been fake. My daughter was willingly spending the New Year’s celebration with her in-laws, and she had never once thought of spending it with me, her biological mother, who had spent so much money on her. At the same time, I got a notification on my phone. Her mother-in-law posted something on social media. [My daughter-in-law is so lovely. She bought me so many gifts and chose to spend the New Year’s with us. It’s as if she’s our own daughter!] They smiled brightly in the video. On the table were gifts that she bought using my retirement fund. I did not sleep for the whole night. The next morning, I called the bank. “Please remove all the auto-debit accounts from my retirement account.” From then on, I would only spend my money on myself.

I'm a family law attorney. My specialty is winning divorce cases for other people. I never imagined that one day, I'd be drafting my own divorce papers. For six years of marriage, Adrian read to me for ten minutes every night. He said it was our little marriage ritual. That was until I came home early from a business trip and heard his voice coming from my female neighbor’s apartment next door. "Vivi, which chapter do you want to hear tonight?" I stood outside her door, still holding the birthday cake I'd bought for him. I turned around, went home, opened my laptop, and went through our marital asset inventory from top to bottom. Later, Adrian knelt outside my law firm, his voice so hoarse it was barely recognizable. He said, "Serena, I was just helping her fall asleep. I never touched her." I set the voice recorder in front of him, and out came words he'd said himself. "She'll never leave me. She's too rational, which actually makes her the easiest to manipulate." I smiled. "Adrian, do you think the judge will find me easy to manipulate too?"