The metal latch of the office safe clicked shut under Grant’s hand. He spun the dial, locking away the Vanguard contracts I had just signed.
"You cannot be serious," I said, stepping toward him. "Those are my clients. I built those relationships from the ground up."
"They are Holloway's clients," Grant corrected, smoothing the lapel of his tailored navy suit. "You are an employee, Elena. You do not own the accounts."
"I secured them," I said, pointing at the safe. "Vanguard didn't sign with Holloway. They signed with me. The CEO specifically requested my oversight on the merger."
"Vanguard signed a contract with this corporation," Grant countered, his tone hardening. "A contract I just locked away. You are simply the representative who held the pen."
"If she walks into Le Bernardin tonight and tries to wing it, they will pull their funding."
"Priya knows exactly what to do," Grant said. He walked past me, pulling the frosted glass door open. "She has my full confidence."
"Your confidence doesn't close eight-figure deals."
Grant stopped in the doorway. He turned his head, fixing me with a cold stare. "Watch your tone, Elena. Customer Support is a lateral move, but I can easily make it a termination. Do you want to lose your severance package too?"
I clamped my mouth shut. The threat hung between us, heavy and absolute.
He marched out of the office and strode into the center of the main floor.
"Listen up!" Grant shouted, clapping his hands twice.
The low hum of the sales floor vanished. Fifty heads snapped in his direction. Keyboards went silent. Even the copy machine in the corner seemed to pause its rhythmic grinding.
"We have an organizational shift," Grant announced, his voice booming off the exposed brick walls. "Priya is officially taking over all core business operations. She is your new point of contact for tier-one accounts. Any questions regarding the upcoming Vanguard rollout will go directly to her desk."
Silence hung in the air. A few junior reps exchanged wide-eyed glances. A guy in the second row opened his mouth to speak, then quickly shut it when Grant glared in his direction. No one dared to challenge him.
Priya stepped out from behind Grant. She held a collapsed piece of cardboard. With a swift snap of her wrists, she popped it open into a meager, fifteen-inch wide box.
She walked straight toward my desk. Her leather pumps hit the floor with heavy, rhythmic thuds. She wore a tailored crimson dress that screamed for attention, a stark contrast to the conservative suits everyone else wore.
She shoved the box toward me. I didn't take it immediately, letting it bump against my sternum.
"Take it," Priya ordered.
I grabbed the side of the box, the rough cardboard scratching against my fingers.
"Clean out your personal items," she said, raising her voice so the junior reps in the next row could hear every syllable. She extended a manicured finger, pointing directly at the heavy metal filing cabinet beside my desk. "Leave the client archives right where they are. Do not touch a single folder."
"Those files contain my personal notes," I said. "My contact lists. My meeting logs."
"They contain company property," Priya shot back. "If you try to take them, I will have security escort you out and search your bag. I want every piece of paper left exactly as it is."
"Are you afraid you can't do the job without my cheat sheets?" I asked.
Priya’s jaw tightened. "I don't need your notes. I need you out of my office."
"It isn't your office yet."
"Grant gave me the keys," she smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth. "That makes it mine."
I stared at her glossed lips. A triumphant smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth.
I dropped my gaze to the desk. I grabbed the silver photo frame holding a picture of my dog. I tossed it into the bottom of the empty box. It landed with a hollow thud. Next went my chipped ceramic coffee mug, the one I used during late-night strategy sessions.
Three years ago, a Category 4 hurricane grounded every flight on the East Coast. I drove fourteen hours straight through the storm to Boston, sitting in a freezing hotel lobby just to physically corner a CEO and drag his two-hundred-million-dollar account back to Holloway. I bled for this firm. Now, Priya hovered over my shoulder, watching my hands to ensure I didn’t even pack a stack of my own business cards.
I reached for a blue folder on the corner of the desk.
Priya slammed her hand down on it. "I said leave the files."
"That is my dental insurance form," I said, staring at her hand.
She snatched the folder, opened it, and scanned the paper inside. Finding no client data, she threw it into the cardboard box. It hit my coffee mug, knocking it over.
"Move faster, Elena," Priya demanded. "I need this space cleared before my lunch meeting."
"It takes time to pack five years of a career," I replied, grabbing my spare phone charger and untangling the cord.
"You have five minutes," Grant called out from the center of the room, checking his gold watch. "Support needs you logged into the ticketing system by noon. They have a backlog of customer complaints waiting for you."
I didn't look at him. I reached into my blazer pocket and pulled out my phone.
"No phones," Priya snapped, reaching out as if to grab it. "You are not forwarding company emails to your personal account. Grant already had IT monitor your outbox."
I shifted my shoulder, blocking her hand. "I am checking the time."
I lowered the device below the rim of the cardboard box. My thumb flew across the glass screen. I opened my encrypted messaging app, bypassing the company servers completely.
I pulled up the private distribution list. Thirteen names. The core executives. The people who signed with Holloway because of me, not because of Grant.
I typed a rapid message.
Emergency portfolio review. This weekend. Private location.
I attached a calendar invite.
"Put the phone away," Priya warned, stepping closer. "Now."
I hit send.
I dropped the phone back into my pocket and grabbed the edges of the box. I lifted it off the desk. The combined weight of the frame, the mug, and the heavy tape dispenser forced the sharp cardboard edges deep into my palms. The rough material scraped my skin, leaving angry red indents.
I stepped around Priya. She didn't move, forcing me to brush past her shoulder.
"Enjoy the support desk," she whispered, her voice dropping to a hiss meant only for me. "I hear the headsets really mess up your hair."
"Enjoy the Vanguard dinner," I replied. "Order the scallops. The CEO is allergic to shellfish. It should make for a memorable evening."
Priya's smirk faltered for a second before she recovered.
I walked down the central aisle. The junior reps stared at their monitors, pretending to type, but I felt their eyes tracking my exit. I kept my chin high.
Grant waited near the double glass doors leading to the lobby.
"This is for the best, Elena," he said, his tone shifting to a patronizing softness. "You need less stress. This new role will give you a better work-life balance."
"You are absolutely right, Grant," I said, pushing the glass door open with my shoulder. "I feel lighter already."
"Leave your access card with security downstairs," he added. "You will get a new one for the support floor on Monday."
"I will."
I stepped into the elevator lobby. The doors slid shut, cutting off the view of Grant and Priya standing victorious in my former territory.
My phone vibrated violently against my hip.
I set the box on the floor and pulled the device from my pocket.
The screen illuminated the dim space. Notifications stacked up in rapid succession.
Thirteen calendar invites flashed across the glass.
Every single one displayed the exact same status: Accepted.
Forty-eight hours remained until Monday morning.
