"Young people need to think long-term. Don't get hung up on small change!"
Once upon a time, I might have nodded along like a good little employee.
But now? Looking at that self-satisfied face, all I felt was disgust.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Whitney?"
I didn't sit. I stood ramrod straight.
Marcus frowned, clearly displeased by my cool demeanor, but he smoothed it over quickly.
"Here's the situation. The $42 million project with Mr. James—you've been the one cultivating that relationship."
"However, given the... issues with several of your projects last year, the leadership team met and decided that Miranda will take point on closing this deal. You'll assist her in a supporting role."
There it was. The knife finally out of its sheath.
Whatever lingering loyalty I'd held for this company evaporated in that instant.
So this was Marcus's game.
First, humiliate me with a pathetic bonus to crush my confidence. Then strip away my biggest client and hand it to his pet project on a silver platter.
Once this $42 million deal closed, Miranda would be the company's golden child.
And me? I'd be shoved to the margins until they could toss me out like yesterday's trash.
Brilliant strategy.
Too bad he'd miscalculated.
"So what you're saying is... you want me to gift-wrap my client for Miranda?" I regarded him with something between a smile and a sneer.
Marcus's expression darkened. "Gift-wrap? The client belongs to the company! You only got access because of our reputation and resources!"
His palm slammed the desk.
"Don't flatter yourself into thinking this place can't function without you."
"All the groundwork is done. This deal is a layup now—anyone could close it!"
"If anyone could close it, then let Miranda handle it herself. Why do you need me?"
I met his gaze evenly.
I knew exactly what he was after.
A muscle twitched near Marcus's mouth.
"Miranda just started here. She doesn't know the details! I need you to compile everything—all your notes, Mr. James's preferences, the negotiation strategy—and hand it over to her!"
"That's an order!"
He was losing his composure now.
I allowed myself a cold smile.
Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out an envelope I'd prepared days ago. It landed on his desk with a satisfying thwap.
"I'm afraid I won't be able to help with that, Mr. Whitney."
"What's this?" He blinked.
"My resignation."
The air turned to glass.
Marcus stared at the envelope for a full three seconds. Then he burst out laughing—a harsh, disbelieving sound, like I'd told him the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"Resign? Have you lost your mind, Donald?"
