Chapter 3

At two in the afternoon, I went to get water.

The break room door was pushed to but not shut, and the voices inside came through clearly.

"She really said that?"

"Rosalind from admin told me. Those were Director Dotson's exact words in the meeting."

"Five years running as sales champion, same face every year. The company's revenue structure is way too dependent on one person."

That was Harrison's voice.

I stopped where I was.

"So Curt's whole thing—" That was Luke.

"You still don't get it?" Harrison dropped his voice. "Think about who Director Dotson is. She's Mr. Lambert's sister-in-law."

"She comes in and goes straight after attendance. Plenty of people miss a clock-in and nothing happens to them. So how come it's Curt, specifically, who gets reassigned?"

Claude spoke up. "But didn't Curt go talk to Mr. Lambert about it that time?"

"Talk?" Harrison let out a short laugh. "You think Mr. Lambert actually cares about clocking in? What he cares about is that pile of clients Curt's got in his hands."

"Think about it. Of the big deals across the whole Southwest region, a third of them got signed through Curt."

"Sales champion every year, and the clients only trust him."

"An employee like that. If you were the boss, wouldn't that scare you?"

There was silence inside for a few seconds.

Luke asked, low, "But what does that have to do with sending him to logistics?"

"Cut the fire off from under the pot." Harrison leveled his tone. "First you pin him down in logistics, cut off his contact with the clients."

"Give it a year, year and a half, and the clients slowly get used to dealing with someone else."

"By the time he wants back into sales, he's got no resources left in his hands. Then he's yours to squeeze however you like."

"I'm telling you, this whole thing was Mr. Lambert's own idea."

"Nellie Dotson floated it, and he just went along with the current."

"Mr. Lambert's been the boss all these years. No way he'd tolerate one guy holding half the board in his own hands."

I didn't get my water. I went straight back to my desk.

Seven years. I'd thought we were all building each other up.

Turns out, in Mr. Lambert's eyes, you fatten the animal so you can slaughter it.

I pulled open the keyboard drawer, flipped open my laptop, and opened a blank document.

I'd just finished printing my resignation letter.

"Curt, what are you busy with?"

A hand clapped me on the shoulder.

I turned. Manager Stanley from sales was standing behind my chair.

His face was easy, mild, even a trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

I didn't close the laptop.

"What is it?"

"Good timing, you're already sorting your things." Manager Stanley rested a hand on the edge of the desk and tapped the surface twice with his fingers. "Here's the thing. Since you've been moved to logistics, the company needs a handover of those client files you've got."

"The electronic contracts, the email threads, the quote records. Put a set together and copy it to the shared drive."

I looked at him.

He paused, then went on. "And the private contact numbers for those big clients you've got saved in your phone. Turn those over to me too, to be logged and filed."

I nodded. "The electronic files I can copy to you."

Manager Stanley's eyes brightened.

The next second I spoke again. "But the clients' private numbers, no."

His expression darkened at once.

"Curt, this is company policy!"

"Those numbers, I earned one drink at a time at dinner after dinner." My voice stayed level. "Tell me, which line in the company rules says an employee's private relationships, built by his own legwork, get handed over to admin?"

"And I never signed any non-compete."

Manager Stanley stood up, the chair legs scraping across the floor with a sharp screech.

"You're really putting me in a spot here. How am I supposed to explain this to Mr. Lambert?"

"And get one thing straight, you're still a company employee right now!"

"Your client relationships are company assets! You're handing them over today whether you want to or not!"

The shout woke the people napping through the lunch break, and seven or eight heads poked up from behind the cubicles.

Some murmured to each other, some just stood up to watch.

And right then, footsteps came from the hallway.