Chapter 2

"Claire, let me remind you, this is not the time to negotiate terms."

Arthur closed the office door and lowered his voice.

"I’m not negotiating," I said, tightening the cap on my water bottle. "Mr. Thorne’s annual contract is up for renewal next month. Mr. Sterling’s Q3 payments are still processing. And Mr. Hayes’s integration proposal needs to be pushed through next week. Since my status at this company is up in the air due to the investigation, it's highly inappropriate for me to handle client relations."

"So, you want Chloe to take over?"

"That’s your executive decision, Arthur. Not mine."

He stared at me for three long seconds before letting out a soft, condescending laugh—the kind of patronizing smile middle managers use to intimidate their subordinates.

"Claire, I’m talking to you as a friend. This thing is blowing up online. Just cooperate with HR, keep a low profile, and don’t actually drop the ball with the clients."

"Arthur, Chloe is accusing me of bullying. If I keep managing the accounts she’s supposed to run, how is that going to look online?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

I didn't wait for him to find an excuse. I pushed the door open and walked out.

At the end of the hallway, soft sobbing drifted from the breakroom.

Three or four female colleagues were crowded around Chloe, handing her tissues.

The moment Chloe saw me, she froze. Then, she quickly shrunk back into Rachel Davis’s arms, showing only a terrified half-profile of her face.

Rachel immediately stood up, blocking Chloe with her body, and threw a dagger-like glare in my direction.

I walked right past them, returned to my desk, and opened my laptop.

An email sent at exactly 2:17 PM yesterday sat quietly in my inbox.

Sender: Chloe Miller.

Recipients: Richard Thorne, Marcus Sterling, Dominic Hayes.

Subject: Notification of Account Manager Change.

The body of the email was brief and fluent. She had used the exact customized templates I always used to write to clients. She hadn't even changed the signature format.

At 2:17 PM yesterday, she sent transition notices to all my clients.

At 8:00 PM last night, she made the Instagram post.

At 9:00 AM this morning, Arthur called me in for a talk.

The timeline was crystal clear—before she fired her first shot, she had already paved her escape route.

I closed my inbox.

I picked up my phone and opened Snapchat to message Jenna Brooks.

It had been five years. During my first year at the company, she was the one who showed me the ropes. Together, we had landed five massive annual deals. Last year, when her mother was hospitalized, I lent her twelve thousand dollars and never once asked for it back.

I texted her: *Jenna, do you have a minute to chat?*

*Read.*

No reply.

Ten minutes later, I went to get some water. Passing the breakroom, I saw Jenna sitting inside, talking to Rachel and Chloe.

"...I honestly think Claire goes too far sometimes. She micromanages everything. Chloe had to work late almost every night. I saw it with my own eyes more than once."

I stopped at the doorway.

She happened to look up, and our eyes met.

There was no guilt in her eyes.

Only a survival instinct that everyone eventually learns after staying at this company for too long.

I gave her a single nod.

And walked away.

At 3:00 PM, Victoria Gable from HR walked over, carrying a manila folder.

"Claire, do you have a few minutes for a chat in the small conference room? To be clear, this is a formal investigation interview. Everything will be recorded."

"Sure."

"Chloe claims that during her internship and probationary period, you repeatedly forced her to rewrite proposals late at night, criticized her work in front of the team, and restricted her from communicating with clients independently. What is your response?"

"Late-night rewrites—the night before her final conversion presentation, I was the one editing her PPT until 3 AM, not her. Public criticism—during her first independent client proposal, she added an extra zero to the pricing. I corrected her face-to-face. Restricting client communication—I accompanied her to client meetings for the first eight months, then gradually let her take the lead. You can verify this in the weekly project reports."

Victoria kept her head down, her pen scratching against the paper.

"So, you admit these events did take place?"

"I admit I mentored her. I taught her. I corrected her mistakes. If that’s what we are calling bullying now, then this company might as well scrap its entire training program."

Victoria looked up, tapping her pen against the folder.

"Claire, I only record the facts. I don't make the final judgment. Please maintain a cooperative attitude."

"Of course."

The moment I stepped out of the conference room, my phone buzzed with an unknown number.

"Hi, Claire. This is Richard Thorne's assistant, Sarah. Mr. Thorne asked me to check in—what’s going on with the account transition email we received today? Are you no longer managing our account?"

I paused.

"Sarah, I’m not in a position to explain right now. If there are any urgent business needs, please contact Chloe."

There was a long silence on the other end.

"Claire, Mr. Thorne’s exact words were: 'Tell her to call me directly.'"

"Please convey a message to Mr. Thorne for me."

"Go ahead."

"As long as the contract stands, I’ll be here."