Out of the 203 people in the company, 197 voted for me. It was the exact same number as last year. Last year, Mr. Vance called me into his office. "Chloe, Liam’s family is going through a tough financial patch. Could you take the high road and let him have this spot?" I let him have it. This year, the moment the voting results were pinned to the bulletin board, the door to Mr. Vance’s office cracked open. I didn't wait for him to call my name. I walked right in and slapped my resignation letter onto his desk. "Mr. Vance, no need to ask me to give it up this time." "I'm walking out on my own." Robert Vance stared at the resignation letter like his eyes weren't focusing properly. He actually let out a small chuckle. "Chloe, what kind of tantrum is this?" "It's not a tantrum." I stood across from his mahogany desk, my voice perfectly flat. "It's a carefully considered decision." He picked up the crisp white paper, glanced at it, and tossed it back down. "You've been at Apex Solutions for five years. You know exactly how well this company has treated you." "Yeah. I know exactly how I've been treated." I nodded. He probably didn't expect me to be this calm. His smile froze for a fraction of a second before morphing into a look of deep, paternal concern. "I know you have some lingering feelings about what happened last year. But Liam really was struggling. The ten-thousand-dollar bonus that came with the Employee of the Year award meant a lot more to his livelihood." Ten thousand dollars. He said it so casually. Last year, that "Employee of the Year" title didn't just come with a ten-thousand-dollar check. It came with a fast-track promotion review. Liam took that spot. By the beginning of this year, he was promoted to Account Supervisor. And me? My desk was moved from a bright spot by the window all the way to the dark end of the hallway next to the supply closet. The excuse was, "We need to clear out a spacious area for the new supervisor's open-concept workspace." I didn't bring any of that up. There was no point anymore. "Mr. Vance, it's clearly stated in the letter. For personal reasons, I'm requesting to resign at the end of the month." "A four-week notice is plenty of time for a transition." His smile finally vanished. He leaned back in his leather chair, tapping his index finger against the desk. "Chloe, you have three major projects in the execution phase right now. The annual retainer for Harrison Corp is up for renewal next month. Walking away right now is incredibly irresponsible to the company." "Which is why I'm giving you a four-week transition period." "What good is four weeks? Harrison Corp only recognizes you." When he hit the words only recognizes you, his tone suddenly grew heavy. He wasn't complimenting me. He was warning me—you are essential, so you are not allowed to leave. I looked at him dead in the eye. "Harrison Corp recognizes Apex Solutions' service capabilities, not me personally." "Once the handover is complete, anyone can take over." As the words left my mouth, even I knew it was a lie. But I simply didn't care anymore. The sound of the door pushing open shattered the tense silence. Liam walked in carrying two cups of artisan coffee. Seeing me, he paused in surprise. "Chloe? You're here too." He placed one of the cups near Mr. Vance's hand and turned to look at me. "The annual voting results just got posted. You got the highest votes again this year! Congratulations." He smiled, showing perfectly white teeth. I knew that smile all too well. Last year, he had walked into this exact office with that exact smile to take the award right out of my hands. Back then, he had said, "Chloe, I seriously can't thank you enough. Let me buy you dinner sometime." That dinner never happened. Instead, the Harrison Corp account—a client I had personally cultivated for three years—was transferred to his name by Robert Vance’s pen during Liam’s very first week as supervisor. "You're too kind, Supervisor." I didn't accept his congratulations. I just turned and walked toward the door. Right as I reached the threshold, I heard Mr. Vance call out from behind me. "Chloe." I stopped. "Think carefully about this resignation." "I told you, it's a carefully considered decision." "Then let me make myself perfectly clear." His voice dropped to a threatening baritone. "During your transition period, you are not permitted to take a single project file or client contact. If you try to take anything with you..." "The legal department won't show you any mercy." I didn't look back. "Don't worry. I won't even take an extra paperclip." When I pushed the door open, several people in the hallway were pretending to get water from the cooler. They had all seen me walk out of the boss's office. The gossip would spread across the entire floor in less than ten minutes. I walked back to my desk at the end of the hall and woke up my computer monitor. The potted pothos plant on my desk was something I had bought at a farmer's market three years ago for five bucks. Now, the green vines cascaded all the way down to the floor. I gently brushed a leaf and started organizing my digital folders. My phone lit up. A text message from Amanda, my point of contact at Harrison Corp. "Hey Chloe, are you still leading the strategy meeting next week? Mr. Harrison specifically asked for you." I stared at the message for five seconds. I didn't reply. The first person to approach me was Brenda. The head of Human Resources. She pulled up an empty chair next to my desk, holding a matcha latte, wearing her standard-issue corporate-empathy smile. "Chloe, I heard you submitted your resignation?" "Yeah." "Oh, sweetie, why so sudden?" She reached out and patted the back of my hand. "Is this about the voting results last year? I know you felt wronged, but Mr. Vance was just looking out for the team as a whole—" "Brenda." I cut her off. "It has nothing to do with that. It's just for my personal career development." Her smile didn't waver, but her voice dropped an octave. "Chloe, let me speak to you from the heart. You've been at Apex for five years, and everyone sees your hard work. The award is just a piece of paper; it doesn't define your actual capability." "Take the high road here. Mr. Vance remembers your sacrifices." Take the high road. I had heard that exact phrase no less than twenty times over the last five years. During my first year, I landed the company's very first million-dollar contract. At the year-end review, I built the pitch deck, I ran the analytics, and Robert Vance stood on stage presenting it for forty minutes. My name was third from the bottom in the "Special Thanks" slide. Brenda had patted my shoulder then and said, "Chloe, you're young. The higher-ups see your credit. Take the high road." My second year, I single-handedly secured the annual retainer for Harrison Corp, totaling $500,000. On the day of the contract signing, Liam was assigned to tag along with me because Mr. Vance said he needed to "learn the ropes." When the signing photo was posted in the company Slack channel, Liam was standing dead center. I was shoved to the far edge, half of my face cropped out. Brenda said, "Chloe, it's just a photo. Don't be so petty." My third year. The Employee of the Year vote. 197 votes. Brenda didn't come to comfort me that time. She was the one who handed the plaque to Liam. "Brenda, my mind is made up." I slid her hand off mine. "But thanks for stopping by." She stood up, the warmth fading from her face. "Well, I hope you've thought this through. The job market is brutal right now. It won't be easy out there." I didn't respond. Within twenty minutes of her leaving, three different waves of people visited my desk. The first was Kevin from Admin, coming to "borrow" a stapler while awkwardly fishing for gossip. The second was Sarah from Marketing, returning a phone charger she borrowed a month ago, her eyes darting everywhere but my face. The third was Liam. He pulled up a chair and sat across from me, letting out a heavy sigh. "Chloe, did I do something wrong?" I looked up at him. His brows were slightly furrowed, wearing a perfectly crafted expression of I am so confused and guilty. It was so familiar. The night the voting results came out last year, he bought the entire department bubble tea to celebrate. He specifically left me out. Later, when someone pointed it out, he texted me: "Chloe! Omg I completely forgot to order yours, my bad! Let me order you one right now?" He was always "forgetting." He forgot to invite me to client meetings. He forgot to mention my name in project reports. He forgot to tell clients that the strategy proposals were entirely written by me. But he never, ever forgot to add one specific phrase when reporting to Mr. Vance: "I personally oversaw this project." "You haven't done anything wrong, Supervisor." My tone was ice-water flat. "It has nothing to do with you. I just want a change of scenery." "Chloe, I just took over the Harrison Corp account. There's so much I'm not familiar with yet. If you leave now—" "There will be a highly detailed transition document." "About that..." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Could you put in a good word for me with Mr. Harrison? Their point of contact has been giving me the cold shoulder." I finally smiled. "Supervisor, that is your client now. You put in your own good word." The fake smile on his face instantly cracked. He stood up awkwardly. "Right. Well, I'll let you get back to work." After he left, I pulled open my bottom drawer. Tucked all the way in the back was a thick brown manila envelope. Inside was a master spreadsheet of every single project I had touched over the last five years. Which proposal was written by whom, which deal was negotiated by whom, which client relationship was maintained by whom. Dates, revenue amounts, email archive reference numbers. Not a single error. I had spent three months quietly compiling this. Not for revenge. But so that when I finally walked out those doors, I would know exactly, indisputably, what my true value was. Once the news of my resignation officially spread, the atmosphere in the office subtly shifted. People who used to walk past my desk would usually nod or say hi. Now, most of them took the long way around. Like I was carrying a highly contagious disease. Only Emily, the young receptionist, secretly slipped a box of fresh strawberries onto my desk during her lunch break. "Chloe, I know these are your favorite." She whispered it frantically and practically sprinted away, looking like a bank robber. I stared at the strawberries, my heart aching just a little. At 2:00 PM, Robert Vance sent a message in the department Slack channel: "Effective immediately, Liam will take full control of the Harrison Corp account. Chloe will assist with the transition for the next four weeks." Assist with the transition. With four words, I was demoted from Lead Project Manager to Liam's assistant. Five minutes later, Liam replied in the channel with a handshake emoji. Then he tagged me: "@Chloe, please compile the meeting minutes, communication logs, and pricing sheets for Harrison Corp from the last three years and have them on my desk by tomorrow." Three years of data. Hundreds of files. He said "have them on my desk by tomorrow" with the tone of an executive ordering an unpaid intern. I didn't reply in the public channel. I sent him a direct message: "Three years of data is a massive volume. I am following standard handover protocols. ETA is one week." He replied instantly: "A week is too long. Mr. Vance needs it ASAP." I didn't reply again. I placed my phone face-down on the desk and went back to organizing my files. By the third day, things started getting ugly. At 10:00 AM, I sent my usual email to Amanda at Harrison Corp to confirm the agenda for next week's strategy meeting. Ten minutes later, Liam marched over from his bright "supervisor workspace" and shoved his phone screen in my face. "Chloe, I just saw you emailed Harrison Corp?" "Yeah." "From now on, all emails to Harrison Corp go through me. Just CC me." I stared at him. His desk was the one he had stolen from me three months ago. He had even taken the aloe plant I had nurtured for two years and placed it on his new desk. "Supervisor, I am still the point of contact during this transition period. If an email needs to be sent, I will send it." "Then could you at least run your drafts by me before you hit send?" He smiled condescendingly. "After all, I'm the one in charge now." I didn't say a word. I just turned back to my monitor and kept typing. That afternoon, Brenda came back. She didn't bring a matcha latte this time, and she wasn't smiling. "Chloe, I need to notify you of something." She dropped a legal document onto my desk. It was a supplemental Non-Compete Agreement. "The legal department advises you to sign this. For two years post-resignation, you are prohibited from working in the same industry or contacting any active client resources." I flipped through the document. Three pages of severe, suffocating legal jargon. The penalty clause read: In the event of a breach, the employee shall be liable for damages to the company in the amount of $100,000. One hundred thousand dollars. I had been at Apex for five years. My salary had barely bumped from $60,000 to $100,000. If I didn't eat or pay rent for five years, I wouldn't have enough to cover that penalty. "Brenda, there was no non-compete clause in my original employment contract." "This is a supplemental agreement." "Adding a restrictive covenant during an active employment term requires mutual consent." "I don't consent." Her eye twitched. "Chloe, this is just a standard formality to protect the company's interests—" "Brenda, I'm protecting my own interests." I pushed the document back across the desk. "I'm not signing it." She grabbed the papers and stormed off. Her footsteps were significantly heavier than when she arrived. That night, my mom called me. "Chloe, did you quit your job?" I froze. "Who told you that?" "That HR woman from your company called me. She said you've been under a lot of stress at work, that you're emotionally unstable, and asked the family to talk some sense into you." Brenda called my mother. I gripped my phone, my nails biting painfully into my palm. "Mom, I am not emotionally unstable." "Then why did you quit?! It’s a good, stable job. Do you have any idea how bad the economy is right now?!" "Mom—" "Can't you just endure it a little longer?" Endure it. Just like Brenda's take the high road. The two phrases that had haunted my entire adult life. "Mom, don't worry. I have a plan." After hanging up, I stood on my apartment balcony for a long time. Looking down, I could see the company parking lot. Robert Vance's black Mercedes E300 was parked in the premium reserved spot at the very back. Liam's white Honda Accord was parked in the spot next to it—the spot that used to be mine. Last month, Admin revoked my parking pass under the guise of "Supervisor privileges." I commute on an e-bike now. My phone lit up again. A text from Amanda. "Hey Chloe, I heard you're leaving?! Mr. Harrison wanted me to ask if you're free for a private lunch this week?" I stared at the message. I typed back one word: "Absolutely." The lunch with Harrison Corp was set for Thursday. But on Wednesday afternoon, disaster struck. My work computer wouldn't turn on. The IT guy came over, took one look, and said the hard drive was corrupted and needed to be sent out for repair. "Chloe, did you back up the files on your desktop?" I stared at the black screen, saying nothing. Five years of project files, communication logs, and strategy drafts. All of it was on that machine.
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