Chapter 25
chapter
twenty-five
“Have a seat, Alex.” Greg gestured to the empty chair across the desk from him.
Denise from HR was already seated beside it. She offered a brittle smile over the rim of her coffee cup.
There was no coffee waiting for me.
I closed the office door, sat, and crossed my legs. The charcoal-gray fabric of my slacks rustled against the leather. Chunky bangles clinked at my wrists, neatly concealing the marks Luka had left behind.
“Thanks for coming in. I’m sure you’re exhausted from jet lag,” Greg said, chipper in a way that scraped. He laced his fingers atop a thick manila folder centered on his vast desk. “We just want to have a quick regroup. Make sure everyone’s on the same page.”
My gaze slid to Denise. “We? I thought this was a one-on-one.”
Denise adjusted in her seat and tucked a lock of her raven hair behind her ear. She opened her mouth to speak, but Greg beat her to it.
“This is purely procedural. We just want to make sure”—he glanced at her, then back to me—“that you’re comfortable and have full support for your transition back to the States.”
Support.
I mirrored Greg’s posture, lacing my hands together in my lap. “Great. Let’s do it.”
Greg exhaled, long and performative. Like he’d rather be getting a root canal.
“All right. Let’s start with what went sideways in London.
I’ve never had a complaint about you, Alex.
Not once. So you can imagine my surprise when Hallstrom Group decided to pull the plug on our biggest contract over…
” He glanced down at the manila folder in front of him.
“Well, frankly, over your alleged conduct.”
Denise leaned forward, her voice a rehearsed melody of empathy and HR compliance. “No one’s accusing you of anything. We just have to get the facts. That’s all this is.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I swallowed and forced a smile, determined to match their corporate performance beat for beat. “Of course,” I said evenly. “Happy to clarify whatever you need.”
Greg drummed two fingers on the folder. “Richard Montgomery reports you were ‘erratic,’ ‘distracted,’ and at times ‘openly insubordinate.’ He says you abandoned your post without notice, and that your behavior”—he actually lifted his hands for air quotes—“‘bordered on sexual misconduct.’” He looked at me expectantly. “I’m giving it to you straight, Alex.”
“Sexual misconduct? Are you kidding me?” I wanted to swear—to throw in a few choice f-bombs—but I held it together.
Denise’s smile didn’t waver. “If there’s anything you’d like to tell us, this is a safe space.” Her voice flowed like syrup. “We’re here to listen.”
Bullshit.
I shook my head. “What exactly did he accuse me of? And not the vague version, Greg. We’ve worked together long enough. You know I can handle it. Tell me so I can set the record straight.”
He studied me, then shrugged and opened the folder.
“Okay.” He traced his finger down the printed lines and cleared his throat.
“Mr. Montgomery claims that you made numerous inappropriate advances toward him and other men in the office. That you were observed behaving…intimately with a taxi driver before work. That you were seen at an underground”—he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck—“sex club over the weekend. And that you solicited him for a…nonprofessional interaction.”
Greg looked at me over the rims of his glasses, waiting.
I laughed once, short and incredulous. “Okay. Let’s slow down.
” I leaned forward. “I didn’t make advances toward anyone.
My behavior was never ‘erratic’—you know me better than that.
And I absolutely did not solicit Richard Montgomery for anything—professional or otherwise.
” I looked directly at Greg. “What I did do was refuse to sleep with him.”
Greg opened his mouth, but I kept going.
“Richard Montgomery cornered me in his office yesterday morning. I told him no. He put his hand under my skirt anyway.” I didn’t look away. “Everything after that is retaliation.”
The silence stretched like taffy.
Denise uncrossed and recrossed her legs.
Greg leaned back and folded his arms, drawing a long breath through his nose. “That’s a very serious allegation, Alex.”
Denise cleared her throat, her pen poised over a legal pad. “Were there any witnesses present during this…interaction?”
I shook my head. “No. He made sure we were alone. Door locked and everything.”
A thin, practiced smile flickered at the corners of Denise’s mouth, but her eyes cut to Greg before she wrote anything. “So, you don’t have any evidence to corroborate your story.”
Fire licked up my neck and into my ears. “Let me get this straight.” I gestured toward the folder. “Richard Montgomery sexually assaults me, and I’m the one being interrogated?”
No one answered.
There was a bleak elegance to Richard’s strategy. Flip the script. Torch my credibility before I could light a match.
I looked at Greg, deadpan. “I thought you cared about optics.”
His mouth pulled tight. “I do. But right now, it’s your word against his, and—” He broke off, gesturing to Denise, as if she might materialize a solution.
“Why don’t we pause?” Denise said smoothly. “Just take a breath. We can circle back to this, but let’s address the other concerns.” Her lavender pantsuit was aggressively springy for February.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “With all due respect, I don’t see what my private life has to do with any of this.”
“So you admit to going to a sex club last weekend?” she asked, as casually as if she’d asked whether I went to the grocery store.
“I went to a nightclub,” I corrected.
“And the taxi driver?”
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t recall taking a taxi.” Technically true.
Greg leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Look, we can quibble semantics all day. I can understand going a little wild all alone in a big city. Atlanta’s not exactly known for…opportunity.”
A rebuttal flared on the tip of my tongue, but Greg lifted a hand.
“Bottom line: nothing looks good here, Alex. And, fair or not, we just lost the biggest contract of the year because of you.”
The words pinballed around my skull, cold and slippery. I had rehearsed this meeting a dozen times. Every version ended with Greg believing me. Backing me. Championing my version over Richard’s.
I let the silence broil, refusing to look away. Let Greg blink first. Let Denise shift in her chair while she recalculated the precise HR approach. I wanted to say something devastating, something that would cauterize the entire bullshit charade here and now, but the words jammed in my windpipe.
Greg laced his hands together, index fingers braced against his nose, briefly lifting the weight of his glasses.
“Look, Alex, I’m not unsympathetic. I can see how things might have been…
misconstrued.” He sat back, folding his arms again.
“But that’s beside the point. The board has made it very clear what has to happen. ” A beat. “My hands are tied.”
He nodded to Denise.
She withdrew a teal folder from her satchel and set it neatly on the desk in front of me.
“This is your transition package,” she said, tapping the folder with red lacquered nails, “should you choose to resign effective immediately and decline to pursue further action.”
I opened it. The pages whispered against each other as I scanned the contents. Transition terms. Non-disclosure agreement. Non-compete clause. CObrA.
“We’d like to give you a graceful exit,” Greg continued. “And we’re offering a very generous severance. All you need to do is sign the agreement and turn in your laptop and badge. No questions asked.”
A sudden laugh spat from my throat. I couldn’t help it. “So that’s it? Career suicide?”
Greg shook his head. “No, nothing like that. And none of this…unpleasantness will be reflected in my reference letter.”
I looked at the papers again.
Six months’ pay. Full benefits.
Not a bad offer.
“I should remind you,” Denise added gently, “that Georgia is an at-will employment state.”
I met her eyes. She smiled, letting the implication hang in the air, bright and oily, like the rainbow on a puddle of gasoline.
“What happens if I don’t sign?”
Denise’s smile held. “Then you forfeit the severance. HR will proceed with a standard termination, and your personnel file will reflect…today’s conversation.”
“And the NDA?” I asked. “Is that negotiable?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Greg leaned forward. “If you’re thinking about talking to the press or making noise—don’t. It’s not in your best interest to create a scene, Alex.” He looked at me over his steepled fingers. “People talk in this industry. That would be career suicide.”
That one landed.
I pictured my résumé—years of grind and closed-door battles. Boardrooms where I’d out-pitched, outmaneuvered, and outlasted every smug bastard in a tie who’d underestimated me. All reduced to a single line: She made a scene.
Greg softened just enough to seem paternal. “You’re tired. Take the day. Sleep on it.”
I’m sure it was meant as a kindness. But I saw it for what it was—a courtesy for the condemned. They’d already drafted the announcement. My job would probably be posted before I cleared the elevator.
“I don’t need a day.”
I stood, smoothed my jacket, and pushed the folder across the desk.
“I’m not signing a damn thing.”
The parking garage was a tomb—clammy, dim, ringing with the hollow echoes of every footfall and door slam. Inside my car, I yanked the door shut and let the silence swallow me.
My hands shook so badly I missed the ignition twice. The keys fell into my lap. I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel and squeezed my eyes shut. I waited for the tears, for the collapse.
They didn’t come.
What came instead was rage.
I balled up both fists and slammed them against the steering wheel.
Once. Twice. Again. The horn blared—a shrill, impotent wail ricocheting off the concrete pillars of the parking deck.
My whole body vibrated with the aftershock.
I sucked in air until my chest ached, then screamed it back out—not a cute movie-scream, but a sound so raw it left my vocal cords scraped and quivering.
The echo died, but my fury didn’t. It crawled through my veins, searching for a place to root. For something to break.
I should have felt triumphant. Defiant.
Instead, I sat in the gut of the parking garage, every nerve sizzling, every breath hot with a rage that dissolved, as always, into nothing.
I had walked away from the table, told the bastards to keep their hush money. No one heard me but the concrete.
Out there, beyond these metal walls, I was already a cautionary tale. Another woman who didn’t know how to play the game. Another one who should have kept her head down.
I pressed the heel of my palm into my eye socket until white sparks burst behind my lids.
Your mercy will cost you everything.
Luka’s words came back, bright as neon in the cave of my car. I’d been so sure that if I just played it right—kept my side clean, followed the rules—I’d survive the crucible and walk out intact. Maybe bruised, but victorious.
What a crock of shit.
I reached for my phone without thinking and brought up the thread with Luka. Still nothing since Monday morning. I stared at the blinking cursor.
Then I started typing.
Flying off the rails over here.
Delete.
Welp, if this were a game of chess, I just sacrificed my queen.
Delete, delete, delete.
I should have listened. I’m sorry.
Backspace. Gone.
All that was left—the only thing that felt true—was simple.
You were right.
Send.