I take the sheet and see it’s an email with dozens of pages stapled to it.The DOB zoning application.
What is this?
I mean, I know what it is, but why are they asking me?Earlier, I heard that there had been a rejection, and I was as surprised as everyone else.We put a lot of work into these applications and have a team who knows exactly what they are doing.
This one was a standard application that should have been approved without any issue.
My role is filling in the form and sending it off.Which I did.On time.We can digitally trace that.
“Look at her.Guilty as fuck.Jesus, Terri.”Victor shakes his head as I flick through the documents.
“What am I looking at?”I ask, my heart thumping.
Brandon fists his hips and shakes his head.“Do you know how much you cost this company?Fuck.This could—should—a fireable offense.”
My mouth falls open.
What?
No, I can’t lose my job.My mom.Her medical bills.
I’ve done nothing wrong.
“I don’t understand?”My voice is shaking, and stomach curdles with fear.
“You changed the document.Look.”Victor rips the paper out of my hands and stabs at a line I can’t read.“This is why the zoning was declined.”
I never change these forms.
I do them for every development we have and have a very good attention to detail, so make sure I go over them, even when not asked to.
I know it was correct.
The wheels of my brain start working as the shock somewhat fades, and I narrow my eyes at Victor.
Did he do this?
The email Emily and I found today starts to make sense.Victor sent an email to Gordon Fanning advising him of the Crown Plaza project and gave him details that no one should have seen at that point in the project.It was vague, but still a breach of confidentiality.
None of which I would know if I didn’t look through his emails.
So, I can’t say anything.
“I didn’t do this,” I say, pleading with Brandon.
“The last page shows it was your computer,” he replies.“We have to leave for this event, but I want you here early tomorrow so we can discuss this with HR.”
Oh, my god.
“I—” Looking at Victor with disgust and hate in my heart.
“Eight a.m.Do not be late,” he says, and I swear there is a small smirk on his lips.
Nodding, I watch the two men walk out as I lean back in my seat, feeling deflated.Tears threaten to leak and fall down my cheeks, but I brush them away and let the anger rise.
After ten minutes, I snap.
Fuck this.My parents did not raise a victim; I’m not letting them get away with this.
