A PA materializes with a tray. “Tea? Coffee? Water?”
“No, thank you,” I say, though my throat’s parched. What I really need is a Xanax.
“Just water for me,” Jake says, voice tight.
She pours two glasses anyway, setting them on corporate coasters with the McLaren logo.
I reach for mine—need something to do with my trembling hands—but the glass rattles against the table so loudly everyone looks. Brilliant. Very authoritative, Georgie.
I abandon it, pressing my palms flat against my thighs instead, leaving damp handprints on the green fabric.
The door opens.
Patrick walks in first, holding it for Lindsey from HR.
No. No no no.
I didn’t expect him to be here.
This is going to be so much harder with him watching. Though there’s a tiny, vindictive part of me that’s glad he’ll see my evidence. See exactly what his precious Craig did.
He looks like absolute shit.
I hate that my first thought is concern rather than satisfaction. He’s clearly not sleeping. Dark circles bruise under his eyes. Stubble shadows his jaw like he gave up halfway through shaving. His shirt is creased, as if he slept in it—if he slept at all. Probably the hotel crisis is keeping him up.
Good. He should look like shit.
Our eyes meet for one horrible second. The frown etched into his face is so deep it looks permanent, exhaustion making him look older and harder. He grips the back of his chair white-knuckled before dropping heavily into it.
I straighten my spine.Remember, Georgie: You’re not the same woman they marched out of here.
“Jake and I have twenty minutes,” I announce, voice surprisingly steady. “I suggest you say what you need, then I have some things to discuss.”
I place my folder on the table.
Patrick looks at Jake, then finally at me. His voice comes out rough, like he hasn’t used it in days. “Okay. First, I need to apologize. To you, Georgie.”
Here it comes. The “I’m sorry but we’re destroying your career” speech. I brace myself, mentally preparing my “I’ll see you in court” voice.
“I was wrong. You were right. And I’m truly sorry.”
What?
The words hang there in the air between us, not computing. This sounds… weird.
“The investigation revealed Craig deleted your emails from the server.” His jaw tightens. “Your team helped prove it. They went to extraordinary lengths to recover the data. Craig destroyed evidence, falsified reports.” Another pause. “Craig’s employment has been terminated.”
Oh my God.
Relief crashes over me so hard I nearly sob. I catch myself, take a breath, and lean forward.
“I know.” My voice comes out steady, almost bored. “I have all the evidence right here.”
The room goes silent.
I open my folder with deliberate calm, pulling out the first document. The paper makes a satisfying snap as I slide it across the table.
“Here are the deleted emails Craig thought he’d destroyed. Retrieved from your backup server—the one he forgot existed because he never paid attention during my infrastructure notes.” I allow myself a tiny smile. “These show my documented concerns, my recommendations for additional testing, and Craig’s response instructing me to ‘stop being hysterical’ and that he would personally manage QA.”
