"Which brings us to legal exposure," Easton cuts in, his voice carrying the quiet authority of someone who's spent years protecting teammates from career-ending hits. He flips through his legal pad with casual assurance. "By failing to investigate documented harassment and selectively enforcing policies that disproportionately punish female employees, this organization faces significant liability."
Miller's posture shifts, his comfortable authority hardening into something colder. The warm facade vanishes instantly, replaced by pure corporate calculation.
"Mr. McKenzie, I appreciate your concern for your sister's career." He leans forward and his voice sharpens, matching the coldness in his eyes. "But let's be crystal clear about what we're actually discussing here."
The temperature in the room seems to plummet. This isn't the reasonable businessman I expected to convince withevidence. This is something else entirely—a corporate machine designed to process problems, not solve them.
"This organization has a zero-tolerance policy regarding relationships between players and staff," he continues, each word landing with finality. "Ms. McKenzie signed a contract explicitly acknowledging that policy. She violated it. End of discussion."
The dismissal is so abrupt, so complete, that I struggle to process it. He's not engaging with the evidence. Not even pretending to consider the systematic sabotage we've documented. Just shutting it down as if discussing something utterly trivial.
"Mr. Miller," I begin, fighting to keep my voice steady as my carefully constructed plan begins to crumble, "you're ignoring months of documented evidence to focus on a relationship that had zero impact on my professional performance—"
"Zero impact?" He laughs—a sound devoid of humor, hollow as an empty arena. "Your relationship became the subject of a gossip podcast. It was discussed in my boardroom. It became a distraction that cost us a nine-figure partnership deal."
He stands and moves to the window, looking out over the practice rink below like it offers the answer to what he clearly considers a simple equation.
"You want to talk about patterns, Ms. McKenzie?" His tone becomes explanatory, almost indulgent—as if explaining something simple to a child. "Every organization that blurs personal and professional lines ends up exactly here. Accusations. Counter-accusations. Drama that belongs in a soap opera, not a championship-caliber franchise."
My chest tightens as I watch him dismiss all our evidence with a casual, dismissive wave. "This isn't drama. This is systematic harassment designed to—"
"This," he says, turning back to face us with the finality of a judge delivering a verdict, "is precisely why we have these policies. To prevent employees from making judgment calls that compromise the organization's interests."
The words land like physical blows, each one dismantling the foundation I thought I stood on. He's not just rejecting my evidence—he's rewriting the entire narrative. I'm not a victim of sabotage. I'm a liability that needs elimination.
Miller returns to his chair, settling into the leather with the satisfied air of someone who's solved a particularly irritating puzzle. His expression is fixed and unreadable, devoid of any recognition that he's looking at a human being whose life he's about to destroy.
"Ms. McKenzie, I've given this matter serious consideration. While I appreciate your passion for your work, it's clear that your continued presence here is untenable." He pauses, and I can see him savoring the moment. "And you've just confirmed the relationship violation yourself, in front of witnesses."
My blood turns to arctic slush in my veins. "Excuse me?"
"The relationship. The violation of policy. The disruption to our organization." He speaks slowly, as if explaining basic concepts to someone struggling to understand. "For the stability of this franchise, we're moving forward without these complications."
He opens a drawer and extracts a manila folder, sliding it across the desk with blunt finality. The motion is casual, practiced—clearly not his first corporate execution.
"Therefore, your employment with the Minnesota Mammoths is terminated, effective immediately. The severance package includes six months' salary and benefits, contingent upon your signature of the non-disclosure agreement included in the packet. Your final paperwork will be processed within the hour."
The words land with brutal force: Terminated. Effective immediately. Non-disclosure agreement.
This isn't a meeting. This isn't even a conversation.
This is an execution.
"You can't be serious," Brynn says, her voice cutting through my shocked silence.
"I'm resolving a personnel issue that threatens organizational stability," Miller replies with the mechanical cadence of someone reading from a corporate playbook. "The results of our HR investigation are conclusive. Ms. McKenzie violated clearly established company policy, and the consequences, as outlined in her employment contract, are unambiguous."
"What about Vivian?" Easton's voice carries the barely controlled fury of someone watching injustice unfold in real time. "What about all of this evidence?"
Miller gestures dismissively at the folders scattered across his desk—months of work reduced to inconvenience. "Ms. Lamore is a valued executive with an exemplary service record. I see no compelling reason to pursue what amounts to office gossip and speculation."
And just like that, it's over. Case closed. Decision rendered. The evidence that felt so powerful in my hands moments ago now seems utterly insubstantial.
I stare at the folder lying between us— silence in exchange for my complete erasure from this organization. Hush moneywrapped in corporate legalese, designed to make this "unfortunate situation" disappear as efficiently as possible.
The confidence I carried into this room dissolves completely. I came seeking justice and found myself at a funeral—my own.
"The decision is final, Ms. McKenzie." Miller reaches for his phone with the casual air of someone moving on to more important matters. "Security will escort you to clear your office once we've concluded here. I trust this transition can be handled with appropriate discretion."
