Ross
Dinner with Margot has been a success. Thankfully, I’ve spent time with her several times over the last few weeks. I’m not with her right now, though.
I’m seated at Elias’s kitchen table. My phone buzzes. As I reach for it, my stomach tightens. I’m not anticipating a plea for my return. I’m waiting for Arthur’s blast radius.
Three weeks ago, I sat at this very table with Elias and forwarded a video file to the state Labor Board: a grainy, fisheye recording from Elias’s porch security camera of Arthur Keane. I also included his texts and a written statement detailing his comments about my marriage and his refusal to accept my resignation. It was undeniable proof of harassment and a hostile work environment.
The screen lights up, revealing Chan’s name. I haven’t spoken to him since I resigned. I pick it up, bracing myself.
“Calder?” Chan’s voice pierces through the phone, rapid and clipped. He sounds like a man looking over his shoulder. “Listen,I don’t have much time. You need to know, it’s over. The Board showed up this morning.”
The words hit me like a jolt, followed by a heavy, grounding wave of satisfaction. “They’re there?”
“They’re everywhere,” he replies, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “They seized Arthur’s emails. That video you sent, Ross, it started everything. The Board saw him screaming at a former employee on private property. They saw the threats. Investors are threatening to walk. The Board of Directors voted him out this morning.”
I lean back in my chair, the wood creaking. I expected a fight. I expected Arthur to wriggle out of it. “He’s gone?”
“He’s done. Forced early retirement is the polite term they’re using in the press release, but he’s finished. And the fallout… it’s catastrophic.” Chan lets out a shaky breath. “The clients for the Dubai project caught wind of the investigation. They pulled the contract an hour ago. They don’t want their skyline associated with a firm under this kind of scrutiny.”
I have little remorse for the project’s fate; mostly, I feel the vindication of a man who finally stopped letting a bully write his story.
“The place is falling apart,” Chan continues, the panic rising in his throat. “Now that you’re gone, and Arthur is out, the talent is bleeding. Tabitha started her own firm already. I’m looking around the bullpen now, and it’s a sinking ship. There’s no leadership.”
“It was a sinking ship when I was there, Chan. The difference is we had a gaslighting management who worked us until we passed out.”
“I know. God, I know.” There is a pause, and then Chan’s voice shifts. It loses the professional edge and becomes small, human. “I want to jump, Ross. I can’t stay here. The toxicity is seepinginto the walls. But I don’t know where to go. I’ve been here ten years.”
I listen to the fear in his voice, the same fear that kept me shackled to a desk while my marriage disintegrated.
“Don’t look for the prestige or the name on the door,” I say, the advice coming easily, born from the calluses on my hands and the peace in my own chest. “Quit today, Chan. Pack your box and walk out.”
“And go where?”
“Somewhere that knows the difference between a deadline and a life. Trust me. The terrifying part isn’t leaving. It’s realizing how long you stayed.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”
Chan is silent for a long beat. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Thanks, Ross. For everything.”
The weight of the phone in my hand feels lighter as I hang up, setting it down on the table with finality. The firm isn’t my problem anymore. Arthur isn’t my monster anymore. I look around the room, the remnants of chaos blending with the quiet that Elias has curated.
I let my fingers run through my hair, noticing the tremors in my hands have finally stopped. I lean against the table, absorbing the truth of it all.
There’s no longer a firm suffocating me, but a space to cultivate new ideas, new paths, new relationships.
For the first time in a long while, I can see a future unfurling before me, filled with possibility rather than dread. It feels strangely exhilarating, and as I absorb the gravity of this moment, I know this is the beginning of something entirely new.
The sun dips low, casting a warm glow across the park where we used to wander hand in hand. I walk beside her, the distance between us filled with memories and unresolved tension.
We settle onto a bench overlooking a small pond. I try to shake off the nerves, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the bench.
“Do you remember coming here when we first started dating?” I ask.
Margot’s lips curl into a small smile. “Yeah. We used to talk about our dreams. It felt endless.”
“It did,” I agree. “But I realized I didn’t build on any of that. I let my ambition drown out everything else.”
