‘Well, you’re going to get an email in about twenty minutes from Canning firing you, so I thought you might like a heads up.’
Cohen’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’
‘We’re firing you,’ Fowler replied blithely. ‘We’re letting you go. Cutting the rope. And it’s not us, it’s you.’
Cohen stared at him. ‘But I already quit.’
‘Ah yes.’ Fowler smiled. ‘I didn’t actually get around emailing that notice to ... well, to anyone. But I did email a reporter from thePostsome salacious information about Roberts-Canning LLC and Canning, which I did from your IP address.’
‘Fowler,’ Cohen exhaled, a knife of fear cutting through him. ‘What the hell?’
Fowler smiled again. ‘If you quit, Ford, you’ll need to stay for a month and pay us a portion of your salary in order to walk away from your contract early. But if we fire you ...’ Fowler shrugged. ‘If we fire you, you get to leave immediately – and actually, security are already on their way, so you might want to pack up pronto – and we have to pay you a reparation sum. Do you understand me?’
Cohen was still staring at Fowler, completely dazed.
‘I said, do you understand me, Ford? We’re firing you. Of course, we can’tproveyou sent that email to thePost, but the evidence weighs fairly heavily against you. So, we’re letting you go. Like, right now. With a very healthy reparation amount though, so that should soften what must be—' Fowler smirked ‘—well, what must be a terrible blow to you.’
Cohen suddenly got it. He stood taller, looking Fowler in the eye.
‘Why would you do this for me?’ he nearly whispered.
Fowler shrugged. ‘Maybe I like a good love story.’ He waved his hand. ‘Or maybe I’m just tired of you crapping all over my office juice cleanse diets and team building days.’
‘Thank you.’ Cohen nodded as he spoke, for once feeling truly humbled.
But Fowler frowned at him again. ‘If you want to thank me, you’ll get on a plane to London, marry this lady of yours and never darken the halls of Roberts-Canning again. Oh, and get rid of that suit. You can’t carry Prada. What were you thinking? Stick to the classics, Cohen. With your sort of shoulders, you can’t get away with tapering.’ Fowler turned away, walking towards the door. ‘I actually can’t even look at you any more, you’re killing that suit so badly.’
Cohen called out to his departing figure. ‘Merry Christmas, Fowler.’
Fowler turned, and Cohen saw, for the first time ever, a genuine hint of a smile cross his face.
‘Happy Hanukkah, Ford.’
And then he was gone, disappearing into the bowels of the Roberts-Canning LLC building, snapping at a lowly intern for bad posture on the way.
Cohen was left with an overwhelming feeling of freedom and joy, as well as a new appreciation and respect for juice cleanses.
True to Fowler’s word, an email arrived from Andrew Canning not long after. It was long-winded and laborious to read, but Cohen got to the crux of it quickly. His traitorous behaviour had, apparently, cut Canning in two. His contract was therefore terminated, and Canning was leaving the finer points of his departure to Fowler, and …
And Cohen clicked delete, packed up his bag and left the building.
His wasn’t sorry to go, and when he stepped outside into the chilly New York morning, he felt lighter than he had for years, a smile on his face.
If he kept this up, he’d soon have smile lines too.
He couldn’t think of anything better.
Esther was furious when Cohen stopped by her house to say goodbye.
‘What? You’re leaving? But ... but you just got back. It’s Hanukkah. You’ve only been here, what, a week?’
‘I need to be with her, Mother,’ he said simply. ‘I miss her.’
Esther frowned, her lips set into a tight line.
‘So, you’re just going to go, right now, like this?’
Cohen nodded.
