“I don’t know how this happened.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Query can’t afford to pay me what it does and look lenient about HR violations. They’re literally looking for excuses to cut costs and get rid of the ‘old guard.’ I can’t believe I handed them one.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
Her gentle question spikes my anxiety.
“I don’t get promoted. I lose my job. My freedom date pushes back decades. The market tanks. Tech freezes. I can’t find a new job. California slides into the Pacific?—”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Jenny places her hands on my clenched shoulders. “Deep breaths, or you’ll self-destruct. I know you don’t want to hear it, but?—”
“I know I’m lucky. It’s not like I promoted Chase because we kissed. We kissed after I promoted him… which somehow sounds even worse. I’m screwed.”
Jenny drops her hands and heads to the landing, where she lingers with one hand on the doorknob. “You wanna crack open some beers and wallow? Because if not”—she nods toward the house—“the fam needs tending.”
“Wallowing raincheck,” I say, wanting to rerun the worst-case scenarios three or four more times before bed.
Jenny clicks the garage door opener, and San Francisco fog slips into our makeshift studio. I duck beneath the rising door into the thick gray air, dread settling in my stomach.
“Tell Ben thanks for letting me intrude!”
“Keep me posted!” she calls back.
As I walk the few blocks to the MUNI stop, I pull up my spreadsheet and try to focus on how far I’ve already come. All I can see is eleven more years until freedom. It feels like an eternity.
At the deserted MUNI stop, I pocket my phone and unfold the letter that proves life can always get worse. Tonight, it reads like a warning that if I’m not more careful, mine will be.
I try to will Pawpaw’s collections letter into bad luck instead of premonition. Deep down, I know better. The Pierce lineage specializes in self-deception. Different decade, same denial. Pawpaw let debt collectors break the news to his own kid. My parents made decisions they couldn’t undo because he spent years promising security he never had.
Maybe they felt like this, right before it all unraveled. It’s looking like it’ll take more than Query’s paycheck and the gospel of FIRE for me to hit escape velocity.
What was I thinking? If I’d just been upfront with HR…
Now one meeting threatens to collapse everything I’ve built.
Kissing a subordinate was a mistake,mymistake. But I never imagined someone would report it.
God help them if I find out who it was.
**********
Unrelenting meetings at Query used to energize me. They meant progress and impact, and a packed calendar proved I mattered. Now it’s just thirty-minute back-to-backs from eight to five, broken only by a maybe-lunch if no one steals the slot.
But today isn’t my usual deluge of context-switching. Today’s calendar contains what would usually be a rare luxury: a one-hour meeting. Except this one’s markedAsher Pierce Support, a vague, ominous block that refuses to move.
HR’s ticketing system is a joke. Whoever picked up my case is delusional if they think this is about “support.” Support wouldmean forgiving my first mistake in eight years and handing me the promotion I deserve. Somehow I doubt that’s on the agenda.
Query used to need me pounding those meetings, building something, fighting for every inch of progress. Now it runs like a machine, and whoever I’m meeting with won’t care what I want, because cogs don’t care: they turn.
I end my one-on-one early so I can walk across campus and find out how much this mistake is going to cost me.
Query’s San Francisco campus is a monument to success, with sweeping Bay views, brightly colored workspaces, and curated demo areas. I’m lucky to have a coveted spot. There’s a long waitlist of people gunning for my desk from their soul-crushing Valley commutes, quietly rooting for me to quit or get fired.
This office, my work, my team, my ridiculous compensation package—it’s more than I deserve. I know that.
“Ash!” Chase calls, practically sprinting down the hallway, MacBook clutched to his chest.
