Chapter 2The Ghostwriter Is Your New Rival

I returned to my desk.

The office was so quiet it felt like a tomb. Everyone was violently pretending to look busy, though I knew every ear on the floor was straining to listen.

Paige's chair was empty. She was probably doing a victory lap in the marketing department.

I woke up my computer and started running through the checklist.

Step one: Knowledge transfer.

I needed to designate a point of contact for my handover. I opened the internal directory, found Paige's name, and routed the transfer request to her inbox.

Then, I started the purge.

I gathered every piece of proprietary project data, sorted it meticulously into the appropriate directories, and compressed it into a single, encrypted master file. I set up the automated handover protocol to deliver the decryption key upon my final exit clearance.

Then came my personal intellectual property. My private coding notebooks, my custom scripts, my personal files.

I selected all of it. And hit Permanently Delete.

A warning box flashed: These files will be permanently deleted and cannot be recovered. Do you wish to continue?

I clicked Yes.

The progress bar zipped to 100%. This machine, which had been my lifeline for three years, was suddenly as sterile as the day it was unboxed.

Next was the physical cleanup. I didn't have much.

A ceramic mug with a cat on it. A resilient little succulent I'd kept alive by a miracle. A few reference books. A lumbar pillow. A folded fleece blanket I kept in the bottom drawer for the nights the AC was too aggressive.

I found a cardboard box in the supply closet and started placing my life inside it, moving with a steady, unhurried rhythm.

Kevin, at the desk next to mine, finally cracked. He rolled his chair over, keeping his voice to a frantic whisper.

"Val, are you seriously leaving?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Because of Paige? Come on, is it really worth throwing it all away?"

"It's worth my self-respect," I said.

"But the bonus? We're talking about real money, Valerie."

I placed the last book into the box and straightened up, feeling the pop in my lower back.

"Consider it the price of buying my freedom."

Kevin opened his mouth to argue, but I offered him a soft smile. "Keep in touch, okay?"

He let out a defeated sigh and rolled back to his monitors.

I picked up the box. It was shockingly light. Three years of my life, reduced to a few pounds of cardboard.

I took one last look around the space that had been my second home. I felt absolutely nothing. No nostalgia, no regret. Just an echoing emptiness.

I turned toward the exit.

Just as I was passing Paige's row, she strutted back into the department. She saw me holding the box and stopped dead. A theatrical look of shock washed over her face.

"Oh my god, Valerie. What are you doing?"

"Are you quitting?"

Her voice was pitched perfectly—loud enough to guarantee an audience.

I stopped. I looked at her.

"I am."

She covered her mouth with her hand, though her eyes were dancing with undisguised glee.

"Why would you do something so rash? It's just a title, sweetie. There will be other projects." She stepped closer, radiating fake sympathy. "Look at you, getting so worked up over nothing. Richard even mentioned he was going to take the whole team out for drinks to celebrate next week. It’s such a shame you’ll miss it."

I watched her pathetic, transparent performance. It was almost comical.

"It is a shame," I agreed smoothly. "It’s a real shame I won't have a front-row seat to watch you run this project straight into the ground."

Her jaw tightened. I didn't give her a chance to respond. I adjusted my grip on the box and walked away.

Behind me, the silence was absolute.

The final steps of the offboarding were a breeze. Payroll cut my final check. IT disabled my badge. I signed a stack of legalese without batting an eye.

As I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the building, my phone chimed in my pocket.

A bank notification. My final direct deposit had cleared. It was painfully light, stripped of all Q4 performance incentives.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked up. The late afternoon sky was the color of bruised iron. The winter wind bit at my cheeks, but deep in my chest, a knot I hadn't realized I'd been carrying finally dissolved.

I felt like I had just pulled a rotting tooth. It throbbed, but the underlying infection was gone.

I started walking toward the subway.

But as I reached the edge of the corporate plaza, two figures stepped into my path.

Victoria Caldwell.

She was linking arms with a woman I knew entirely too well. Paige. They had just stepped out of a sleek black Porsche SUV.

Victoria was draped in a flawless camel-hair coat, her blowout immaculate, her posture dripping with old money. She saw me. And then she saw the box in my arms.

A knowing, patronizing smile touched her lips.

She stopped, physically blocking the sidewalk.