Chapter 3
Day three fell on a Wednesday.
After breakfast at Megan's place, I opened my laptop and started updating my resume.
My phone rang.
It wasn't Trevor.
It was Linda.
"Sarah, something happened," Linda said.
Her voice was tight with worry.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Mr. Harper from Harper & Co. Trading called. The contract expired, and he wants to renew, but we can't find the old template," Linda explained.
"It's on my computer, in the 'Client Files' folder on the D drive," I told her.
"What's your computer password?" Linda asked.
I paused for a moment.
"Ask Trevor," I said.
Linda was silent for a second.
"Mr. Turner said he doesn't know," she admitted.
I didn't respond.
"Sarah, is there any way you could help?" Linda asked.
"Linda," I cut her off, "I'm not part of the company anymore."
"But, Sarah," she tried again.
"This is Trevor's problem now," I said.
I hung up.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang again.
It was Paul.
"Sarah, the warehouse inventory report is missing. Do you remember where you saved last month's stock check?" he asked.
"Ask Trevor," I replied.
"Mr. Turner said he doesn't deal with warehouse stuff," Paul said, frustrated.
"Then you'll have to figure it out," I said, not bothering to help.
I hung up.
Half an hour later, my phone rang again.
It was Vera.
"Sarah, do you have the checklist of documents the state needs for next month's annual filing?" she asked.
"Ask Trevor," I replied.
"Sarah," Vera tried again.
"I'm not obligated anymore," I cut her off.
I hung up.
All morning, I got seven calls.
Every single one was from someone at the company, and not one of them was Trevor.
By noon, Megan glanced at me, seeing I'd been on the phone nonstop. "People from his company?"
"Yeah," I said.
"What are they after?" she asked.
"Looking for files," I replied.
"What files?" Megan pressed.
I set my phone down, thinking how to sum it up.
"Pretty much everything," I said.
Megan looked totally lost.
I broke it down for her.
"All the client info is in my head. The big clients, who to talk to, how they like their quotes, when they pay. Some of it's in the system, but the important notes and the history are in my own files," I said.
"Your own files?" Megan echoed.
"My laptop, my phone, my WhatsApp chats," I replied.
"Wait, aren't those supposed to be company stuff?" Megan asked.
"The company never gave me a computer. I used my own laptop. My phone's mine. WhatsApp's mine, too," I said.
Megan's eyes went wide.
"So you mean all the company's core client data is on your personal devices?" she asked.
"It's not only client data," I said.
I started counting on my fingers.
"I set up the finance system. Made all the passwords. Built the monthly report templates. Figured out the bank reconciliation process.
"I organized the supplier list. Worked out all the payment terms, discounts, and emergency contacts with every supplier.
"I handled all the employee files. Fifty-three people, and I was the only one who knew when their contracts were up and what their benefits were.
"I prepped the annual filing, kept an eye on the taxes, and handled all the business paperwork," I added.
Megan sat there, silent for about ten seconds.
"So what does he actually do at his own company?" she finally asked.
I thought about it.
"He signs things," I said.
"What?" Megan blinked.
"Contracts, bank authorizations. That's it. He signs," I replied.
Megan opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
"You never told him any of this?" she finally managed.
"I did," I said.
"What did he say?" Megan pressed.
"He said, 'That's small stuff. You're a housewife, you can handle it,'" I replied.
That afternoon, I stopped picking up any calls from the company.
I switched my phone to silent mode.
For the next two hours, I quietly polished my resume.
Then, I scrolled through my phone and found a folder.
Inside were over three hundred screenshots, six years' worth.
Each one recorded contracts, client communications, supplier quotes, and financial flows from Trevor's company.
I hadn't kept them to sue him. I had kept them to build my resume.
Those were six years without a contract, without benefits, and without any official job record.
I needed those screenshots to prove I wasn't some "useless housewife."
I was the operations manager for a fifty-three-person team.
I was the backbone of a client network that brought in seven million dollars a year.
I was the one who built up the finance system from scratch.
But I never had a business card, a job title, or a paycheck.
On paper, I wasn't an employee at all.
Eight o'clock rolled around.
My phone lit up.
A number I didn't recognize popped up on the screen.
I answered.
"Is this Sarah Bennett?" the voice on the other end asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"This is William from Harper & Co. Trading," he said.
It was William Harper.
"William, long time no talk," I said.
"Sarah, I've been calling your company all day," he said, clearly frustrated. "Tried to renew my contract and talked to three people. None of them could give me a straight answer."
"I'm no longer with the company, William," I said.
There was a three-second pause.
"When did that happen?" he asked.
"Two days ago," I replied.
The line went quiet again for a few seconds.
"So what happens with my contract?" he asked.
"Talk to Mr. Turner about it," I said.
William didn't answer right away.
After a pause, he finally spoke.
"Sarah, you're the most professional partner I've ever worked with. Five years, never a single mistake."
"Thank you," I replied.
"If you're ever looking for something new, call me," he said.
"Alright," I replied.
I hung up and sat at the edge of the bed, looking out the window.
It had been five years, over 1.3 million dollars a year in orders, and I had never once made a mistake.
But to Trevor, all of that was me "helping out."
*****
It was the third day after the divorce, seventy-two hours on the dot.
That day, I sent out four resumes at Megan's and did a video interview.
At eleven in the morning, my phone rang.
It was Trevor.
In eight years of marriage, he'd never once called me during work hours.
He always said, "Don't bother me at work. I'm busy."
But that day, he called me himself.