Chapter 7

There was a moment of silence on the line.

I could hear papers rustling in the background, and someone whispered, "Ms. Carter, the meeting room's ready."

When Emily spoke again, her voice was much quieter.

She said, "Jo, I know you feel wronged. But holding onto the files like this isn't doing you any favors.

"Mr. Turner already said there'll be more opportunities for you at the company. If you make things awkward now, how are you supposed to come back later?"

I stared at my email backup on the screen.

Come back?

So in their eyes, the only reason I was not handing everything over right away was so I could come back later and leverage it for a better deal.

I said, "Emily, I'm not coming back to the project team."

"So what do you want?" she asked.

"I want the handover done properly. I want credit for what I actually contributed. And I want my bonus settled according to the contract."

She dropped the act.

"So you're really going to stick to this?" Emily said.

"Yeah," I replied.

She hung up.

At 12:30, Philip's assistant sent me a formal email, demanding I show up at the office by 1:30 for the project handover meeting.

The email was blunt.

It read: [If you refuse to cooperate for personal reasons and cause any losses to the project, the company reserves the right to hold you accountable.]

I sat at my desk, reading that line over and over again.

My stomach started to clench.

That was how Brightview Creative always played it.

First, they dumped all the blame on me, then just sat back and watched me freak out on my own.

I poured myself a cup of water and hit play on the fourth recording from when I was eighteen.

She said, "If someone tries to scare you by saying you're screwed if you don't do what they say, just ask them what exactly they mean.

"Are they gonna dock your pay? Sue you? Shout at you? Make you lose your friends? There's a way to handle every threat.

"I can't stand people who just say 'you're finished'—they're no better than those random fortune-tellers by the roadside."

I almost choked on my water.

Eighteen-year-old me was a real savage.

Turned out, being savage actually paid off.

I pulled up my employment contract, the employee handbook, and the project archiving policy, going through every clause one by one.

Brightview Creative did have a clause about ownership of work results, but it also clearly stated that project credits should be filed according to the actual creators, project managers, and team members.

The old factory project hadn't been officially archived yet, and my role as lead curator was documented in the first six versions of the files and in the client meeting minutes.

The company could ask me to hand over the work that had already been confirmed.

But they couldn't make me dump all my unconfirmed ideas and raw materials with no limits and then pretend I was never part of the project.

I organized all the files into a folder and named it "South City Old Factory Project Handover Package."

I split everything into three sections.

First, all the paperwork we'd already signed.

Second, a list of stuff that still needed sorting out.

Third, a letter confirming who gets credit and how things can be used.

At 1:20 PM, I slipped into that red dress and threw on a black coat.

My face still looked sickly in the mirror, and my eyes were puffy, but the red dress helped me look a little less miserable.

I grabbed my bag and headed out.

When the receptionist saw me, her face froze for a second.

Seven years at Brightview Creative, and I'd never dared to wear something this bold.

The meeting room was on the sixteenth floor.

When I pushed the door open, the room was already full.

Philip was sitting at the head of the table, with Emily to his right. The department director, the head of client services, the legal team, and HR were all there.

Andrew was there, too.

He was sitting by the window in a dark gray suit, his brows furrowed. When he saw me come in, his gaze landed on my dress for a moment, then quickly shifted away.

I didn't bother asking why he was there.

Brightview Creative and Andrew's family were working together on a commercial real estate deal, so there was always an excuse for him to show up at these meetings.

Philip looked up at me.

"Take a seat. Let's clear things up today," he said.

I took a seat at the far end of the table and opened my laptop.

Emily glanced at me, putting on her usual gentle smile.

She said, "Jo, I'll go first. We're meeting the client about the old factory project tomorrow, and right now, what we need most are the complete source files.

"If you have concerns about the credits, we can discuss them internally later. But the project can't afford any delays," she said.

Philip cut in, "Joanna, no one here is denying what you've done for the company. But if you keep refusing to hand over the files, you're just making things harder for the whole team.

"Emily's new here, and as the former project lead, it's your job to help her get up to speed during the handover."

I pulled up the projector and brought the first file onto the screen.

"This is the handover checklist I put together. Everything's here: signed contracts, confirmed procedures, supplier quotes, and the schedule. I'll send it to the project archive email after the meeting," I said.

Emily's expression shifted slightly.

"What about the source files?" she asked.

I switched to the next slide.

"The source files are divided into two categories: the versions approved by the client and those already reviewed internally by the company. These can be archived.

"But my initial personal concepts, original interview materials, and draft ideas for exhibits aren't included in any unrestricted handover," I said.

Philip slammed his cup down on the table.

"Joanna, don't play word games with us," he said.

I gripped the mouse, my palms clammy with sweat.

Andrew finally broke his silence and said, "Joanna, turning things into this mess in front of everyone isn't doing you any favors.

"If you're worried about the credits, Mr. Turner already said you can sort it out later."

I turned to look at him.

Back then, whenever he spoke up for me in situations like this, I always felt like he had my back.

But today, he was sitting there, sounding all calm, but it was pretty obvious whose side he was on.