Chapter 3
The first week after I got fired, I lived like clockwork.
I'd get up at nine, head downstairs for a breakfast sandwich, come back, and play a couple of rounds of games.
I'd order takeout for lunch, read a book in the afternoon, and then swing by Thomas's shop for a free coffee in the evening.
As for Erin, it was different.
We'd been married for three years, living together, but she was always working late. After I got fired, she'd come home even later than before.
I'd cook dinner and keep it warm in the pot for her, so she could eat when she got back.
Our conversations got shorter and shorter.
"How was your day?"
"Not bad."
"Did you eat?"
"I ate at the office."
There were no fights, no silent treatment, but there was something unspoken between us, like a thin layer of ice.
She never asked about me losing my job.
Not once.
It was like everything that happened in the lecture hall that day had been wiped from her mind.
I didn't bring it up either.
The second week rolled around.
Thomas started bringing stuff over to my place.
First, it was a USB drive.
"Delimbia Group's financial reports for the past three years, the public versions. I had someone check them out, and some of the numbers are off."
Then he handed me a stack of printed papers.
"Three projects David handled, Greenview Convention Center, South District Commercial Complex, and that government tourism project.
"The books look clean, but the supplier quotes don't match what's actually recorded."
I flipped through the papers.
The differences weren't big. Each one was within normal fluctuations.
But when I added it all up over three years, it was different.
"8 million dollars," Thomas said, leaning against the counter and chewing on a straw. "Your ex-coworker really knows how to play the game."
I put the papers down.
"So what about the audit?" I asked.
"The Clarke family's got folks on the board, and the head of the audit committee plays golf with David's dad. You tell me," Thomas replied.
I nodded, not saying anything else.
Thomas looked at me.
"One more thing," he said.
He handed me his phone.
On the screen was a screenshot of a chat.
It was from a Delimbia Group internal chat called "Marketing Department Party."
David had posted a photo in the group.
It was a group shot from last Friday's company team-building event.
He was front and center, with Erin right next to him.
There was about a fist's width between them, not too close, not too far, but the angle was telling. He was leaning in toward her, and she didn't pull away.
Under the photo, the comments were blowing up.
[Clarke and Mrs. Phillips make a great couple!]
[Perfect match, seriously!]
[Is Erin single now? You two should totally hook up, haha.]
David replied: [Erin is a really important friend and partner to me, guys. Don't get carried away, okay?]
He kept calling her in an intimate way.
In a group with more than a hundred people, Nobody in the comments even brought me up.
It was like I never existed.
Thomas took his phone back.
"You don't look so good," he said.
"I'm fine," I replied.
"Your mouth's twitching," he pointed out.
I forced myself to keep my face still.
"That's not what matters," I said.
"So what does?" Thomas pressed.
I paused for a bit.
"He's not after Erin," I said.
Thomas frowned.
"He's not really after Erin, he's after a story. He wants everyone to see them as a match made in heaven. He needs the whole company, even Erin herself, to believe that's how it is," I explained.
Thomas took a sip of his coffee.
"So what you're saying is, he doesn't actually love her. He just can't handle coming second to you," he said.
"Pretty much," I replied.
"And what about your wife? What's her take on all this?" Thomas asked.
I didn't answer.
I thought about Erin's attitude.
Honestly, I wasn't sure.
She never went out of her way to get close to David, or at least, I couldn't tell. But she didn't draw any lines either.
She never said "I'm married" in the group chat, never made a point to keep her distance, never stood up in front of hundreds of people that day to set the record straight.
Her silence hurt me worse than any of David's swagger ever could.
But I didn't say a word.
The third week rolled around.
Thomas called me.
"Something's up," he said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Rebecca told me, David stood up in front of everyone at yesterday's department meeting.
"He said, 'Callum's been here three years and still can't even make supervisor. Mrs. Phillips marrying him? That's a real waste. She's way out of his league.'"
I just stayed silent.
"And then?" I asked.
Thomas continued, "Then someone asked how Erin reacted."
"What did she do?" I asked.
"Rebecca said she just looked down and took a sip of her coffee. Didn't say a word," Thomas replied.
I closed my eyes.
Thomas waited ten seconds on the other end of the line.
"Callum," he said.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"You're really just going to take this?" he asked.
I stayed silent.
"Callum!" Thomas called out.
I said, taking a deep breath, "Thomas, I need you to look something up for me."
"What is it?" he asked.
"The original data from my performance review. The HR system keeps a log of every change. Can you dig that up for me?" I asked.
"You think..." Thomas started.
"I'm not guessing. I know for sure. That 92% attendance and D-grade participation? Those numbers were tampered with. I want the original data," I said.
Thomas was quiet for a couple seconds.
"Give me a day," he said.
"Alright," I said.
"Anything else?" Thomas asked.
"And one more thing. Set up a meeting with Lucas for me. No, scratch that. Just mail him something," I said.
"What is it?" Thomas asked.
"A letter. Use the Delimbia Group's shareholder-only letterhead. Just one line. [Mr. Q will be attending the next shareholders' meeting in person.]"
Thomas let out a low whistle.
"You sure about this? Once you send it, there's no turning back," he said.
I stood by the window, watching the cars roll by on the street below.
"The moment he threw that termination letter on my desk, there was no turning back," I said.
Thomas shot back, "No, that's not it. He's been rubbing it in your face this whole time, and you just kept taking it. So why now..."
"Because she didn't say anything," I said.
Thomas went quiet.
The last night of the month, Erin got home even later than usual.
It was 11:30.
I was on the couch watching a documentary, with a bowl of tomato spaghetti I'd saved for her sitting on the coffee table, already cold and clumped up.
She changed her shoes, came over, and stood right in the middle of the living room.
"Callum," she said.
I looked up at her.
Her expression was all tangled up. Her lips were pressed tight, and she was clutching her bag so hard her knuckles had gone white.
"There's something I need to tell you," she said.
I hit pause on the documentary.
"Go ahead," I said.
She took a deep breath.
Then she pulled a document out of her bag.
It was two sheets of A4 paper.
She set it down on the coffee table and slid it toward me.
I looked down and saw what it was.
It was a divorce agreement.
The text was neat, and the terms were spelled out clearly. The house was mine. We'd split the savings, and there were no kids to worry about.
Her signature was already there at the bottom.
Her handwriting was slender and almost fragile.
I stared at her name for a long time.
The only sound in the living room was the hum of the humidifier.
"Why?" I asked.
She didn't look at me.
Erin said, "I just I feel like something's broken between us. Ever since you lost your job, I've been wondering maybe it's my fault.
"Maybe you got singled out because I work at that company. If we went our separate ways. M\maybe you wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore."
Her voice was so flat, it sounded like she was reciting a business memo.
But her hands wouldn't stop shaking, I could see it clear as day.
I just kept staring at the divorce papers, not moving for what felt like forever.
Then I reached out and picked them up.
I picked it up and started folding.
Folded it in half, then in half again, the way I used to fold paper airplanes as a kid.
Then I slipped it into the crack beside the couch cushion.
"I'm not signing it," I said.
She looked up at me.
"Callum..." she started.
"Erin," I cut her off, my voice steadier than I thought it'd be. "If you want a divorce, that's your call. But not now. And not because of this."
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
"You say there's something wrong between us, so what is it? Is it because my cooking sucks now? Or is it my snoring keeping you awake?" I asked.
"No, it's not that..." Erin replied.
"Then what is it?" I pressed.
Erin just stood there, speechless.
She couldn't even explain it herself.
She just felt like something was off. Like something was wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
I got up, took the bowl of cold, clumpy spaghetti to the kitchen, and tossed it out.
"You hungry? I'll make you a fresh bowl," I said.
She just stood there, watching my back, not saying a word.
I started over, boiled water, dropped in the spaghetti, cracked an egg.
I moved slowly, taking my time with every step.
She couldn't see my face.
She couldn't see my hands either, how my knuckles were white from gripping the chopsticks so hard.
By the time I brought the spaghetti out, my face was back to normal.
"Eat up. We'll talk about it tomorrow," I said.
She sat down and started eating, her head lowered.
She didn't bring up the divorce papers again.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Lying in bed, I listened to her steady breathing.
But all I could see in my mind was that same scene playing on repeat.
The lecture hall, packed with three hundred people.
She was sitting in the second row.
She looked down.
I rolled over.
In the dark, I fumbled for my phone and texted Thomas.
[Three months is too slow.
[Speed things up.]
Three seconds later, Thomas sent me a voice message.
I hit play.
That idiot Thomas sounded so hyped up, barely able to contain himself.
"Damn, I've been waiting for you to say that for three years."
*****