Chapter 4
I said, "Project Renewal. Thirty-nine pages of strategy. I wrote it. Urban Voices. The user persona matrix. I built it.
"The Spring Initiative. From the initial concept to the final execution, I managed the entire thing by myself."
I looked her dead in the eye. "Every single deck you presented to the board had your name on it."
"Those were team achievements," Serena said.
"The team?" I scoffed. "Maya doesn't even know how to run a pivot table in Excel. Yet you slapped a 'Strategic Support' title on her and handed her a 6,700 bonus."
Serena's lips pressed into a thin line. "Nina, don't get cocky. How far do you honestly think you can go in this industry?
"Without this agency backing you, you are nothing."
"Watch me."
I reached for the door handle. "I'll finish the handover docs today. Tomorrow is my last day.
"I'll map out all my workflows so clearly that even a toddler could understand them."
As I stepped out into the hallway, I heard a sharp thud behind me.
She had slammed her fist on the table.
*****
November 15th. My last day at Aurora Media.
I showed up at 9 AM, earlier than I usually did.
It wasn't out of nostalgia. I just needed to zip up the handover files and do one final review of the workflow diagrams.
That was how I operated. Finish the job, and leave with a clean slate.
At 9:30 AM, I uploaded five organized folders to the shared drive and tagged everyone in Slack.
I said: [Handover docs are uploaded.
[They include the prep materials for Urban City, the structural framework for Spring Breeze, our daily data reporting templates, all client comms logs, and the monthly competitor trackers.
[If you have questions, I'm here until 5.]
The chat went quiet for a while.
Finally, Sophie replied with a simple, [Got it.]
Nobody else said a word.
I started wiping my personal files from my computer. I transferred all three years of my work logs onto my own flash drive.
At 10 AM, Maya walked over.
She stood next to my cubicle with her arms crossed. "So, Nina, where are you heading? Or is it top secret?"
"Not at all. I'm going to Galaxy Interactive," I replied.
Maya froze for a second, then smirked.
It wasn't a congratulatory smile. It was pure disdain.
"Galaxy Interactive? That startup? They've only been around for two years. They barely even have a real office," Maya said.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Are you sure about this? How much are they even paying you?"
"I'm not discussing my salary."
Maya shrugged. "Suit yourself. Good luck."
She turned and took a couple of steps, then stopped. "Oh, before you bounce, email me the client contact list for Urban City.
"I have to take over some of those accounts."
I stared at her back.
It had been three years.
She didn't even know which folder the client contacts were saved in because she had never bothered to look for them.
"It's on the shared drive. Third folder, second sub-directory," I said.
She replied, "Just email it to me. I don't feel like digging for it."
I didn't respond.
By 3 PM, I was completely packed.
Just a single canvas tote bag holding a coffee mug, a notebook, and a few pens.
At 5 PM, I shut down my laptop, stood up, and took one last look around the room.
No farewell happy hour.
No goodbye cake.
Not a single person even said "take care."
As I walked out the front doors of the building, my phone chimed.
It was a text from Victor. [See you on Monday. Your new office is ready to go.]
I stood in the evening breeze and let out a deep breath.
Three years.
It was finally over.
*****
Monday, November 18th.
By 8:30 AM, I was standing outside Galaxy Interactive.
Unlike Aurora's twenty-six-story glass tower, Galaxy was tucked away in a creative park.
It was a standalone three-story building painted off-white. Two large oak trees framed the entrance.
The receptionist had a sharp bob. She stood up the second she saw me. "Nina Townsend, right? Mr. Vance said to send you right up."
On the third floor, at the end of the hallway, there was a south-facing office.
The door was open.
Victor Vance sat inside with a pile of paperwork spread across his desk.
"You made it. Grab a seat," he said.
He slid a document across the desk. "Your onboarding contract. Take a look. Brand Ops Director. Base salary is 1,000 dollars a month.
"Quarterly performance bonuses are separate. The equity pool is exactly what we discussed."
I flipped through a couple of pages and signed my name.
Victor watched me and smirked. "Straight to the point."
"I reviewed the terms last month," I replied.
"Fair enough," he said, standing up. "Come on. Let's meet the team."
Brand Operations was a lean crew. Just three people so far.
Lily Lawson, 26, Content Ops. She jumped ship from an influencer agency last year and wrote at lightning speed.
Ian Chase, 28, Data Analyst. He came from a growth role in big tech. He wore thick black frames and was a guy of few words.
Cecilia Shaw, 25, Designer. Only a year out of college, but her portfolio was killer.
Including me, that made four.
"Small team, heavy workload, tight budget," Victor said.
He stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. "But the agency is making a massive push in Q1. Our entire brand playbook rests on your shoulders."
He shot me a look. "Nina calls the shots. I only care about results."
Lily flashed me a bright smile. "Nina. Heard a lot about you."
"Don't believe everything you hear," I joked.
"That Substack piece you wrote tearing down consumer brand campaigns? I bookmarked it and read it three times."
I blinked, caught off guard.
In my three years at Aurora, no colleague had ever said something like that to me.