Chapter 1
My wife, the CEO, told me to give up my VP spot so her first love, who got back from abroad, could take my place.
I smiled.
I slapped three documents on her desk.
She was busy video chatting with Charles Winston, didn't even bother to look up, just scribbled her signature on all of them. "Alright, alright, pack your stuff and get out."
One was my resignation letter.
Another was the divorce agreement.
The third was the paperwork for transferring fifty-one percent of the company's shares.
After three years, I, Gavin Grant, could finally drop the act.
*****
I saw it coming when Isabelle Shaw told me to step down.
After all, the day Charles Winston came back, she posted on her social media: [An old flame returns, and suddenly anything feels possible.] It came with a throwback photo of the two of them at Cambridge ten years ago.
That day, I was in the middle of renewing a contract with Marcus Lawson from Stellar Holdings when my phone buzzed. I glanced at it and smiled.
She made sure I couldn't see that post.
But she forgot we had mutual friends.
The next morning, I had arrived at the office when Isabelle's secretary came over. "Vice President Grant, Ms. Shaw wants to see you."
I set my coffee down and straightened my cuffs.
When I walked in, Isabelle was lounging in an executive chair that cost roughly 670,000 dollars, idly spinning a Montblanc pen between her fingers.
She looked at me like I was nothing more than last season's leftovers. "Charles is back, you know."
I replied, "Yeah, I know. He's run three IPOs overseas, he's no slouch."
She paused. "We need some new blood around here."
I didn't say a word.
"As for the VP spot," she finally glanced at me, "it's time for you to move over."
Move over.
Three years, and she expected me to step aside like it was nothing.
I nodded. "Alright."
Isabelle was clearly caught off guard by how quickly I agreed. She froze for a moment, then slipped right back into her signature 'everything's under control' look.
"Glad you can see the bigger picture. The company will make sure you're looked after." She said.
Looked after.
Probably meant shoving me into some dead-end department to wait out my retirement.
I smiled, didn't bother to respond, and walked out of her office.
Back at my desk, I opened my drawer.
At the very bottom was a manila envelope with three documents inside. I'd prepared them six months ago.
It wasn't like I had some kind of sixth sense.
It was that, over the past three years, every time Isabelle brought up Charles, her eyes sparkled the same way they did when she was poring over the numbers.
I knew her inside out.
For her, financial reports and Charles belonged to the same category, things she actually cared about.
And I was never one of them.
At three in the afternoon, I walked into Isabelle's office with the manila envelope in hand.
She was grinning at her computer screen, and on the other end of the video call, Charles was talking, his voice dripping with that smug vibe all overseas grads seem to have.
Charles said, "Isabelle, I landed and the first thing I wanted was to see you. All these years in London, what I missed most was your homemade lemon bars..."
Isabelle's smile was so wide it almost reached her ears.
I set the three documents on her desk. "Sign these."
She didn't even bother to look up. Her right hand reached for the pen, while her left kept her chin propped up as she kept smiling at Charles on the screen. "What's this?"
"Resignation," I replied.
"Okay."
She scribbled her signature without even glancing at them.
Signed the first one.
Signed the second.
Signed the third.
Isabelle tossed the pen aside and waved me off like I was nothing but a fly buzzing around. "Alright, that's it. Go pack your stuff. Charles is coming in tomorrow, don't make a fool of yourself in front of him."
She never even glanced at the paperwork.
She didn't even glance at the titles.
I gathered up the documents, turned to the door, and paused for a second. "Ms. Shaw."
"What is it?" She finally looked over, but her eyes were basically saying, "Hurry up and get out."
"Hope you find happiness."
Isabelle frowned, probably thinking I was being dramatic.
"Get out." She demanded.
I smiled.
After I closed the door, the hallway was dead quiet.
I pulled the documents from the manila envelope and held them up to the light. The signatures on all three were clear and neat.
My resignation letter.
The divorce agreement.
The 51% share transfer agreement.
My father-in-law gave me those shares on his deathbed, afraid Isabelle wouldn't be able to run the company by herself.
Now she says she doesn't need me.
Fine, then I'm out.
I pulled out my phone and texted Frankie Chapman: [BBQ's on me tonight.]
Three seconds later, Frankie shot back: [Dude, did you get cheated on or something? Last time you picked up the tab was your wedding day three years ago.]
I replied: [Yep.]
Frankie: [For real? I'll be there in ten. Save me fifty chicken wings.]
As I stepped out of the office, I took a deep breath.
The March breeze brought over the smell of cumin from the BBQ joint next door.
Man, that smells amazing.
No joke, there really was a barbecue place right next door.
I walked over, grabbed a seat, and told the owner, "Give me a hundred wings to start."
The owner gave me a look. "A hundred wings? Dude, you're eating all that by yourself?"
"Only me," I said, loosening my tie. "Feeling good today."
Three years.
Three years as VP at Shaw Corp, wearing a suit every day, talking corporate BS, having coffee with clients, and always taking the fall for Isabelle.
She thought all those big clients came for the Shaw Corp brand.
But what she didn't realize was that those people were only here because of me, because of my clout.
Now, all that clout is gone.
No. My clout wasn't gone; it was finally mine again.