Chapter 1

Victor Shaw fired me three days before my stock options were due to become mine.

"Your employment ends today," the woman from Human Resources said.

"And my health insurance?"

She looked down at the folder between us. "It remains active until midnight."

My appointment with the specialist was Thursday.

Victor sat across from me in the glass conference room, wearing the navy jacket he saved for investors. He had used my work in every important sales pitch Voxera had ever made. Now he couldn't look me in the eye.

"Why am I being fired?" I asked.

"We've discussed the culture concerns," he said.

"You mean I asked whether the product does what you tell clients it does."

His mouth tightened. "You repeatedly resist strategic decisions."

"I refused to lie."

"That tone is part of the problem."

There it was. Five years of work reduced to my tone.

My laptop chimed. A message appeared in the corner of the screen.

DEVELOPER ACCESS REMOVED.

Someone outside the room was shutting me out while Victor spoke.

The HR woman pushed the folder toward me. "Voxera is offering four weeks of severance if you sign today."

Four weeks. Most of it would disappear into rent. Then there was the doctor, the tests, and whatever a hospital charged a woman who had no insurance by Thursday morning.

"What happens to my options?"

"All unvested options are forfeited when employment ends."

"The next portion vests Friday."

She gave me a small, careful nod. "I understand."

"Did you schedule this before Friday on purpose?" I asked Victor.

He leaned back. "The timing reflects the needs of the business."

That was his answer.

Years earlier, when Voxera had six employees and secondhand desks, Victor had promised that my smaller salary would be worth it when the company grew. I had worked through holidays, recorded test phrases in a hot sound booth, and rebuilt failed models at two in the morning. On Friday, part of that promise would have become real.

He had beaten Friday by three days.

I opened the severance agreement.

The first pages said I would give up the right to bring claims against Voxera. The last pages said I couldn't reveal anything that might damage the company or its partners.

"This doesn't just protect confidential information," I said. "It stops me from talking about anything that makes Voxera look bad."

"It's standard," the HR woman replied.

"Then why do I have only until five to sign it?"

Victor's patience slipped. "You had access to sensitive systems, Selena."

"I built those systems."

"For Voxera."

The words hurt more than I expected.

My laptop chimed again.

REMOTE LOCK IN TWO MINUTES.

I opened the folder containing my personal work log. I had kept dates, hours, project decisions, and questions Victor answered in private but refused to put into meeting notes. The company owned the laptop. It did not own my record of what had happened to me.

"Stop using the device," the HR woman said.

"I'm saving my employment records."

"Everything on that laptop belongs to Voxera."

"My hours don't."

Victor stood. A security officer opened the conference-room door behind him.

Ninety seconds.

My first export failed because my company login was already dead. I tried again through the employee folder that Voxera's own policy allowed us to use for personal records.

The progress bar stopped at eighty-three percent.

The security officer stepped closer. "Ma'am."

"Give her a second," Victor said, as though a small kindness could erase what he had done.

Ninety-one percent.

Ninety-six.

Complete.

I closed the folder. A product demonstration was open underneath it. A silver circle pulsed above the words CONCIERGE PREVIEW.

Then the computer spoke.

"Please state the purpose of your visit."

I stopped breathing.

The voice was mine.

Years earlier, when Voxera couldn't afford a professional speaker, I had recorded hundreds of phrases to test our early system. Victor had promised the recordings were temporary. Internal use only. They would be deleted before any product reached a customer.

I knew this sentence because he had made me repeat it until I sounded warm enough.

"Again," he had said through the booth microphone. "Like you're speaking to someone who's afraid of being judged."

I had given him exactly what he wanted.

Now that voice was inside a product I had never seen.

The screen went black.

The security officer took the laptop from my hands.

I pushed the severance agreement back across the table without signing it.

Victor's face hardened. "Think carefully."

"I just did."

The officer escorted me down eighteen floors. He carried the laptop. I carried a cardboard box with two notebooks, a mug, and a dead plant.

In the lobby, I touched my badge to the exit gate.

The reader flashed red.

ACCESS DENIED.

Then the speakers above the reception desk came alive.

"Good morning," my voice said to a room full of strangers. "How may I assist you?"

Voxera had taken away my job, my insurance, and the future Victor had promised me.

But it had kept my voice.