Chapter 2

That pen was the same Hero-brand fountain pen the company gave me as a reward after I led the team to win the South Coast Region market last year. My name was engraved on it.

How ironic. I didn't take the pen.

I pulled out my own pen and signed my name.

Charles Reed. I signed this name for eighteen years. After this time, my name wouldn't mean anything here anymore.

After signing, I pushed the document back. "I'll have my stuff out by the end of the day. Who should I give my badge and laptop to?"

The HR director seemed caught off guard by how straightforward I was. He hesitated for a moment. "Just give them to the department assistant."

I stood up and didn't look at them again. I turned and pulled open the conference room door.

Standing outside was Henry.

When he saw me, a flicker of panic crossed his face.

Then, he quickly put on an expression of concern and heartbreak. "Mr. Reed."

He spoke, his voice the right amount of husky. "I just heard..."

I stared at Henry.

He was decked out in a sharp custom suit, not a hair out of place.

The watch on his wrist was the one I bought for him out of my own pocket after he took home the sales champion title last quarter.

I told him, "Young people should have something nice to their name."

He stood in my way, wearing a look of deep sorrow. It was as if I hadn't been laid off, but had been diagnosed with some terminal illness. "Mr. Reed, what's going on? This is so sudden. How could the company do this to you?"

I didn't say a word and watched his performance.

I'd been mentoring him for five years.

He started out as a rookie who couldn't even get a foot in the door with clients. I taught him how to put together proposals, took him to meet clients, and helped him close deals.

He climbed to the sales champion spot in three years.

Just last week, he came to my office with a cup of coffee. "Mr. Reed, can I co-teach a session with you at next week's training? I want to share my experience with the new colleagues."

I was happy at the time. I thought he had grown up and understood what it meant to pay it forward.

Then I got it. He wanted to get a taste of the seat he was about to inherit.

I looked over his shoulder at my old office: the Sales Training Director's office.

My nameplate was already gone from the door.

A cleaning lady was pushing a cart, wheeling out the plants I'd kept in my office. I'd grown every single one of those plants myself.

Henry followed my gaze. His face looked even more "sincere." "Don't be upset, Mr. Reed. I'll go talk to the boss for you. No one can erase your contributions to the company."

He was about to turn away as he spoke.

I spoke up, "No need."

My voice was calm. "It's already decided."

Henry stopped and turned back. "But—"

"Henry," I cut him off, "you're good at what you do."

His face twitched. He didn't seem to catch my meaning.

I took a step forward and brushed past him. "You'll have no trouble keeping this seat warm."

I didn't look back.

I could feel him freeze in place.

All his fake bravado crumbled at my calm words.

I went back to my desk.

It wasn't really an office anymore, just an open-plan cubicle.

I'd been sitting here for eighteen years.

Even after I got promoted, I turned down every offer to move to a private office.

I always said I wanted to be where my guys could see me whenever they looked up.

They really were all looking at me. Some looked at me with sympathy, some with pity, some even with a hint of schadenfreude, but most avoided my eyes.

One old hand I'd mentored for ten years, who once slapped his chest and swore, "Boss Reed, I'll follow you for life," was hiding behind his monitor, pretending to be on an urgent call.

I smiled and opened the drawer. There wasn't much personal stuff, only a mug I'd used for ten years, a dog-eared notebook, and a photo of my family.