Chapter 3

I put everything into the cardboard box, one item at a time.

The department assistant, a young girl, walked over, her eyes swollen from crying. "Mr. Reed..."

Her voice was choked with emotion. "Here's your badge and laptop. The director asked me to collect them."

I nodded and took the badge off my neck. I handed it to her.

Then I closed my laptop.

On that laptop were the training materials I'd burned the midnight oil for two weeks to finish.

It also held eighteen years of the company's sales data and customer analysis models.

I handed it to the young girl. "Thanks for your hard work."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Mr. Reed, how could they do this to you?"

I patted her on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work."

With the box in my arms, I took one last look at the place I'd spent eighteen years.

People were coming and going, and the place was buzzing with activity. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

Yeah, that was how it went. The world kept turning, no matter who left.

The company letting go of a veteran like me was like an elephant shaking off a speck of dust.

I turned and headed for the elevator.

No one said goodbye.

*****

The elevator doors opened.

Some folks from other departments were already inside.

When they saw the box in my arms, they froze for a moment, then smiled, polite but distant. "Mr. Reed."

I nodded and walked in.

The elevator was awkwardly silent.

The mirror-like walls showed me my own reflection.

I was just over forty, still not old. But the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes were hard to hide. My hair was more gray than before.

These eighteen years felt like a dream.

The elevator reached the first floor.

I carried my box out through the main entrance of Brighton Corporation.

The afternoon sun was almost blinding. I squinted. Glancing back at the skyscraper, I took it all in.

I used to think I'd work here until I retired. Guess I was fooling myself.

I sat down on the curb next to the flowerbed and took out my dog-eared notebook from the cardboard box.

On the first page was a line I wrote when I first got hired: [Give it everything I've got and become the best salesperson around.]

I really did it.

I turned to the last page.

There were a few fresh notes I'd scribbled down yesterday about some new ideas for the training material. The ink was still fresh.

I closed the notebook and put it back in the box. My throat was a little dry.

I looked up and spotted a coffee shop across the street. That was my usual spot.

Whenever I was meeting a client or needed to clear my head, I'd end up there.

I crossed the street, clutching my cardboard box. I pushed open the door to the coffee shop. The wind chime rang out with a crisp jingle.

"Welcome." The barista gave me a familiar smile.

I found a corner seat by the window.

I set my cardboard box down by my feet and ordered a cup of coffee.

Then I opened up my own laptop. The screen lit up, showing a family photo as the wallpaper.

I hesitated for a second, but in the end, I sent the training materials from my work laptop to my personal email, using an encrypted message.

That was my life's work, eighteen years of sweat and heart. No way I was leaving it for Henry or letting that backstabbing company keep it.

Once I was done, I leaned back and watched the crowd drift by outside.

My mind was totally blank.

I had no idea how long I sat there.

The coffee was cold.

A gentle voice came from across the table. "Charles?"

I came back to myself and looked up.

A man in a gray casual outfit, his hair silvered with age, stood by the table, smiling at me.

It was Richard Lane, the chairman of the group.

He hardly ever showed up at the office. I'd only seen him a handful of times at the annual awards ceremonies.

He never forgot me. After all, I was up on stage every year, collecting awards.

He always liked to point at me and tell the new employees, "Look, this is the backbone of our company."

I stood up. "Mr. Lane."