Chapter 1 · Voted Out By Team, Lifted Up By Client

In our team of eight, seven people had voted against me.

Jessica Lane slapped the tally sheet on the whiteboard and circled my name in red.

She went over my name twice with the pen.

"Emily, you're out. No objections, right?" she said, flashing a smile.

It was the kind of smile that screamed, "Finally, mission accomplished."

I glanced around the conference table.

Grace Miller was absorbed in her phone, Tom Parker stared at the ceiling, and everyone else made a point of looking anywhere but at me.

Not a single person met my gaze.

It had been three years.

I managed the most important client for our team, bringing in eight million dollars in annual contracts.

That accounted for sixty percent of the team's total performance, all from me alone.

And yet, they voted to eliminate the only person whose personal number the client had saved in their phone.

I took off my employee badge and set it on the table.

"No objections," I said.

The door to the conference room clicked shut behind me.

The hallway light, broken for half a month, kept flickering on and off.

I'd barely taken a few steps when laughter came from behind the glass wall.

Through the frosted glass, I saw Grace lift her coffee cup and clink it with Jessica's.

"Congrats, Jessica. The last thorn is finally out," Grace said.

Jessica tried to keep her voice down, but the hallway was too quiet to hide anything.

"She should've been gone ages ago. Whenever the client praises her, it makes me look bad," she said.

I looked away and headed to my desk.

An email popped up on my screen. It was from Helen Bruce in HR.

Helen: [Hi Emily, please complete your offboarding process by 5:00 PM today.]

There was even a smiley face at the end.

My desk was by the window.

The pothos on the sill was something I bought in my first month—a few bucks with free shipping. Its vines now trailed all the way to the desktop.

Tom came out of the conference room and hesitated as he passed by.

"Hey, Emily..." he said, uncertain.

I didn't look up, keeping my eyes on the papers on my desk.

"If you want to say something, spit it out," I said.

He kept his voice low. "When we voted, Jessica said it was anonymous, but she was standing right behind us, looking at every vote."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you—"

"What do you want to say?" I looked at him. "Report Jessica? Or turn in all seven of you who voted me out?"

Tom's cheeks flushed.

He lingered awkwardly for a few seconds and then walked away.

I dug out three notebooks from the very bottom of my drawer.

Each cover was labeled "Tier A," "Tier B," and "Tier C."

The Tier-A notebook was the thickest.

Inside, I'd written every contact's habits and little preferences.

Aaron Harrison only drank premium black tea, never coffee, and only the first three brews.

Chris Chapman's son was taking the SAT, so I asked about test scores and avoided saying "failure" before exams.

Colin Blake was picky about PPT font sizes. Anything under 24 points got sent back, and loud red or green was forbidden.

None of this was in the company CRM system.

It existed only in my memory and these three notebooks.

The sound of Grace's heels grew louder as she walked up.

She was carrying the rest of Jessica's latte in her hand.

"Emily, Jessica wants you to sort out all the Brightwell Group client info and send it to me," she said.

"Which info?"

"Everything. Contacts, chat logs, quotes, and contract attachments. Don't leave anything out."

She admired her new manicure—soft pink, each nail adorned with a tiny rhinestone.

Last month, Brightwell Group asked her to put together a quarterly settlement report. She struggled with the formatting for three days and messaged me on WhatsApp at 11 PM, begging for help.

I pulled an all-nighter to get it done for her.

The next day, Jessica sent out a summary email saying, [The team worked together to complete this.]

She CC'd the entire department.

I nodded. "Sure. I'll handle it."

Grace walked away, clearly satisfied.

The caramel aroma from the latte drifted over to my desk.

I opened the folder on my computer called "Daily Backups."

It recorded three years of emails, three years of WhatsApp screenshots, and three years of original proposals. Each one had a timestamp.

My name was the only one on every file.

I didn't rush to send them out.

First, I watered the pothos on the windowsill.

A few more minutes wouldn't make any difference today.

Chapter 1

In our team of eight, seven people had voted against me.

Jessica Lane slapped the tally sheet on the whiteboard and circled my name in red.

She went over my name twice with the pen.

"Emily, you're out. No objections, right?" she said, flashing a smile.

It was the kind of smile that screamed, "Finally, mission accomplished."

I glanced around the conference table.

Grace Miller was absorbed in her phone, Tom Parker stared at the ceiling, and everyone else made a point of looking anywhere but at me.

Not a single person met my gaze.

It had been three years.

I managed the most important client for our team, bringing in eight million dollars in annual contracts.

That accounted for sixty percent of the team's total performance, all from me alone.

And yet, they voted to eliminate the only person whose personal number the client had saved in their phone.

I took off my employee badge and set it on the table.

"No objections," I said.

The door to the conference room clicked shut behind me.

The hallway light, broken for half a month, kept flickering on and off.

I'd barely taken a few steps when laughter came from behind the glass wall.

Through the frosted glass, I saw Grace lift her coffee cup and clink it with Jessica's.

"Congrats, Jessica. The last thorn is finally out," Grace said.

Jessica tried to keep her voice down, but the hallway was too quiet to hide anything.

"She should've been gone ages ago. Whenever the client praises her, it makes me look bad," she said.

I looked away and headed to my desk.

An email popped up on my screen. It was from Helen Bruce in HR.

Helen: [Hi Emily, please complete your offboarding process by 5:00 PM today.]

There was even a smiley face at the end.

My desk was by the window.

The pothos on the sill was something I bought in my first month—a few bucks with free shipping. Its vines now trailed all the way to the desktop.

Tom came out of the conference room and hesitated as he passed by.

"Hey, Emily..." he said, uncertain.

I didn't look up, keeping my eyes on the papers on my desk.

"If you want to say something, spit it out," I said.

He kept his voice low. "When we voted, Jessica said it was anonymous, but she was standing right behind us, looking at every vote."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you—"

"What do you want to say?" I looked at him. "Report Jessica? Or turn in all seven of you who voted me out?"

Tom's cheeks flushed.

He lingered awkwardly for a few seconds and then walked away.

I dug out three notebooks from the very bottom of my drawer.

Each cover was labeled "Tier A," "Tier B," and "Tier C."

The Tier-A notebook was the thickest.

Inside, I'd written every contact's habits and little preferences.

Aaron Harrison only drank premium black tea, never coffee, and only the first three brews.

Chris Chapman's son was taking the SAT, so I asked about test scores and avoided saying "failure" before exams.

Colin Blake was picky about PPT font sizes. Anything under 24 points got sent back, and loud red or green was forbidden.

None of this was in the company CRM system.

It existed only in my memory and these three notebooks.

The sound of Grace's heels grew louder as she walked up.

She was carrying the rest of Jessica's latte in her hand.

"Emily, Jessica wants you to sort out all the Brightwell Group client info and send it to me," she said.

"Which info?"

"Everything. Contacts, chat logs, quotes, and contract attachments. Don't leave anything out."

She admired her new manicure—soft pink, each nail adorned with a tiny rhinestone.

Last month, Brightwell Group asked her to put together a quarterly settlement report. She struggled with the formatting for three days and messaged me on WhatsApp at 11 PM, begging for help.

I pulled an all-nighter to get it done for her.

The next day, Jessica sent out a summary email saying, [The team worked together to complete this.]

She CC'd the entire department.

I nodded. "Sure. I'll handle it."

Grace walked away, clearly satisfied.

The caramel aroma from the latte drifted over to my desk.

I opened the folder on my computer called "Daily Backups."

It recorded three years of emails, three years of WhatsApp screenshots, and three years of original proposals. Each one had a timestamp.

My name was the only one on every file.

I didn't rush to send them out.

First, I watered the pothos on the windowsill.

A few more minutes wouldn't make any difference today.