All that remained was the smell of burnt coffee, printer toner, and the slow death of the best opportunity our little agency had seen in months.
“Nick, I’m sorry,” I said. “I am. But what was I supposed to do? Drive past her?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
The office went completely still.
For a moment, I honestly wondered if I’d heard him correctly.
He stepped closer.
“Yes, Sebastian. You were supposed to keep driving. You had a responsibility here. You had a team depending on you. You had clients waiting. We are not a charity. We are a business.”
My ears began to ring.
I’d worked at that agency for almost three years.
I’d taken late calls, skipped lunches, sacrificed weekends, repaired failing campaigns, calmed furious customers, trained new employees, and pulled results from nowhere when nobody else could.
I’d been the first person in and the last person out so many times that the cleaning crew knew my daughters’ names.
And now I was being told that I should have left a stranger beside the road because a presentation mattered more.
“Nick,” I said, my voice shaking, “I have given everything to this place.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
“I don’t care,” he said. “Clean out your things. You’re done here.”
I stood frozen.
My mind couldn’t catch up with what had just happened.
A few people looked away.
Others watched me with something resembling pity.
One of the account managers shifted in her chair and stared at her keyboard as if the keys had suddenly become fascinating.
Nobody said anything.
Nick motioned toward the hallway.
“That’s the end of it.”
I wish I could say I walked away with dignity.
I wish I could say I gave him some powerful speech about loyalty and humanity and how he would regret this someday.
The truth was much uglier.
Heat rushed into my face.
My throat tightened.
And before I could stop myself, tears burned my eyes.
I turned so quickly that I nearly dropped my bag.
I heard a chair scrape behind me, followed by nothing except my own footsteps as I left the office I’d poured everything into and stepped into the harsh morning sunlight like a man being forced out of his own life.
The moment I climbed into my car, I locked the doors.
Then I grabbed the steering wheel and screamed.
Not words.
Just sound.
