Chapter 3: The Name Nobody Was Supposed to Say
Greg's eyes went to my phone.
He couldn't read the screen from where he was standing, but he knew something had shifted.
I could see it in the way his jaw tightened.
"Linda." His voice dropped, the performance gone.
"This isn't the place for this."
"You chose the place," I said.
"Not me."
I turned back to the group.
Forty-something coworkers standing in the sun, towels in their hands, nobody moving.
"The person who just messaged me," I said, "is someone most of you remember.
Her name is Carol Simms."
Diane made a sound that wasn't quite a word.
Three other people exchanged a look I recognized — the look of people who knew exactly who Carol was and had spent four years pretending they didn't.
Greg's voice came up fast.
"Carol left voluntarily.
That's documented.
Whatever she's told you—"
"She hasn't told me anything yet," I said.
"She just told me she has recordings."
The word landed like something dropped on concrete.
Greg turned to the side, one hand going to the back of his neck.
It was the first time I had ever seen him break a physical habit in public.
He always stood straight.
Always kept his hands visible.
Always looked like a man who had nothing to hide.
"This is completely inappropriate," he said, turning back.
"You're standing in front of the entire team making accusations based on a text message from a disgruntled ex-employee."
"I haven't made any accusations," I said.
"I read four words out loud."
Marcus, from the analytics team, let out a short breath that might have been a laugh.
Greg pointed at him.
"You think this is funny?"
Marcus didn't answer.
But he didn't look away either.
I stepped down from the platform and walked toward the nearest table.
I set the folder down and opened it.
"While we wait to hear from Carol," I said, "I thought we could talk about the Q3 restructuring report.
The one with Greg's name on the cover and my work on every page."
Someone behind me said, "Oh."
Greg moved toward the table.
"Those documents are company property.
You don't have authorization—"
"I wrote them," I said.
"Every single one."
He stopped two feet away.
Close enough that I could see the sunscreen on his collar, the slight flush creeping up from his jaw.
"You're going to regret this," he said, low enough that only I could hear.
"I already regret twelve years," I said.
"What's one more day?"
His expression shifted into something I hadn't seen before.
Not anger.
Something colder.
"You have no idea what Carol actually has," he said.
"Or what she wants.
She didn't leave this company quietly because she was brave, Linda.
She left because I gave her a choice.
And she made it."
I held his gaze.
"Then I guess we'll find out what she chose to keep," I said.
My phone buzzed again.
I looked down.
Carol had sent a second message.
May you like
*I'm in the parking lot.
I've been here since nine.*
