I wasn’t supposed to hear it. The printer jammed, the vent hummed, and then his voice slid through the wall. “She’s legacy. We’ll sunset her quietly,” Darren laughed. Someone else asked, “Does she know?” I froze. Toner on my hands. Fifteen years erased with one word. That’s when I realized—this wasn’t the end of my career. It was the beginning of his mistake.
I knew something was wrong the week my office plant died. The ficus had survived fifteen years of mergers, budget freezes, and one intern who reheated salmon every day at noon. But now it wilted, leaves curling inward like it could sense the air had turned toxic. That was around the same time Darren Cole…