The commuter train smelled like wet wool and old coffee. Clara hadn't taken public transit in three years, not since she leased the BMW. But with five dollars of gas in the tank and a deactivated credit card, driving into the city wasn't an option.
She spent the forty-minute ride staring out the scratched window, clutching her leather tote bag. Her weekend had been a masterclass in isolation. She had sat in the apartment, rationing the groceries Arthur had bought, unable to make a phone call or use the internet. She had tried going to the bank on Saturday morning, only to be told by a sympathetic teller that the joint account had been frozen due to "suspicious activity flags" raised by the primary account holder.
Arthur had built a cage perfectly tailored to her, and then he'd locked the door.
But it was Monday now. The office was her turf. If she could just get to her desk, plug her laptop into the corporate Ethernet, and corner David, she could start doing damage control on the Q3 presentation. She just needed a strategy.
She stepped off the elevator onto the 34th floor at 8:45 AM.
The bullpen was already buzzing, but the energy felt wrong. As Clara walked down the main aisle, conversation dipped. A few junior analysts looked away quickly, suddenly fascinated by their monitors.
Clara ignored them and headed straight for David's glass-walled office.
The blinds were drawn. The door was shut.
She knocked lightly and reached for the handle, but a hand clamped down gently on her shoulder.
"Clara. He's not in there."
Clara turned. It was Brenda, the Senior Director of Human Resources. Brenda was a woman who practically communicated in liability clauses, wearing her usual gray pantsuit and a perfectly neutral expression.
"Oh. Is he in a meeting?" Clara asked, forcing a polite smile.
"Yes. He's on the 40th floor with Legal," Brenda said flatly. "And I need you to come with me, please."
Clara's forced smile vanished. "Legal? Brenda, what's going on?"
"Conference Room C. Let's not have this conversation in the hallway." It wasn't a request.
Clara followed Brenda away from the bullpen and into one of the windowless interior meeting rooms. A man Clara didn't recognize was already sitting at the table, a closed laptop resting in front of him. He didn't stand up or introduce himself when they walked in.
"Take a seat, Clara," Brenda said, closing the door behind them. The click of the latch sounded incredibly loud in the small room.
Clara sat down slowly. She crossed her legs, trying to project a calm, executive presence. "If this is about the Q3 presentation with Marcus on Friday, I've already drafted a formal—"
"This has nothing to do with the Q3 presentation," Brenda interrupted. She sat across from Clara, folding her hands neatly on the table. "Though Marcus did raise concerns about your competency, which prompted us to look into your recent project assignments. Specifically, how you were fast-tracked for the Gallagher account."
Clara felt the blood drain from her face. "I earned that lead. My numbers this quarter—"
"Are solid. Yes," Brenda said. She nodded to the man next to her. He opened the laptop and spun it around so it faced Clara.
"On Friday evening, the anonymous compliance portal received a tip regarding a fraternization and conflict of interest violation," Brenda continued, her voice devoid of any inflection. "We pulled the server data this morning to verify."
Clara looked at the screen. It was a video player.
The man pressed the spacebar.
It was the security feed from the 34th-floor hallway. The timecode in the bottom right corner read Thursday, 10:14 PM.
The black-and-white footage showed Clara walking down the hall, unlocking her office door. Ten seconds later, David appeared on screen. He looked around the empty hallway, stepped into her office, and pulled the door shut.
The video jumped forward. The timecode now read Thursday, 10:42 PM.
A man walked into the frame holding a brown paper bag. It was Arthur. The camera angle was high, but Clara could see the slump of his tired shoulders, the dampness of his jacket from the rain.
She watched, completely paralyzed, as her husband walked up to her office door. She watched him reach for the handle, stop, and stand perfectly still for two agonizing minutes.
She watched him lower the bag to the floor and walk away.
The video jumped one last time to 11:15 PM. The door opened. David walked out, followed by Clara. She was fixing her hair. David patted her lower back, and they walked toward the elevators together.
The man hit the spacebar, pausing the video on Clara's face.
The silence in the conference room was absolute. Clara felt a wave of intense, physical nausea wash over her.
Arthur hadn't just stood outside the door. He had weaponized the timeline. He had packaged her infidelity and her nepotism into a neat, undeniable corporate file, and he had hand-delivered it to the executioner.
"Company policy explicitly forbids undisclosed romantic relationships between direct reports," Brenda said, breaking the silence. "Especially when the superior is making decisions regarding bonuses, accounts, and promotions."
"Brenda, I..." Clara opened her mouth, but she couldn't pull enough air into her lungs to form the words.
"David has already been placed on unpaid administrative leave pending a formal board review," Brenda stated. She slid a single sheet of paper across the table. "You are not a regional director, Clara. So the board doesn't need to review you."
Clara looked down at the paper. Notice of Immediate Termination.
"Your access badge has been deactivated," Brenda said, standing up. "Security will escort you to your desk to collect any personal items. You have fifteen minutes."