Chapter 6

The next morning, I hadn't even made it to my office before I was called into the general manager's office.

The GM—a middle-aged man in his fifties—looked at me like he was about to put down a sick dog.

"Sandra, your work has always been solid. Everyone knows that. But..."

The department head, who'd always had it out for me, jumped in gleefully: "Ms. Phillips, your personal issues have already affected team morale. This isn't a soap opera. We can't have employees bringing family disputes into the workplace."

I stared him down. "My numbers are the highest in the department. I hit my KPIs this month—actually, I exceeded them."

"Numbers aren't everything!" He raised his voice. "Do you know how much gossip has spread around the office because of your little drama? Our biggest client wants to change their point of contact. How am I supposed to explain that to the board?"

The GM sighed and finally delivered the verdict. "Sandra... Phillips Industries withdrew their funding yesterday. That big project you were handling—it's dead."

I went cold. "Phillips Industries?"

My father's company. The company he built from nothing. Even after retirement, he still held a large stake.

The department head smirked. "You didn't know? Your own father signed the withdrawal agreement personally. Looks like your family problems are worse than we thought."

My nails dug into my palms.

Him.

My own father.

He didn't just abandon me emotionally—he was destroying my career.

He wanted to ruin me!

"Give me three days," I said, my voice trembling. "I can find other investors."

But the GM shook his head with practiced sympathy. "The board's already made its decision, Sandra. You should... take some time off. Paid leave."

Paid leave?

Corporate-speak for "quit before we fire you."

I looked at them—one playing good cop, the other bad—and almost laughed.

I straightened my shoulders.

"No need. I resign. Effective immediately."

I turned and walked out without looking back.

Back at my desk, everyone was staring. Some looked away, others whispered.

My assistant Jenna came over, her eyes red. "Ms. Phillips, please don't go..."

I smiled and patted her shoulder. "All good things must come to an end."

I started packing. There wasn't much. I'd worked so hard I'd barely left any personal items here.

Deep in one drawer, I found an old photo frame.

Inside was a picture from five years ago—Dad's sixtieth birthday.

He looked so proud. One arm around Mom, the other around me, grinning wide.

I remembered that night. He'd had a few drinks, pulled me close, and announced to everyone: "This is my daughter! My pride and joy!"

On the back, in his shaky handwriting: "My little firecracker."

I stared at that photo for a long time.

Was that really the girl in the picture—smiling so happily?

Were all those warm memories fake?

My hands started shaking. Anger and grief crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I ripped the photo out of the frame. Tore it up. Again and again.

Then I tossed the pieces into the trash.

Like throwing away my pathetic, worthless past.

I called my landlord and said I was moving out—keep the deposit.

Then I opened my phone and booked the earliest flight to Miami.

I couldn't spend one more day in this city.

---

The airport terminal was packed.

Boarding announcements echoed on a loop.

I sat in a corner, large sunglasses covering half my face, waiting to board.

I'd booked the first flight to Miami. A city where no one knew me. A place to start over.

I'd just stood up to head for the gate when the announcement blared overhead.

"Reminder for passenger Sandra Phillips: please come to the information desk. Your family is looking for you. They are very concerned."