Chapter 2

Back in the hospital room, Mom tried again to convince me that work should come first.

I tucked the blanket around her. "It's fine. I've already handed everything over."

That afternoon, I took a billing statement downstairs to the billing office and ran into a coworker who was there with her father for a follow-up appointment.

Tessa Quinn chatted with me for a moment before saying, "Caleb asked Vivian yesterday whether all your vacation time would delay the projects. We assumed you'd talked it over with her already."

My hand froze on the billing statement.

"Vivian heard about my leave from Caleb?"

Tessa blinked. "Wait. You didn't tell her yourself?"

Overhead pages echoed through the lobby, but all I could hear was her question.

Someone had been monitoring me for Vivian. She'd accepted his report, even though it bypassed her own procedures, and then called to lecture me.

Tessa realized she'd said too much.

"He probably just got worried about the project," she said quickly. "He saw the meeting assignments change and asked her about it."

Clever. Caleb hadn't gone digging through my confidential leave records. He'd simply noticed a schedule change. He hadn't accused me of abandoning my responsibilities, either. He'd expressed concern for the company.

Every move was calculated to look innocent.

And this wasn't the first time.

When I'd taken half a day off for Mom's hospitalization, Vivian called me within ten minutes. Afterward, I checked with Nora Bishop, our HR manager. She confirmed that even a deputy director's leave request didn't get escalated directly to the CEO.

Vivian had written that policy herself. She'd insisted I shouldn't have to inform her personally, because she didn't want anyone accusing us of blurring the lines between our marriage and work.

Apparently, the rules didn't matter if Caleb could quietly route information around them.

"Want me to tell HR?" Tessa asked.

"Don't bother."

If I'd intended to stay, I might have investigated until I knew exactly what happened. But I had no interest left in fighting for fairness here.

Only people who still wanted to belong bothered fixing a broken system.

When my name was finally called, the billing rep pulled up Mom's account and told me insurance wouldn't cover the next stage of treatment. We'd need another $5,000 up front.

I stared at the statement, trying to work out where I'd find it.

After several years as deputy director, five thousand dollars shouldn't have been a problem.

But two months earlier, a major client payment had been delayed. Vivian said the company was short on operating cash and asked whether I could lend it money from my personal savings.

I didn't hesitate. I transferred my liquid savings, including the money I'd set aside to repair Mom's aging house.

Vivian had squeezed my hand. "I can always count on you, Adrian."

The company still hadn't repaid the loan. My year-end bonus had been wiped out. And now, when my mother needed treatment, I was exactly $5,000 short.

I sat in the waiting area and thought about everything that had happened since Caleb Pierce joined us.

His skills assessment had been unremarkable. He wasn't even on the shortlist until Vivian personally pulled out his application.

"He comes from a struggling family," she'd said. "He's willing to work hard. He deserves a chance."

Once hired, though, he was forever taking time off. His father's appointments. His sister's exams. A leak in his apartment. Each excuse sounded reasonable on its own.

Company policy allowed no more than three personal days a month, but he repeatedly received paid leave beyond that limit.

Interns weren't eligible for performance bonuses. Vivian had accounting pay him a "special project stipend" anyway.

His proposals were full of holes, and my team and I had to stay late rebuilding them. In review meetings, Vivian still praised his potential.

When I raised concerns, she told me, "He's young, Adrian. Don't be so hard on him."

I finally saw what I'd refused to admit before.

What Vivian called compassion had crossed the line into favoritism a long time ago.