Chapter 2

My phone vibrated nonstop in my pocket during the ride.

When I checked it, the screen showed the company-wide chat.

VELOCITY TECHNOLOGIES - ALL STAFF (452)

The unread count kept climbing.

Someone had tagged me.

Sonia Blake.

"@Ethan Mercer Since you are no longer employed by Velocity Technologies, please remove yourself from this group. Also, after reviewing company property, we discovered that a box of staples at your desk belongs to the company. Return it by tomorrow or reimburse the company for its value."

A neat line of replies followed.

"Received."

"Support management's decision."

"Company assets must be protected."

Even an intern who used to trail after me calling me his mentor sent a thumbs-up sticker.

I stared at the screen.

A box of staples.

Worth maybe a dollar.

So this was how they wanted to play it.

I didn't argue.

I simply tapped LEAVE GROUP.

The cab driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.

"Rough day?"

"No." I smiled and set the phone facedown on my knee. "I just got rid of a truckload of garbage. I feel great."

"Good. You're young. One door closes, another opens."

The car stopped outside the Porsche dealership.

For once, I didn't open the app I used to track rides and calculate how many extra hours of work every expense represented.

I walked straight into the showroom.

A young saleswoman was looking at her phone.

She gave my three-year-old off-the-rack puffer jacket a quick once-over.

"Looking around, sir? If you're only taking photos, please don't use flash."

Her tone was polite enough, but the dismissal underneath it was obvious.

I could hardly blame her.

People size you up by what you are wearing, and I looked nothing like someone walking in to buy a Porsche.

I ignored the attitude and went straight to a midnight-blue Panamera.

For years, I'd refused to buy it.

I'd told myself to save for a house.

Save for the future.

Save money for the company.

Save money so my team would have more resources.

Now?

To hell with saving everything for everyone else.

"This one."

I pointed at the car.

"In stock. Full payment."

I took out the bank card Grant had always joked I would never manage to fill and held it between two fingers.

The saleswoman froze.

Her phone nearly slipped from her hand.

"Sir... did you say full payment?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No! Not at all. One moment. I'll get my manager."

She hurried toward the back office.

A fierce, almost childish satisfaction rose in my chest.

It felt better than closing a fifteen-million-dollar contract.

So this was what living for myself felt like.

My phone rang again.

Grant's private number.

I answered, put him on speaker, and set the phone on the leather seat.

"Getting bold, aren't you, Ethan?"

His voice crackled through the speaker.

"You left the group pretty fast. Guilty conscience?"

I leaned against the car.

"What can I do for you, Grant? If this is about the staples, send me your account details. I'll wire you a dollar."

"Cut the crap!"

His voice jumped an octave.

"Nebula just let it slip that they hired some major technical talent.

"Don't tell me that's you."

News traveled fast.

Recruiters really couldn't keep their mouths shut.

"It is. So what?"

Silence.

Then Sonia's sharp voice came through the phone.

Apparently she was standing right beside him.

"See, Grant? I told you this ungrateful bastard already had somewhere else lined up."

She grabbed the phone.

"Ethan, don't forget you signed a noncompete.

"Do you really think our legal department won't sue you tomorrow and make sure nobody in this industry ever hires you again?"