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She didn't need to be told twice. Giving me a slight hum, she nestled back into the pillow and was asleep almost instantly.
I left the bed and rubbed the back of my neck, still forcing my body to wake up. I dug into my shoulders and tried to remove the knot that sat in my muscles, one that no matter how hard I tried, I could never get rid of. It was there forever, and unfortunately, I had learned to live with it.
With one final glance at Rebecca, I stood and began to get myself ready for work. Shower, cologne, suit, tie, wing-tipped shoes—dressed to the nines as always. I had to look my best for Jackson and Rye. After years of working my way up the ladder, starting at the lowest level of data entry, I was now the lead accountant manager for a team of accountants and their clients. I oversaw every spreadsheet, every check, and every deposit that entered my department. It paid very well and gave me more than the life I ever expected. And damn, I was good at it.
I took my time lingering in my modern kitchen, pressing my coffee in my French press. The day's current newspaper sat on the counter, and my steel travel mug waited to be filled. I poured the coffee, stuck the paper under my arms, and grabbed my briefcase and keys. Taking one final look into the bedroom where Rebecca still slept, I snuck out the door, knowing full well she would make herself at home before she left.
My Tesla, which I promptly named Tessa, was waiting for me, fully charged in the underground parking. The screen lit up as the car hummed awake. I would never get used to the quiet that an electric car provided—something a gas-powered car couldn’t compete with. Security. That's what this car offered.
My life was full of security.
Just the way I needed it.
Jackson and Rye took up the 33rd and 34th floors of a 40-story building in the heart of Seattle. The closer to the top the better, right? The elevator was packed every morning, people grabbing their coffee mugs and briefcases as the small cube got more and more crowded. I always stood near the back, taking pride in knowing I was one of the last to exit. When I left the elevator, there were only a few souls remaining. Every time I took a step into Jackson and Rye’s office, I knew I was near the top of the building. That, to me, was power.
“Good morning, Mr. Nolan.” Jasmine, the receptionist, smiled as she said my name, no doubt thinking of the one night we’d had together when she first started.
I winked at her and turned to the left, heading straight to my office, shutting the glass door behind me before relieving the tension in my shoulders. Setting my coffee and paper down on my large, wooden desk, I reached behind and rubbed my neck again. I needed to go see someone about this. A nice massage was in the cards, I could tell.
Rolling my neck in circles, I pulled my chair and sat, my computer waiting for me and a stack of papers in the file that no doubt my assistant had put in there. Ignoring the documents for a moment, I turned the computer on, notifications hitting instantly.
The title of the email was the first thing I noticed. Normally, the subject gave some insight into what I would see, but all this said wasAtten: Clayton Nolan team lead, URGENT.
Urgent. I had seen that before in numerous emails, but never with my name attached to it. This urgent was specifically for me. I opened the email and read the single line message in the body.Report to Mr. Jackson’s office promptly at 9 a.m.: urgent matter to discuss.
I have only met Carl Jackson once in my ten years here. He was the top of the top. My jaw dropped, and my back straightened. The small clock on my computer told me it was 8:52 a.m. I stood, buttoned my suit coat, and left my office. The thrill of thinking about what was coming caused my heart to beat faster.
Another promotion perhaps? Head of the entire accounting department?
It didn’t even hit me that my team, the seventeen people I oversaw, weren’t at their desks. Each one sat empty.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I asked, stunned as if Mr. Jackson didn’t just tell me what he told me.
“You’ve been fired, Mr. Nolan. As have the members of your team,” he said again, leaning back into his huge leather chair, his eyes fixated on me. “We’ve been informed of the embezzlement coming directly from your team. We have all the evidence we need to take you to court, and if you don’t leave the building immediately, security will escort you out.”
“Embezzlement?” I repeated, trying not to choke on my words.
My mind was reeling. Embezzlement? Embezzlement!? My neck began to ache.
“I can assure you, Mr. Jackson, I have had nothing to do with this.”
Mr. Jackson closed his eyes and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I have more than enough proof to know you did indeed have something to do with this.” He sat forward, grabbing a large manila folder with a red sticker on the front, holding it in the air as if to taunt me with it. “You may want to find yourself a decent lawyer. Ours will be contacting you.”
Blink, Clay. Remember to blink.
“You’re excused, Mr. Nolan. Please collect your things and leave the premises at once. Jasmine has termination papers you need to sign.”
“Termination?” I slumped in my chair. The word termination was so much worse than fired.
Mr. Jackson’s head motioned toward his office door, the manila folder slapping his desk as he set it down. “Good day.”
The rest of the morning was a blur. I emptied my desk and grabbed my belongings from the shelf. I signed the paperwork Jasmine had waiting for me, that same smile—no, smirk—on her face. This paperwork was on her desk when I walked in. She already knew.
I rode the empty elevator down in silence.
I left the building into the chill of the Seattle air.
I started Tessa.
