Chapter 2

"The resource database, the media contact list, and the approval authority for the crisis relief fund—all of them must be handed over to Chloe before you clock out today."

Raymond stood in front of the projector screen during our morning meeting. His voice wasn’t loud, but every word felt like a heavy stamp crushing my ID badge.

Chloe was sitting at the other end of the long conference table. Just yesterday, she was standing in that exact spot, pouring water for everyone. Today, her chair had been upgraded to one with an ergonomic cushion.

"Additionally, after a review by the management team, the original fifteen-thousand-dollar crisis performance bonus for the PR department has been renamed the 'Bold Innovation Award' and is hereby awarded to Chloe."

My hands rested flat on my knees. I didn’t move.

Twelve colleagues sat on both sides of the table, their eyes fixed on the brand-new Chanel earrings Chloe was wearing.

"Raymond," I spoke up, keeping my voice perfectly steady. "That bonus is clearly written into my contract—"

"If you have an issue with your contract, take it up with Legal," he waved his hand dismissively, not even bother to look at me.

"Think of the big picture, Claire. The company needs iron-fisted, aggressive PR right now, not your old-school, emotional-pleading style of begging for forgiveness. Chloe’s bold statement went viral, and the public loved it. That’s what I call professional."

I was the one who wrote all eight versions of that statement.

He had rejected versions one through seven. He took the eighth version, put Chloe’s name on it, and published it.

Chloe’s sole contribution was changing the very last sentence from "We sincerely apologize and ask for your understanding" to "If you’re not happy, bring it on."

After the meeting, I blocked Raymond at his office door. I opened my phone and showed him the unpaid ICU bill. The red hospital stamp looked like a glaring eye.

"My dad has acute pancreatitis. The ICU costs twelve thousand dollars a day. The next round of medication requires an upfront payment of eighty thousand dollars. Raymond, I don’t care about the award anymore. I just want what is rightfully mine under my contract."

He leaned back in his leather chair, picked up my phone with two fingers, and glanced at the screen.

"Claire, this company is not a charity."

He pushed the phone back to me, almost sliding it off the desk.

"If you're having financial difficulties, I can have HR approve a hardship grant for you. Three thousand dollars."

Three thousand.

The ICU cost twelve thousand a day.

"Is that enough?"

When he asked that, his eyes were already back on his phone.

I folded the medical bill and shoved it into my pocket. During my lunch break, I sat at a folding table in the breakroom, staring at my father's name on the bill.

I had already listened to the doctor’s voicemail three times: "His condition is deteriorating. The family needs to get here as soon as possible."

The door was pushed open.

Chloe walked in first, followed by Lily and two other junior specialists. She was playing with a stack of Amazon gift cards in her hand, the diamonds on her nails glittering.

"Claire, I ran an audit on these gift cards you bought to maintain our micro-influencers. It’s about forty-eight hundred dollars. Did you pay for all of this out of your own pocket?"

"Yes."

"Great. That means these influencers aren’t company assets. I’m going to rebuild the network from scratch anyway."

She began handing the cards out one by one. "One for Lily, one for Ashley, one for Dylan. From now on, we aren’t going to beg anyone to promote us. That’s too pathetic. My strategy is to target top-tier celebrities. The mid-tier ones will come crawling to us on their own."

Lily took the card faster than anyone else.

I looked at Lily. "Last year during Marcus’s scandal, who stayed with you at the police station until two in the morning to make sure you were okay?"

Lily lowered her eyes, her voice sounding incredibly detached.

"Claire, don’t guilt-trip us. If you’re really tight on cash..."

Chloe cut in, her voice dripping with a fake, sweet smile, like she was handing me an iced Americano.

"I can personally Venmo you two hundred bucks to buy some coffee and soothe your throat. After all, you’ve spent so many years kissing up to the media. Your vocal cords must be exhausted."

The three of them burst into laughter. The sound bounced off the tiled walls of the breakroom.

I didn’t say a word.

I went back to my desk, opened my resignation checklist on my computer, and checked the boxes one by one.

I paused at the very last item.

"The Sunflower Support Group." Five hundred and three members.

Three years ago, the company had a major quality control disaster with a line of baby cream, causing severe skin ulcerations in dozens of infants.

I had personally handled every single victim, paying out of my own pocket, comforting them, and accompanying them to clinics to bury the scandal.

The announcement pinned at the top of the group was written by me on New Year's Eve: "If you have any issues, tag me. Claire is here. I will always be here."

My finger hovered over the "Leave Group" button. I hesitated for five seconds.

Suddenly, two notifications popped up simultaneously.

One was an automated text from the hospital: "Your account balance has fallen below the critical limit. Please pay the outstanding balance within forty-eight hours."

The other was from the recruiter: "Claire, our CEO is offering to double your current salary. When are you free for an interview?"

I clicked to leave the Snapchat group.

A prompt popped up asking me to confirm deleting my admin status. I clicked confirm.

Then, I replied to the recruiter with one word:

"Tomorrow."