Corporate Cannibalism

The lightning strike of realization hit Elena somewhere between the appetizer and the main course. She watched Marcus—her boss, her mentor, the man who'd promised her partnership—across the white tablecloth, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the restaurant's dim light as he leaned toward Karen from accounting, his hand finding her knee beneath the table. Not even subtle about it anymore. Thirty-eight years old and she'd been reduced to watching the man she'd spent five years building a career with charm his way into someone else's promotion.

"You're not eating your spinach, Elena," Marcus said, suddenly noticing her again. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "It's excellent. Very fresh."

She pushed the wilted green mess around her plate. Fresh. Right. Nothing about this situation was fresh. She'd seen it coming—the late nights, the closed-door meetings, the way her ideas kept appearing in his mouth during board meetings without her name attached. But she'd swallowed it down, just like she was supposed to, because the payoff was supposed to be worth it. That corner office with its view of the city. The seat at the table where real decisions were made.

Instead, she was watching the bull charge toward someone else's china shop.

"Actually," Elena said, setting down her fork. The restaurant's noise faded to a hum. "I'm not hungry for bullshit anymore, Marcus."

Karen froze. Marcus's smile faltered, a crack in the porcelain.

"Excuse me?"

"The partnership. The promotion. All of it." She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor like thunder. "I know about the restructuring. I know you've been grooming Karen for six months while letting me think—"

"Elena, please," Marcus hissed, glancing around at nearby tables. "Not here. Not now."

"When, then? When you're done letting me think I still have a future at this company?"

Outside, actual lightning illuminated the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain finally breaking against the glass. A sign, she thought. Whatever gods watched over corporate casualties were having their laugh.

"I'm done waiting for scraps," she said, pulling her coat from the back of her chair. "Consider this my two weeks. Maybe I'll start that bakery. Maybe I'll just exist somewhere that isn't this." She looked at Marcus, really looked at him, and saw the shriveled, desperate thing beneath the expensive suit. "You taught me well, you know. How to recognize when something's gone bad. Like spinach that's been left out too long. Starts to smell, doesn't it?"

She walked out into the storm, letting the rain ruin her hair and her makeup and her carefully curated image. For the first time in five years, she felt something like hope in her chest, electric and terrifying as a lightning strike, and she didn't reach for her umbrella.