The Last Sales Call

Maya watched the condensation slide down her glass of water, thinking about how much of her life had been spent waiting in lobbies like this. She ran her palm across her forehead—sweaty despite the aggressively air-conditioned office. The vitamin supplement portfolio she'd spent fifteen years pitching was under review. This meeting would determine whether her division survived the merger.

"Ms. Rivera?" Dr. Chen's door opened.

Maya stood, her résumé-ready smile already in place. "Thank you for seeing me."

The office was surprisingly intimate. A dog-eared book lay on the desk alongside a family photograph.

"I'll be direct," Dr. Chen said. "The efficacy data on your multivitamin line is underwhelming. The board is considering discontinuation."

Maya felt her stomach drop. She'd expected pushback, but not this blunt.

"We have new studies," she began, but the words felt hollow even as she said them. "The absorption rates—"

"Maya." Dr. Chen's voice softened. "Why do you still believe in this product?"

The question hung in the air. Maya thought of her father, who'd sworn by these supplements. Thought of the customer service letters she'd read over the years.

"I've seen it work," she said finally. "Not for everyone. But for some people."

Dr. Chen's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then back at Maya.

"My mother takes your vitamins," she said quietly. "Has for ten years."

She walked to the window. Outside, the LA skyline glittered in the heat haze.

"The board doesn't care about anecdotes," she said. "They want data. But I'm tired of all the corporate bullshitting about what we're actually doing."

The honesty of it hit Maya like a physical blow. In fifteen years of sales meetings, no one had ever said that.

"So what happens now?" Maya asked.

"We run another trial," Dr. Chen said. "Six months. If the results are positive, we keep the line."

Maya felt something shift inside her—a tension she hadn't realized she was carrying.

Outside, the city baked in the afternoon sun. She took out her phone. She thought about her sister, about the dog they'd grown up with, about all the years convincing herself this was meaningful work.

The water in her glass had warmed to room temperature. She finished it anyway.

Then she made her first call.