The Wellness Protocol

The server room smelled like ozone when the maintenance ticket came in: "Cable fault in Rack 4B." I wasn't IT, but David—my mentor, my friend, the VP who'd recruited me—had cross-trained me on protocols because "you never know when you'll need to be useful."

Useful. The word he'd used when explaining why I wasn't getting promoted.

The cable hung loose in Rack 4B. I reached to reconnect it and saw the label: MONITORING OVERRIDE—EXEC ACCESS ONLY. The port connected to the audio feed from Conference Room B, where I'd confessed to David my imposter syndrome, the medication I'd started taking, the late nights questioning whether I belonged.

I followed the cable to the distribution panel. It routed to David's private IP.

The realization hit like a blow: my confidences weren't friendship. They were intelligence.

I stood holding the cable—a physical object recording my vulnerability to the person exploiting it. David, who'd lectured me on self-care, on supplements, on "feeding your mind and body," had been feeding on my insecurities. The vitamins on my desk—B12 for energy, D for mood—sat like accusations. He called them my "little orange soldiers" in our war against burnout. Soldiers don't fight for free.

Monday, David found me with the cable still dangling.

"There was a fault," I said. "I isolated it."

He smiled. "Good work. That's why I value you."

"I found the routing too." I let the cable drop. "Executive monitoring?"

The smile faltered.

"It's for leadership development," he recovered. "Helping people grow."

"Like you helped me grow?"

I unplugged the cable. The monitors flickered.

"I quit," I said.

"You'll regret this," the warmth gone. "I was going to sponsor you."

"I know," I said. "That's the problem."

Two months later, his wellness initiative went company-wide. I scrolled past the congratulations, past the supplement ads and corporate wellness wisdom about nourishing yourself for success.

Some nutrients are poison, depending on who's feeding them to you.