Denise uncrossed and recrossed her legs.
Greg leaned back and folded his arms, drawing a long breath through his nose. “That’s a very serious allegation, Alex.”
Denise cleared her throat, her pen poised over a legal pad. “Were there any witnesses present during this…interaction?”
I shook my head. “No. He made sure we were alone. Door locked and everything.”
A thin, practiced smile flickered at the corners of Denise’s mouth, but her eyes cut to Greg before she wrote anything. “So, you don’t have any evidence to corroborate your story.”
Fire licked up my neck and into my ears. “Let me get this straight.” I gestured toward the folder. “Richard Montgomery sexually assaults me, andI’mthe one being interrogated?”
No one answered.
There was a bleak elegance to Richard’s strategy. Flip the script. Torch my credibility before I could light a match.
I looked at Greg, deadpan. “I thought you cared about optics.”
His mouth pulled tight. “I do. But right now, it’s your word against his, and—” He broke off, gesturing to Denise, as if she might materialize a solution.
“Why don’t we pause?” Denise said smoothly. “Just take a breath. We can circle back to this, but let’s address the other concerns.” Her lavender pantsuit was aggressively springy for February.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “With all due respect, I don’t see what my private life has to do with any of this.”
“So you admit to going to a sex club last weekend?” she asked, as casually as if she’d asked whether I went to the grocery store.
“I went to anightclub,” I corrected.
“And the taxi driver?”
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t recall taking a taxi.” Technically true.
Greg leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Look, we can quibble semantics all day. I can understand going a little wild all alone in a big city. Atlanta’s not exactly known for…opportunity.”
A rebuttal flared on the tip of my tongue, but Greg lifted a hand.
“Bottom line: nothing looks good here, Alex. And, fair or not, we just lost the biggest contract of the year because of you.”
The words pinballed around my skull, cold and slippery. I had rehearsed this meeting a dozen times. Every version ended with Greg believing me. Backing me. Championing my version over Richard’s.
I let the silence broil, refusing to look away. Let Greg blink first. Let Denise shift in her chair while she recalculated the precise HR approach. I wanted to say something devastating, something that would cauterize the entire bullshit charade here and now, but the words jammed in my windpipe.
Greg laced his hands together, index fingers braced against his nose, briefly lifting the weight of his glasses. “Look, Alex, I’m not unsympathetic. I can see how things might have been…misconstrued.” He sat back, folding his arms again. “But that’s beside the point. The board has made it very clear what has to happen.” A beat. “My hands are tied.”
He nodded to Denise.
She withdrew a teal folder from her satchel and set it neatly on the desk in front of me.
“This is your transition package,” she said, tapping the folder with red lacquered nails, “should you choose to resign effective immediately and decline to pursue further action.”
I opened it. The pages whispered against each other as I scanned the contents. Transition terms. Non-disclosure agreement. Non-compete clause. COBRA.
“We’d like to give you a graceful exit,” Greg continued. “And we’re offering a very generous severance. All you need to do is sign the agreement and turn in your laptop and badge. No questions asked.”
A sudden laugh spat from my throat. I couldn’t help it. “So that’s it? Career suicide?”
Greg shook his head. “No, nothing like that. And none of this…unpleasantness will be reflected in my reference letter.”
I looked at the papers again.