Chapter 7 No.7

She took an Uber to the Banks Capital tower in Midtown.

The receptionist, a girl named Stacy who usually ignored her, looked up. "Mrs. Banks? I didn't know you were coming in."

"I won't be long," Cressie said, breezing past security.

She took the elevator down to the basement. To the Archives.

It was a windowless room that smelled of dust and toner. This was where they had put her. The Chief of Staff, demoted to "Archivist."

Hillary Farley was sitting on Cressie's desk, filing her nails. Hillary was twenty-four, ambitious, and cruel. She was Ellsworth's favorite "yes-girl."

"Well, well," Hillary smirked. "Look who decided to show up. We have three boxes of tax returns from 2018 to sort. Get to it."

Cressie didn't move toward the boxes. She reached into her bag and pulled out a white envelope.

She slapped it onto the desk.

"What's this?" Hillary asked, blowing on her nails.

"My resignation," Cressie said.

Hillary laughed. It was a high, grating sound. "Resignation? Honey, you can't resign. You're the boss's wife. This is your playpen."

"I'm an employee. I have a contract. And I'm terminating it."

Hillary picked up her coffee cup-a venti latte-and "accidentally" tipped it over.

Brown liquid flooded the desk, soaking the white envelope.

"Oops," Hillary grinned. "Clumsy me. Looks like you'll have to type it up again. If you remember how to use a computer."

The other girls in the office giggled. They weren't laughing because it was funny; they were laughing because they were afraid of Hillary, and by extension, Ellsworth.

Cressie looked at the brown stain spreading across the paper. She didn't get angry. She got cold.

She pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen, turning it around to face Hillary. The voice memo app was open, the waveform pulsing red.

"I've been recording since I walked in," Cressie said calmly. "Workplace harassment. Hostile environment. Destruction of personal property. It's all there."

Hillary's smile faltered. "What?"

"And since this is synced to my cloud instantly," Cressie added, "smashing the phone won't help you."

Hillary stood up, her face paling. "You can't do that."

"I just did. And unless you want this sent to HR-and to the Labor Board-you will sign my exit paperwork. Now."

"What is going on here?"

The voice boomed from the doorway. Ellsworth.

He was flanked by three board members. He was giving a tour. He looked at the spilled coffee, the wet letter, and Cressie holding her phone.

"Cressie?" He frowned. "Are you causing a scene?"

Hillary immediately dissolved into fake tears. "Mr. Banks! I tried to help her with the filing, and she got upset and started recording me!"

Ellsworth looked at Cressie. His eyes were disappointed. "Cressie. Put the phone away. In my office. Now."

Cressie looked at Hillary. She saw the triumph in the girl's eyes.

She looked at Ellsworth. She saw the assumption of guilt.

"Fine," Cressie said.

She walked past Hillary, leaning in close. "You better pray he fires me," she whispered. "Because if I stay, I'll audit you."

Hillary stopped crying instantly.

Cressie followed Ellsworth to the elevator. The ride up to the penthouse was silent.

"Why?" Ellsworth asked, staring at the numbers changing. "Why do you have to embarrass me?"

"I'm resigning," Cressie said. "I'm done being your archivist."

"You're quitting?" Ellsworth looked at her. "To do what? Stay home?"

"Sure," Cressie lied. "To stay home."

Ellsworth let out a breath. He actually looked relieved. "Good. It's better this way. You belong at home with the baby."

Cressie gripped her purse strap. You have no idea, she thought. I don't belong in your home. I belong in your boardroom. And one day, I'll buy it.

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