Chapter 1

The promotion came with a corner office on the 50th floor, a view of the entire Seattle skyline, and a salary that made my eyes water a little, but it also came with a difficult conversation.

I had to tell my personal assistant, Mrs. Jenkins.

She had been with me for five years, ever since my first major success in the tech world allowed me to afford help. She wasn't just an employee, she was a fixture in my life, a constant presence in my downtown condo.

I called her into the living room, the late afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floors.

"Mrs. Jenkins, I have some news."

She smiled, a familiar, warm expression.

"Good news, I hope, Sarah."

"It is," I confirmed, "I've been offered a significant promotion, a director-level position at the main headquarters."

Her smile widened.

"Oh, that's wonderful! I knew you had it in you."

I took a breath.

"The thing is, the headquarters is in Seattle. I'll be relocating in three months."

The smile on her face didn't so much fall as it did freeze, hardening into something else entirely. The warmth vanished, replaced by a cool, assessing look.

"Three months notice, then?" she asked, her voice flat.

"Yes," I said, a little taken aback by her tone. "I wanted to give you as much time as possible to find a new position. I'll write you a glowing recommendation, of course, and your severance will be very generous."

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes scanning my face, then drifting around the expensive, minimalist decor of my condo. It was a look I had never seen from her before, a look of calculation.

"A recommendation and severance won't be enough, Sarah."

I blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"For five years, I've dedicated myself to you," she said, her voice gaining a strange, formal weight. "I've managed your home, your schedule, your life. I've been more than an assistant. I've been loyal."

"And I've compensated you very well for that loyalty, Mrs. Jenkins. You're one of the highest-paid personal assistants in this city."

She shook her head, a small, firm motion.

"That was a salary. A wage. For my dedication, for my years of service, there are other expectations. Other rules."

"What rules?" I asked, a feeling of deep unease beginning to creep up my spine. This was not the Mrs. Jenkins I thought I knew.

"I require a lifetime pension," she stated, her words clear and without a hint of doubt. "Or," she added, her eyes sweeping the room again, "this condo."

I actually laughed. I couldn't help it. The demand was so utterly absurd, so disconnected from reality, that my brain couldn't process it any other way.

"You're joking," I said, my laughter dying as I saw the dead-serious expression on her face. "You cannot be serious."

"I am completely serious," she replied, her voice cold. "I have given you the best years of my life. You are moving on to bigger and better things, and you intend to leave me with nothing?"

"Nothing? I'm offering you three months' severance pay, Mrs. Jenkins! That's more than thirty thousand dollars, on top of a stellar recommendation that will get you any job you want."

Her lips thinned into a hard line.

"It's not about the money, Sarah. It's about the principle. It's about what is right. What I am owed."

She started to pace, her movements agitated.

"You wouldn't understand. You, with your tech money and your fancy apartment. You don't know what it's like for people like me. I'm not young anymore. Who will hire me? You are casting me aside like an old shoe."

This was emotional manipulation, pure and simple. Mrs. Jenkins was only in her early fifties, vibrant and more than capable.

"That's not true, and you know it," I said, my own voice hardening. I stood up, crossing my arms. I would not be intimidated in my own home. "Your demand is outrageous. It's extortion. The answer is no."

"You will regret this," she hissed, her friendly demeanor now completely gone, replaced by a raw, venomous resentment. "There are people in this community, important people, who listen to me. They trust me. What do you think they'll say when I tell them how the cold, heartless tech millionaire Sarah Miller threw her loyal, aging assistant out on the street with nothing?"

So that was her game. Social pressure. Rumors. In our affluent, tightly-knit community, reputation was everything.

I felt a surge of anger. I had built my career on being sharp, on not backing down from a challenge. This was no different.

"Let them talk, Mrs. Jenkins," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "In fact, let's go public with this. Let's ask them what they think is fair. Should I give my employee a lifetime pension? Or perhaps my multi-million dollar condo? Let's see whose side they take when they hear your ridiculous, greedy demands."

I challenged her 'rules' head-on, calling her bluff.

Her face flushed with color. She had expected me to be cowed, to value my social standing over my common sense. She was wrong.

"You think you're so smart," she spat. "But you're just selfish. You have so much, and you refuse to share even a little bit of it."

"This isn't about sharing," I shot back, my patience gone. "This is about you trying to take what isn't yours. This condo is my property. My asset. It's the result of my hard work, not yours. You were paid a salary for your work, and paid well. That's where the transaction ends."

Her eyes narrowed, the greed in them now naked and unashamed.

"We'll see about that."

"Yes, we will," I said, my decision crystallizing in that moment. "This is your final warning, Mrs. Jenkins. Drop this insane demand, or my next call will be to my lawyer."

She stared at me, a silent battle of wills passing between us. I did not flinch.

Then, she tried one last time. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a wheedling tone.

"Sarah, please. Just think about it. For my daughter, Emily. What will become of her?"

The mention of her daughter, a sweet girl I'd met a few times, was a low blow. But I was done with the manipulation.

"Your daughter's future is your responsibility, not mine," I said, my voice like ice. "My offer of severance and a recommendation stands. Take it or leave it. But the discussion about my condo or a pension is over."

She didn't move, just stood there, staring at me with pure hatred in her eyes. The silence stretched.

"Get out," I said finally, my voice low and final. "Your employment is terminated. Effective immediately. I'll have the severance check couriered to you tomorrow. Leave your keys on the counter."

For a second, I thought she might lunge at me. Her hands were clenched into tight fists. But then, with a choked sound of pure rage, she spun around, grabbed her purse, threw the condo keys onto the marble countertop with a loud clatter, and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I stood alone in the sudden, ringing silence of my living room, my heart pounding. The fight was over, but I had a sinking feeling this was only the beginning.