“You come in for your stuff?” Eddie asks.
“Yep. And my paycheck.”
“There’s a box of your things on your desk. They haven’t replaced you with anybody yet.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s surprising.”
“I don’t want the old man to catch me slackin’, so I’ll leave you to it. Good luck. Let me know if you need anything else.” Eddie pats me on the back.
I stop to give him a little hug, which I think surprises him. “Don’t get yourself into too much trouble, Eddie. I like you. You’re one of the good ones.”
When I release him, he pulls back and looks at me with a surprised expression. “You think so?”
“Yes, of course.” I grin at his disbelief. “Would I pull your leg?”
He shrugs. “Maybe not. But I gotta tell you, there aren’t many people who would agree with your assessment of me.”
“Screw them. What do they know?” I wink at him.
He points at me as he walks backward toward his cubicle. “I got your back, Jenny. Any time, day or night. You got my number.” He puts his fingers up to his ear and mouth, miming the words Call me while giving me an exaggerated nod.
I turn around, shaking my head at his silliness. I doubt very highly I’ll ever take him up on that offer, but it’s nice to know that a kid with a super-charged brain like his is on my side. A person can never have enough smart friends, as far as I’m concerned.
I’ve reached Frank’s office, a glassed-in space that looks out over the maze of cubicles where I used to toil away along with all the other worker bees. He’s on the telephone, but when he sees me approaching he hunches down, talks fast, and then hangs up, trying to pretend like he was just sitting there casually with nothing going on.
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s up to something, and while I shouldn’t really care what it is because I don’t work here anymore, I have a sneaking suspicion it involves me. Operation Do Not Mess With Me is in full swing.
“Hello, Frank.”
He stands. “Jenny! So nice to see you.” His voice is saccharine sweet. Yuck.
I know Frank well enough to know when he’s hiding something. You don’t spend six years working more than full time with someone, often stuck in meetings that go on for hours, without becoming fluent in their body language. He’s worried about something; I can tell by the way he’s wringing his hands before he reaches out to give me a handshake. And when his palm touches mine, I know for sure he’s got something on his mind. Sweaty palms. Ew.
“Just here to get my stuff and my last paycheck.” I keep it light and breezy so he won’t see my sneak attack coming. I’m so glad I ran into Eddie before I got in here. I have ammunition now, and I plan to use it. Frank flat-out lied to me to get rid of me. He thought I’d be so upset and scared about being unemployed that I’d just go running out to find another job and not question anything he said. I hate it when people in positions of power take advantage of those weaker than they are. I think that’s why I enjoy reading superhero comics with Sammy so much. The good guys always win and they get to wear capes.
Unfortunately for Frank, I know how the world of venture capitalism works. I’m not one of these young whippersnappers running around in this office, living on ramen noodles and wondering when I’m going to get laid next. I’ve been around the block a few times, so I know that when new investors come in, a company will do anything it can to make its balance sheet look crisp and clean. Management gets rid of anything that the money men might consider deadwood, and older employees who cost them more in salary and who have kids that get sick from time to time are considered deadwood.
It was probably an easy decision for Frank to get rid of me and replace me with one or two young kids right out of school. He’s not going to be around for the long haul; he’s like all the rest of them, ready to pump and dump, get his share of the pie and fly away. Hardly anyone cares about the long term anymore. All they care about is mo’ money, mo’ money. Jerks.
Frank opens up his desk drawer. “Here you go, just like we discussed. Two months’ severance.” He holds out a white envelope at me.
I shake my head, never taking my eyes off him. “Sorry, Frank. But that’s not gonna work for me.”
His hand pauses in midair, the envelope flopping down from his fingers. He cocks his head, playing stupid. “I’m sorry . . . We discussed this on the telephone, right?” He tosses the envelope across the desk, and it lands in front of me. “Like I said, we can’t keep you on at this time. We’re having some trouble with the company, and we need to streamline operations. It’s nothing personal—I hope you know that.”