Chapter 3: The Switch

When I reached the office, I was stunned by what I saw.

All my stuff had been boxed up and stacked by the office door.

It was all there—my framed photo from the team-building retreat, the cracked coffee mug that said "World’s Okayest Boss," and even my half-eaten pack of gum. My name was scribbled in Sharpie on the side of each box, as if I’d already quit.

I looked around at coworkers who pretended to work but were actually sneaking glances at me.

One guy even minimized his browser so fast I could see the ESPN tab flicker. The tension in the air was thicker than day-old chili.

"What’s going on? Did my office spring a leak or something?"

Several people exchanged glances, but no one answered.

The silence was awkward, like everyone knew a secret but nobody wanted to be the one to say it.

"Hey, Derek, what are you doing here today?"

A familiar voice sounded behind me. I turned around, surprised.

It was our department’s new intern, Scott Zimmerman, dressed sharp in a suit, chin up, looking at me with a smug little smile.

He’d swapped out his usual khakis for a tailored navy suit and some shiny loafers. The air of smugness around him was almost cartoonish.

I couldn’t figure out his attitude.

Scott was a new intern this year, and he’d always been friendly to me before. He used to call me "Derek" every day.

But today, he suddenly changed how he addressed me, and I hadn’t even noticed at first.

Though it’s not really professional to call your direct supervisor by their first name, I didn’t have the energy to correct him right now.

I felt a strange mix of exhaustion and deja vu, like I’d been cast in a sitcom without the laugh track.

"I had a work thing. I see my stuff’s all moved out. What’s wrong with my office?"

Unexpectedly, Scott’s pride became even more obvious at my question.

"Hey, didn’t you get the memo? I’m the one running the show now. Guess you’re back to the bullpen, man."

He even pulled out his phone to check something.

"Oh, the announcement’s not out yet. You’ll see tomorrow."

The casual arrogance stung. He swiped on his phone as if he already owned the place, not even bothering to hide his satisfaction.

But I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I had to figure out what was going on now.

I quickly walked to the HR manager’s office.

I could feel the weight of a dozen eyes on my back, whispers trailing after me down the hall.

"What’s going on with the company’s personnel changes? The intern, Scott Zimmerman, says he’s the new sales supervisor."

The HR manager seemed completely unsurprised by my arrival. She pushed up her glasses.

Her expression was so practiced it almost looked rehearsed—a cool detachment, lips pursed just enough to look sympathetic without meaning it.

"That’s right. From now on, he’s your boss. You’re a veteran employee, so you should support your manager’s work."

"Why?!" I was incredulous.

The word burst out before I could stop it—half shout, half plea. I felt my hands clenching at my sides.