Chapter 2: The Bait-and-Switch

Just as I finished debugging the bug, an email popped up: "Notice of Michael Carter's Promotion."

My screen pinged with that familiar Outlook chime, and the subject line jumped out at me in bold. Promotions are supposed to be good news. My gut told me otherwise.

"Effective immediately, Michael Carter is promoted to Strategic Partnerships Liaison, responsible for core business expansion at Sentinel Motors. The position of autonomous driving R&D supervisor will be concurrently held by Director Robert Jennings."

My vision went dark.

I literally had to squint, re-reading the email, certain I’d missed some nuance. The words swam on the screen, and a slow, sick dread settled into my chest.

Strategic Partnerships Liaison—sounds fancy, but in reality, not even a stray dog would want this job.

Everyone at Sentinel knew what that meant. You might as well slap "Professional Schmoozer" on the door and stick me out to pasture. There was nothing strategic or partnership-worthy about spending your days glad-handing at steakhouse dinners and dodging the CEO’s radar.

No say in any project decisions. At least 25 days a month on business trips, schmoozing with clients at endless steakhouse dinners—if you can't drink yourself sick, just keep drinking until you do.

I'd heard horror stories from others in the role: flights at dawn, tiny hotel rooms by the airport, forced to down bourbon with clients who barely remembered your name. You start to miss stale office coffee after the third straight night in a Red Roof Inn.

Even the office is stuck in the farthest corner from R&D, sharing space with the mailroom crew.

I’d walked past that corner before—the one with the weird draft and the constant scent of toner. You’d be lucky if your desk wasn’t wedged between the recycling bins and a stack of old USPS boxes.

The worst part? The salary is a full 30% less than what I get now.

I did the mental math and almost laughed out loud. A so-called "promotion" with a pay cut so steep, even my student loan officer would wince.

Promotion? This is a demotion in disguise.

It stung—talent meant nothing to this guy, just pedigree. Call it what you want, but everyone at Sentinel could read between the lines.

The email was sent by Robert Jennings, and CC'd to the entire project team.

Of course he CC’d everyone. The man loved an audience. The digital equivalent of a public flogging, just to make sure nobody missed the pecking order.

He was the top executive the CEO brought in to lead the smart car business.

The rumor mill had been buzzing since the day he walked in, all tailored suit and forced charm. Word was, he’d been poached for his connections—not his engineering chops.

My direct supervisor.

He barely knew my name before today, but now, suddenly, he was managing every detail of my career—down to how and where I’d spend my working days.

I know that when a new boss takes over, they like to make a show of authority.

It’s practically an American office tradition: new boss, new rules, old guard gets rattled. Still, it stung to realize I was just the prop in his power play.

But using me—a loyal employee of ten years—as a sacrificial offering on his first day? Is he nuts?

After a decade of loyalty, this was my reward? There’s a special kind of insult in getting sidelined by someone who can’t even pronounce your last name right.

Fury surged inside me. I headed straight for the director's office.

I slammed my laptop shut and made a beeline for the corner office. The hallway felt longer than usual, every step echoing with my frustration. This wasn’t going to end with a polite conversation.