Chapter 6: New Beginnings

I was so angry, I became calm.

It was like a switch flipped—suddenly, all the fire burned out, replaced by a quiet, cold clarity. I gathered my things, moving in slow motion.

Fine, I won't touch it.

I zipped my laptop bag, ignoring the stares and whispered conversations swirling around me. If they wanted me gone, then I was gone.

Anyway, the one who'll regret this won't be me.

I grabbed my mug—World’s Okayest Engineer—and tucked it in the box. Couldn’t leave that behind.

Without looking back, I left the company.

The air outside hit me like a fresh start. The parking lot was half-empty, sun glaring off the asphalt. I walked past the Sentinel sign, head held high, and didn’t look back once.

The very next day, news of Sentinel and Grandview Motors forming a strategic partnership was all over the headlines.

My phone buzzed with news alerts and LinkedIn notifications. Suddenly, everyone was talking about Sentinel’s next big move—front page of every business section, even a mention on NPR’s Morning Edition.

Robert Jennings was at the signing ceremony, grinning from ear to ear, bragging in front of the cameras: "We'll quickly assemble a team of highly educated talent, build the strongest team, and create a phenomenal product at a speed that will shock the industry. Stay tuned."

He looked every bit the media darling—expensive suit, pearly smile, spouting off soundbites like he was auditioning for Shark Tank. The company’s PR team was working overtime, retweeting every quote.

Funny thing—

There’s always a twist. Just when Sentinel thought they had the spotlight, a bigger headline broke.

That same day, another major tech company, Pinecone Technologies, also announced its entry into the smart car business.

Pinecone was a West Coast darling, famous for reinventing everything from smart thermostats to AR glasses. Now, they were gunning for Detroit’s crown, and everyone was watching.

And they're building cars independently.

No partnerships, no shortcuts—just pure, in-house innovation. The kind of bold move that gets investors jittery and reporters giddy.

Pinecone's founder, Mason Lee, made the announcement at a press conference, instantly stirring up heated debate.

Mason Lee was a household name in tech circles—a self-made billionaire with a knack for disruption. His speech was streamed live, hashtags trending within minutes.

Independent car manufacturing means massive, long-term investment.

It was the kind of moonshot that made VCs sweat and Reddit threads explode. Billions on the line, and no guarantee of payoff.

Even though the new energy sector is wide open and all the tech giants want a piece, no one has dared to go all in—until now.

It was a classic American story: fortune favors the bold. Pinecone wasn’t just dipping their toes—they were cannonballing into the deep end.

Just as Sentinel announced their car project, Pinecone jumped in too.

You could feel the energy shift online—social media was suddenly full of side-by-side comparisons, think pieces, and wild speculation.

Public opinion immediately started comparing the two.

Twitter, Reddit, even the old-school car forums were on fire. The battle lines were drawn, every armchair analyst picking sides.

"If you want to do independent R&D, be ready to burn money. Pinecone started too late, doesn't have enough technical know-how—how can they compete with Sentinel?"

Pundits and anonymous posters alike were skeptical, tossing out stats and timelines like confetti.

"Still betting on the Sentinel-Grandview alliance. I'm buying Sentinel stock."

The traditionalists hedged their bets, pointing to partnerships and old-school manufacturing muscle.

"Support Pinecone. Support Mason Lee. I've thrown all my money into Pinecone stock."

The disruptors cheered Mason Lee on, talking up innovation over legacy.

"You above are just a brainless fan—just wait, you'll be crying soon."

The debates got heated, full of GIFs, memes, and the usual snarky banter.

Robert Jennings posted a snide comment on his Facebook: "President Lee is truly bold. Have you figured out how to sell phones before daring to touch four wheels? Are you OK?"

Even Jennings couldn’t resist weighing in, taking cheap shots from his verified account. The guy never missed a chance to flex online.

I don't know why, but even though everyone in the industry was skeptical, I had a gut feeling Pinecone would pull it off.

Something about their vibe felt different—more Silicon Valley garage than old-school Detroit. I trusted my instincts, and they’d gotten me this far.

I was so excited, I couldn't sleep all night.

I paced my apartment, checking news updates every hour, riding the wave of adrenaline. It was like the night before a big game.

I sent my resume over right away.

The application portal was slick and modern—no endless forms, no canned rejection messages. I attached my best code samples, tweaked my cover letter, and hit submit with a little prayer.

With my years of development experience at Sentinel, the interviews went smoothly, and HR told me to wait for their notice.

Each Zoom call was a breeze—no trick questions, just real talk about what I’d built and where I saw the future going. I finished the final round with a sense of hope I hadn’t felt in ages.

While I was waiting, I got a call from an unknown number.

I almost let it go to voicemail, but something told me to pick up. The voice on the other end was sharp, urgent—a hint of panic under the anger.

The person on the other end was blunt: "What the hell is wrong with you? You leave, but you leave a backdoor behind?"

The accusation hung in the air, wild and unexpected. For a split second, I wondered who else was about to get swept up in this corporate hurricane.