Chapter 9: Office Politics

After work, I sat in the deputy general manager’s office.

I’d been with the company for seven years, working my way up from when it was just a handful of people.

Every step of the way, I’d left my mark.

In my mind, the director’s seat was rightfully mine.

The deputy GM rubbed his forehead, looking helpless.

"I know you’re a huge asset to the company, but you know…"

He hesitated, then steeled himself.

"You know, Derek’s Tech just handed us a massive contract—enough to save us five years of effort."

"Natalie, sometimes you just can’t fight the powers that be. You understand, right?"

I lowered my eyes.

So that’s how it is.

The office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and cheap air freshener, a scent I’d come to associate with late nights and last-minute pitches. As I sat across from the deputy GM, I forced myself to breathe evenly, to keep my voice steady. My mind replayed every overtime shift, every birthday I’d missed for the sake of this job. I wanted to protest, to shout that I’d earned this. But all I could do was nod, the weight of corporate politics pressing down like a stone. Here in America, they say you can make your own destiny. But sometimes, destiny is just a handshake behind closed doors.