Anna

Chapter 2

George Street, in the very heart of Sydney, was filled with a galloping rhythm of life. People, like squirrels in a wheel, rushed about their business at someone else’s command, oblivious to one another on crowded streets amidst skyscrapers with shimmering facades. Anna, feeling like a mere grain of sand in this seething, indifferent torrent, pushed through the heavy glass door of the business center. The air-conditioned lobby washed over her with a dry chill. The elevator button, the twenty-first floor. The office.

Her boss, Mr. Arthur Graham, was a man whom the universe had seemingly created for the sole purpose of making those around him as miserable as possible. Balding, with a puffy, eternally greasy face and clammy, sweating palms, he tried to compensate for his profound professional mediocrity with an aggressive and often petty lifestyle, multiplied by a vastly inflated narcissism. He wore suits made of expensive fabrics that always sat a bit awkwardly on his loose, disproportionate frame, and he had the irritating habit of loudly and demonstratively clearing his throat as he entered a room—so that everyone present would know the master of the house had arrived. Graham was married, yet that did not stop him from considering himself an irresistible playboy whose attention was the greatest gift any woman could receive. Apparently, he considered himself a lion. And if so, he considered the office his pride.

Anna had been working there for eight months. In the first few weeks, she had naively mistaken his intrusive attention for an awkward, strange form of politeness. She had never seen him—then or now—as a worthy candidate for a place in her heart. But very soon, she realized the truth. Mr. Graham had no intention of being polite. Seeing and sensing not even a modicum of interest or reciprocation from Anna, his "moves" began to take on a crude character. At the same time, they never ceased to be sticky, pushy, and completely devoid of any hint of grace or intelligence. He constantly tried to "accidentally" touch her hand when handing over documents or lingered at her desk, asking questions that had absolutely nothing to do with work. Before long, Anna began to notice vulgar hints, promising her special status and quite possibly career advancement if she would be more "accommodating" and accept the boss’s overtures.

When Anna first firmly and pointedly gave him to understand that she was interested solely in her professional duties and nothing more, Graham’s reaction was instantaneous. One could see his fury building inside. His face turned beetroot red; it felt as though one could light a cigar off him. Anna thought Graham would erupt into a scream. But Graham swallowed that pill. He left in silence, without uttering a word, but very soon transitioned to a tactic of methodical, petty revenge, attempting to break the will of the source of his offense.

His first bit of malice did not take long to arrive. In the midst of working on a complex quarterly report that Anna had been slaving over for a week, Graham burst into her office. Without even glancing at the results, he disdainfully threw the folders onto her desk and declared that the entire table structure was fundamentally wrong.

"Anna, I honestly thought you were brighter than this," he said, observing with sadistic pleasure as her face turned pale. "I don’t give a damn how much time you spent. It doesn't meet our corporate standards at all. How do you expect our programmers to integrate these data into the CRM system? Redo everything. From scratch. I have a meeting with the CEO tomorrow at eleven. Make sure that report is on my desk by eight in the morning. I’ll need time to study it."

It was a blatant lie. She knew the corporate standards better than he did, but to argue meant the risk of being fired, and Anna could not afford to lose her job. She spent the night in the office, fixing things that required no fixing, feeling the protest boiling inside her.

The next day, Graham didn't even remember the report.

The second incident was even more telling and vile. At a general department meeting, where even the CFO was present, Anna presented a brilliant, meticulously verified solution for optimizing the tax burden. It was her idea, agonized over through months of work. Graham listened to her to the end, put on a thoughtful expression, and then, unceremoniously interrupting her, remarked in a lounging tone: "Colleagues, this is not a bad concept, but as I have already discussed in detail with Anna yesterday, we need to refine it. Anna, in essence, helped me with the technical formatting of my ideas, so let’s focus on the key points I have prepared." By the end of the meeting, the CFO was practically singing Graham’s praises. He even hinted in front of everyone that a serious promotion awaited him if he continued in the same vein. Colleagues clapped joyfully, echoing the positive mood of management.

In essence, he had stolen her success in front of everyone. Anna was not devoid of healthy self-esteem. She felt everything inside her constrict with burning rage, but she only gripped her pen tighter, writing down the next portion of tasks in her notebook, realizing that war had been declared. And in this war, there were no rules.

The third incident happened exactly a week ago. When Anna arrived at work in the morning, as always on time, Graham was already sitting at her desk, rummaging through her computer files. Seeing Anna, he "accidentally"—yet so that she would be sure to see—deleted a critical file containing access to the secure cloud storage with information Anna was preparing for a major client. He immediately demanded she provide him with the file; Anna, in her confusion, timidly tried to object. But he cut her off mid-sentence and accused her of negligence, saying it so loudly that the entire office heard. He staged a public dressing-down in front of all her colleagues and later portrayed her to the client as an utterly unqualified amateur. The client was furious. He complained to the CEO. Anna tried to justify herself. But it was all in vain.

The next morning began with Graham stopping by her desk as he passed, leaning in indecently close, invading her personal space. He whispered so that only the two of them could hear:

"Anna, you look particularly despondent today. Why don’t you join me for lunch at the Grand Hotel? There’s a secluded table there where no one will disturb us. We’ll discuss your future. Then we’ll decide if you should even stay at this company. You should take into account that the CEO has delegated me to decide your fate here."

Anna, without lifting her eyes from the monitor, replied in a cold, level tone:

"Mr. Graham, I have said repeatedly—I eat lunch alone. Or with those whom I am at least not repulsed by. Read my lips, Mr. Graham: even the threat of being fired won't stop me from saying this. You disgust me."

He froze, his eyes bulging. He even recoiled slightly, as if a heavyweight boxer had landed a punch on his arrogant mug. His face flushed with blood instantly, the veins on his forehead bulging, making him look like a raging bull. A narcissist hates when his authority is questioned.

"You’re forgetting your place, Miss!" his voice broke into a shout that echoed through the entire office hall. "Do you think you’re irreplaceable? There are hundreds of economists in this city ready to take your place for half the pay! You are a nobody! I’ll reduce you to zero!"

"The office isn't your harem!" Anna said, rising from her chair calmly.

Graham, stunned by such a retort, literally choked on his rage. He understood that if he just walked away now, he would lose completely—his power over her would shatter. His narcissistic self-importance demanded immediate retribution.

"Fine," he hissed, lowering his voice to a dangerous, almost snakelike rasp. "You’re fired. Right now. Pack your things and leave this office. Security! Throw her out."

He expected the twenty-three-year-old girl to start crying, to beg, to back down, but Anna simply surveyed this petty louse with a steady gaze. Inside, she was surprisingly calm, as if a bowstring, stretched to the limit for a long time, had finally released its arrow. She had known for a long time that it would end this way. Graham was too cowardly to bear rejection and too limited to admit his own worthlessness. She stood up calmly, gathered her few belongings—her laptop, a ceramic mug, an old photograph of her parents in a frame, and a couple of trifles—and, without looking back, walked toward the exit.

Outside the office door, she stopped. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Behind her, the office continued to live its life. But she had just lost her job, her only source of income, which allowed her to somehow stay afloat in her "hutch."

There were no savings; there was nothing to pay the rent with now, and a frightening void loomed ahead. But as she stepped onto the street, for the first time in a long while, she took a deep breath. The air felt clean. Despite all the trouble, she felt relief and even satisfaction for the first time.

At a sidewalk café across the street, Anna sat down on a wicker chair and took out her phone. She had to do something. She had no one even to call. Suddenly, she remembered Amanda, her best friend from college. Amanda, whom she had once helped so often.

Reaching the station, Anna felt the cold weight of the future bearing down on her shoulders. Life was starting to test her strength again. She sat down on a bench. Only one thought circled in her head: "Amanda will help. She has to help. We were like sisters."