After Eight Years, They Threw Me Away

Chapter 2: Eight Years Meant Nothing

The elevator took forever.

Thirty-two floors. Each number blinked above the door like a countdown to exile.

I held the cardboard box with both hands. Not because it was heavy, but because I needed something to hold. Something solid. Something that did not change its face after eight years and call betrayal procedure.

At the twenty-sixth floor, the doors opened.

Two employees from the finance department stepped in, laughing about lunch.

Then they saw me.

The box.

The missing badge.

Their laughter died.

One of them stared at the floor. The other pretended to read her phone, though the screen was dark.

No one asked what happened.

People never asked when they already knew enough to be afraid.

The elevator continued down.

I remembered a different elevator ride years ago, when Victor had stood beside me with his shirt sleeves rolled up, excited like a man who still believed in building something.

"Ethan," he had said then, "stay with me. Give me a few years. When this company grows, I won't forget the people who fought with me."

I had believed him.

That was the embarrassing part.

Not that he lied.

People lied all the time.

The embarrassing part was that I had built a life around believing him.

The doors opened at the lobby.

The security guard looked up from the desk. His eyes moved to the box and then away.

"Mr. Zhou," he said, awkwardly.

Usually he called me Manager Zhou.

Today, he corrected himself without knowing it.

I nodded and walked toward the exit.

Rain slapped against the glass doors. Outside, the city looked blurred, all gray roads and red brake lights. People hurried under umbrellas. Nobody had time to notice one more man losing his place in the world.

Just before I reached the door, a voice called behind me.

"Ethan."

I stopped.

Ryan Zhao stood near the lobby coffee stand.

He was from my team. Twenty-nine, quick with numbers, slow with decisions. I had defended him twice when Derek wanted to cut him for mistakes that were not entirely his.

He held a paper cup in both hands.

His eyes were full of guilt.

"I... I heard," he said.

"Everyone heard."

His face tightened.

"Is it true?"

I looked at him.

That question should not have hurt as much as it did.

Maybe I had expected Ryan, at least, to know better.

"What do you think?" I asked.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked toward the elevators, as if Derek might appear at any moment and punish him for standing too close to me.

There was my answer.

I smiled a little.

"Take care of yourself, Ryan."

"Ethan, I didn't mean..."

But I was already walking away.

The automatic doors opened. Rain and cold wind hit my face.

I stepped outside.

By the time I reached the edge of the pavement, my hair was wet and my shirt stuck to my back. The cardboard box softened at the corners. One of my notebooks tilted sideways.

I should have called a car.

I did not.

I stood under the narrow shelter of the building entrance and looked up at the tower.

QinTech Solutions occupied floors twenty-seven to thirty-two. From down here, the windows all looked the same. Clean. Bright. Untouchable.

For years, I had looked at those lights late at night and felt proud.

I had told myself I was part of something.

Now I understood.

I had been part of something only while I was useful.

My phone buzzed.

For one foolish second, I thought it might be Victor.

A call. An apology. A last-minute correction.

It was not.

It was a message from Olivia.

Are you coming home for dinner tonight?

I stared at the screen.

Home.

The word looked warm. Almost dangerous.

Olivia and I had been married for seven years. We had survived a basement apartment, instant noodles, winter nights without proper heating, and the first impossible down payment. I had worked late for years because I wanted her to live better. I wanted us to live better.

She would be shocked.

She might be angry.

But she would listen.

Wouldn't she?

I typed: Something happened. I'll come back early.

Three dots appeared.

Then: Did you forget to pay the credit card again?

I stared at the message until the rain blurred the screen.

No, I typed. I'll explain at home.

She did not reply.

I put the phone away.

A black sedan pulled up in front of the building. Derek came out with Victor under one umbrella. They were heading to a business lunch, apparently. Derek said something. Victor laughed.

Then Victor saw me.

For a brief second, our eyes met across the rain.

He did not look surprised that I was still there.

He did not look sorry.

He looked annoyed.

As if even my ruined figure at the front of his building was bad for the company's image.

That look did what the termination notice had not.

It killed the last small, stupid part of me that wanted an explanation from him.

Victor Qin had not been misled.

He had chosen.

Derek opened the car door for him. Before getting in, Victor said something I could not hear. Derek turned and glanced at me.

Then he smiled.

Not much.

Just enough.

The sedan drove away, tires hissing through rainwater.

I stood there until it disappeared.

Then I looked down at the box in my arms.

A corner had split open. The framed anniversary photo slid halfway out.

In the photo, Victor stood in the middle with his arms around Derek and me. Everyone was smiling. Behind us was a banner that said: Together, We Build the Future.

I took the photo out.

Rain spotted the glass.

For a moment, I thought about keeping it. Proof that there had been a time when I mattered.

Then I opened the nearest trash bin and dropped it in.

The frame hit the bottom with a dull crack.

Eight years.

That was the sound they made when they landed.

I stepped into the rain and walked toward the subway.

Every step soaked my shoes. Every passing car threw dirty water near my legs. My phone stayed silent in my pocket.

By the time I reached the station entrance, I had made one decision.

I would fight the company.

Not because I believed the system was kind.

Not because I thought victory would come quickly.

But because if I signed their lie today, I would carry it forever.

And I had carried enough for them.

Underground, the station was crowded. Office workers brushed past me, impatient and dry under their umbrellas. A child looked at my wet shirt and then at the cardboard box.

"Mom," he whispered, "why is that man crying?"

His mother pulled him away quickly.

I touched my face.

Rainwater.

Only rainwater.

At least, that was what I told myself.

The train arrived with a scream of metal.

I stepped inside, holding the broken box against my chest, and watched my reflection in the dark window as the city rushed past.

I had lost my job.

I had lost my name.

I was going home to tell my wife.

And for reasons I did not yet understand, that frightened me more than facing Victor Qin.