Chapter 11
The Resignation Letter
The next morning, I arrived at Yale Group earlier than usual.
The city outside was still pale, caught between night and morning. The glass walls of the lobby reflected a woman in a cream blouse and dark skirt, her hair pinned neatly behind her ears, her expression calm enough to fool anyone who was not looking closely.
I signed in.
I took the lift.
I walked through the president’s office floor with the same steady steps I had used for years.
Nothing looked different.
My desk was still in its place. Charles’s office door was still closed. Dakota’s desk was still too new, with the West City folders arranged carefully in a neat pile.
Only my bag felt different.
Inside it was a plain white envelope.
One sheet of paper.
One signature.
One ending.
